“Oh, Erminie, guess! try to guess! I am afraid to tell you! Who would you rather see of all the world?” said Elfie, trembling. Torrents of fire and of ice alternately seemed to sweep through the system of the delicate girl, as the blood rushed to her head and receded to her heart. “My father! It is my dear father!” she cried, as she started up and dashed from the room. “Yes! it is he!” said Elfie. The drawing-room door stood wide open. Erminie flew in and was folded in the arms of her father. He sank down on the sofa and drew her on his lap; and she dropped her head upon his bosom and wept for joy. And he clasped her in a closer embrace, and for the first few minutes not one word was spoken between them. Then the first syllables her lips could frame were of gratitude to Heaven. “Thank the Lord! Oh, thank the Lord!” she said. “Amen,” solemnly responded the Lutheran minister. “My father! Oh, my beloved father!” “My dear, dear child!” “Let me look at you! Is it you indeed? Is it indeed you?” she said, raising her face from his bosom and pushing his head gently a little way from her that she might examine him at will. “You see it is I,” he said, smiling. “But how thin you are! oh, how thin! how wasted your dear face is! Father, you have suffered!” she said, kissing him tenderly and repeatedly. “But my sufferings are over now, dear child,” he said. “You have been all this while in a Confederate prison! And it will take time to restore you.” “Yes, my child, it will take as many weeks and as many new-laid eggs to build me up as it took to restore the renowned knight of La Mancha after one of his campaigns,” said the old man, gaily. “You suffered so much in that prison! But don’t try to tell me about it now,” she added, hastily; “tell me what I shall do for you first. Have you had a good breakfast this morning? Shall I ring for Bob to bring you a pair of slippers and get a warm bath ready for you? Which first, dear father? Oh, I am not in my right senses! I am mad with joy, or I should know what to do at once without asking you. Let me take off your boots like I used to do!” And she would have gone down on her knees to perform this service if he had not prevented her. “Stay, my daughter. Sit where you are for the present. On my lap. I like you here. I want to look into your face. And I want nothing more just yet.—Changed, my Minie! somewhat changed you are in these four years. Not so bright and blooming as you were; paler, thinner; but more lovely, my darling—much more lovely. Ah, I know how you have passed these years, my Minie. Even in my distant prison I heard of that young Lutheran Sister of Christ whose tender mercies were over all sufferers that came under her care—whether Rebel or Loyal. I will tell you about that presently. But now tell me: how knew you so readily that I had been in prison all this while? Who told you?”