She paused, but receiving no reply, went on. "Come now, it isn't worth while to be so close-mouthed with me, Miss Dinsmore; for I happen to know pretty much all about it already. You've fallen in love with a man that your father thinks is a scamp and though you don't believe it, you've given him up, in obedience to orders, like the cowardly piece that you are. Dear me, before I'd be so afraid of my father!"

"No, you neither fear nor love your father as I do mine; but fear of papa has very little to do with it. I love him far too well to refuse to submit to him in this, and I fear G.o.d, who bids me obey and honor him. But, Enna, how did you learn all this?"

"Ah, that is my secret."

Elsie looked disturbed. "Won't you tell me?"

"Not I."

"Is it generally known in the family?"

"So far as I am aware, no one knows it but myself."

"Ah!" thought Elsie, "I did not believe Aunt Adelaide or Walter would tell her; but I wonder how she did find it out."

"I wouldn't give up the man I loved for anybody," Enna went on in a sneering tone. "I say parents have no business to interfere in such matters; and so I told papa quite plainly when he took it upon him to lecture me about receiving attentions from d.i.c.k Percival, and threatened to forbid him the house."

"Oh, Enna!"

"You consider it wickedly disrespectful and rebellious no doubt, but I say I'm no longer a child, and so the text, 'Children obey your parents'--which I know is just on the end of your tongue--doesn't apply to me."

"The Bible doesn't say obey till you are of age, then do as you please. You are not seventeen yet, and Isaac was twenty when he submitted to be bound and laid upon the altar."

"Well, when I go to the altar, it shall be leaning on d.i.c.k's arm,"

said Enna, laughing. "I don't care if he is wild; I like him, and intend to marry him too."

"But are you not afraid?"

"Afraid of what?"

"That he will run through his property in a few years, and perhaps become an habitual drunkard and abusive to his wife."

"I mean to risk it anyhow," returned Enna sharply, "so it is not worth while for my friends to waste their breath in lecturing me on the subject."

"Oh, Enna! you can't expect a blessing, if you persist in being so undutiful; I think it would be well for you if your father were more like mine."

"Indeed! I wouldn't be your father's daughter for anything."

"And I am glad and thankful that I am."

CHAPTER XXI.

The human heart! 'tis a thing that lives In the light of many a shrine; And the gem of its own pure feelings gives Too oft on brows that are false to shine; It has many a cloud of care and woe To shadow o'er its springs, And the One above alone may know The changing tune of its thousand strings.

--MRS. L.P. SMITH.

Mr. and Mrs. Horace Dinsmore were most anxious to promote Elsie's happiness, and in order to that to win her to forgetfulness of her unworthy suitor. Being Christians they did not take her to the ball-room, the Opera, or the theater (nor would she have consented to go had they proposed it), but they provided for her every sort of suitable amus.e.m.e.nt within their reach. She was allowed to entertain as much company and to pay as many visits to neighbors and friends as she pleased.

But a constant round of gayety was not to her taste; she loved quiet home pleasures and intellectual pursuits far better. And of these also she might take her fill, nor lack for sympathizing companionship; both parents, but especially her father, being of like mind with herself.

They enjoyed many a book together, and she chose to pursue several studies with him.

And thus the weeks and months glided away not unhappily, though at times she would be possessed with a restless longing for news from Egerton, and for the love that was denied her; then her eyes would occasionally meet her father's with the old wistful, pleading look that he found so hard to resist.

He well understood their mute pet.i.tion; yet it was one he could not grant. But he would take her in his arms, and giving her the fondest, tenderest caresses, would say, in a moved tone, "My darling, don't look at me in that way; it almost breaks my heart. Ah, if you could only be satisfied with your father's love!"

"I will try, papa," was her usual answer, "and oh, your love is very sweet and precious!"

Such a little scene, occurring one morning in Elsie's boudoir, was interrupted by Chloe coming in to say that Miss Carrington had called to see her young mistress and was waiting in the drawing-room.

"Show her in here, mammy," Elsie said, disengaging herself from her father's arms, and smoothing out her dress. "She used to come here in the old times without waiting for an invitation."

The Carringtons had not been able quite to forgive the rejection of Herbert's suit, and since his death there had been a slight coolness between the two families, and the girls had seen much less of each other than in earlier days; their intercourse being confined to an occasional exchange of formal calls, except when they met at the house of some common acquaintance or friend. Still they were mutually attached, and of late had resumed much of their old warmth of manner toward each other.

"Ah, this seems like going back to the dear old times again," Lucy said when their greetings were over, and sending an admiring glance about the luxuriously furnished apartment as she spoke. "I always thought this the most charming of rooms, Elsie, but how many lovely things,--perfect gems of art,--you have added to it since I saw it last."

"Papa's gifts to his spoiled darling, most of them," answered Elsie, with a loving look and smile directed to him.

"Petted, but not spoiled," he said, returning the smile.

"No, indeed, I should think not," said Lucy. "Mamma says she is the most perfectly obedient, affectionate daughter she ever saw, and I can't tell you how often I have heard her wish I was more like her."

"Ah," said Elsie, "I think Mrs. Carrington has always looked at me through rose-colored spectacles."

After a little more chat Lucy told her errand. Her parents and herself, indeed the whole family, she said, had greatly regretted the falling off of their former intimacy and strongly desired to renew it; and she had come to beg Elsie to go home with her and spend a week at Ashlands in the old familiar way.

Elsie's eye brightened, and her cheek flushed. "Dear Lucy, how kind!"

she exclaimed; then turned inquiringly to her father.

"Yes, it is very kind," he said. "Use your own pleasure, daughter. I think perhaps the change might do you good."

"Thanks, papa, then I shall go. Lucy, I accept your invitation with pleasure."

They were soon on their way, cantering briskly along side by side, Lucy in gay, almost wild spirits, and Elsie's depression rapidly vanishing beneath the combined influence of the bracing air and exercise, the brilliant sunshine, and her friend's lively sallies.

Arrived at Ashlands, she found herself received and welcomed with all the old warmth of affection. Mrs. Carrington folded her to her heart and wept over her. "My poor boy!" she whispered; "it seems almost to bring him back again to have you with us once more. But I will not mourn," she added, wiping her eyes; "for our loss has been his great gain."

Tender memories of Herbert, a.s.sociated with nearly every room in the house, saddened and subdued Elsie's spirit for a time, yet helped to banish thoughts of Egerton from her mind.

But Lucy had a great deal to tell her, and in listening to these girlish confidences, Herbert was again half forgotten. Lucy too had spent the past summer in the North, and had there "met her fate." She was engaged, the course of true love seemed to be running smoothly, and they expected to marry in a year.

Elsie listened with interest, sympathizing warmly in her friend's happiness; but Lucy, who was watching her keenly, noticed a shade of deep sadness steal over her face.

"Now I have told you all my secrets," she said, "won't you treat me as generously, by trusting me with yours?"