"Then tell her I should be very glad to have her spend the winter at Viamede with us, if she feels that she would enjoy the trip and the quiet life we shall lead there. There will, of course, be no gayeties to tempt a young girl." "Thank you," he said, his eyes shining; "I have not the slightest doubt that she will be delighted to accept the invitation. And, now I think of it, Aunt Enna and Molly will of course find a home with us at Roselands while you are away." "No, no, they will go with us," returned Elsie quickly, "unless indeed they prefer to be left behind." Arthur suggested that they would be a great charge, especially upon the journey, but the objection was promptly overruled by Mr. Dinsmore, Rose and Elsie. Molly must go, they all said; she would be sure to enjoy the change greatly: and the poor child had so few pleasures; and the same was true of Enna also: she had never seen Viamede, and could not fail to be delighted with its loveliness; nor would it do to part her from Molly, who was now her chief happiness. "I trust they will appreciate your kindness; Molly will, I am sure," Arthur said as he went away. As the door closed on him, Elsie glided to the window and stood in a pensive attitude gazing out upon that lowly mound, only faintly discernible now in the gathering darkness, for night was closing in early by reason of the heavy clouds that obscured the sky. A yearning importunate cry was going up from her almost breaking heart. "My husband, oh my husband, how can I live without you! Oh to hear once more the sound of your voice, to feel once again the clasp of your arm, the touch of your hand!" A sense of utter loneliness was upon her. But in another moment she felt herself enfolded in a strong yet tender embrace, a gentle caressing hand smoothing her hair. "My darling, my precious one, my own beloved child!" murmured her father's voice in its most endearing accents, as he drew her head to a resting place on his breast. She let it lie there, her tears falling fast. "I fear this going away is to be too great a trial to you," he said. "No, papa, but I am very weak. Forgive my selfish indulgence of my sorrow." "My darling, I can sympathize in it, at least to some extent. I remember even yet the anguish of the first months of my mourning for your mother." "Papa, I feel that my wound can never heal; it is too deep; deep as the roots of my love for him, that had been striking farther and farther into the soil with every one of the many days and years that we lived and loved together."