The sincere, earnest, kindly tone and manner quite disarmed the pride of the fallen gentlewoman, and a momentary glow of grateful pleasure lighted up her sad face. "But it will take you fully a mile out of your way," she said, hesitating to accept the proffered kindness. "Ah, that is no objection; it is so lovely a day for a drive," said Elsie, leading the way to the carriage. "This seems like a return of the good old times before the war!" sighed Mrs. Foster leaning back upon the softly cushioned seat, as they bowled rapidly along. "Ah Mrs. Travilla, if we could but have been content to let well enough alone! I have grown weary, inexpressibly weary of all this hate, bitterness and contention; and the poverty--Ah well, I will not complain!" and she closed her lips resolutely. "It was a sad mistake," Elsie answered; echoing the sigh, "and it will take many years to recover from it." "Yes, I shall not live to see it." "Nor I, perhaps; not here, but yonder in the better land," Elsie answered with a smile of hope and gladness. Mrs. Foster nodded assent; her heart too full for utterance, nor did she speak again till the carriage drew up before her own door. Then repeating her thanks, "You have not been here for a long time, Mrs. Travilla," she said, "I know I have not returned your calls, but--" she paused seemingly again overcome with emotion. "Ah, that shall not keep me away, if you wish me to come," returned Elsie. "We would be very glad; hardly any one else so welcome." "I fear I have neglected you, but shall try to come soon. And shall be pleased at any time to see you at Ion," Elsie answered as the carriage drove on. A day or two afterward she fulfilled her promise, and was admitted by Annie, the eldest daughter. She, too, looked pale and careworn, and had evidently been weeping. "O, Mrs. Travilla!" she exclaimed, and burst into a fresh flood of tears. Elsie, her own eyes filling with sympathetic drops, put her arm about her, whispering, "My poor dear child! what can I do to comfort you?" "Nothing! nothing!" sobbed the girl, resting her head for a moment on Elsie's shoulder; "But come into the parlor, dear Mrs. Travilla, and let me call mamma." "Ah, stay a moment," Elsie said, detaining her, "are you sure, quite sure that I can do nothing to help you?" Annie shook her head. "This trouble is beyond human help. Yes, yes, you can pray for us, and for him." The last words were almost inaudible from emotion, and she hurried away, leaving the guest sole occupant of the room. Involuntarily Elsie glanced about her, and a pang went to her heart as she noticed that every article of luxury, almost of comfort, had disappeared; the pictures were gone from the walls, the pretty ornaments from mantel and centre-table; coarse cheap matting covered the floor in lieu of the costly carpet of other days, and rosewood and damask had given place to cottage furniture of the simplest and most inexpensive kind.