Such items and more he read with a blur before his eyes and a humming sound in his ears like the echo of years past and gone, leaving memories he would like to blot out. While he was reading the Herald, Mr. Hansford in his study was reading his aunt’s letter aloud to his wife and Elithe. As she heard the invitation, Elithe exclaimed, “Oh, I am so glad; if I can only go.” Then followed the conditions. She must not gad to concerts and rides on the water and clambakes and the Casino. She must always be in by nine or half-past, at the latest, as her aunt kept early hours. She must not slat her things around:—her aunt liked order. She must not whistle in the house, as some rude girls did; her aunt liked to be still and meditate. At this point Roger laughed merrily. “Aunt Phebe to a dot. I don’t believe she has changed an iota in twenty years,” he said. Elithe was very grave, and a summer at the seashore did not look so desirable as at first. The last of the letter, however, promising a good many privileges, was more re-assuring, and she began again to wish she might go. “But how can I? What would you do without me?” she said, looking first at her mother, who was very pale, and then at her father, who tried to seem cheerful and natural. Here was an answer to his letter and his prayer. Providence had opened a way for Elithe to see something of the world, and to escape from an influence which might eventually prove hurtful. An acquaintance of Mr. Pennington had once said of him that with his smooth tongue he could deceive the very elect. Mr. Hansford had never put his opinion of the man into these words, but he felt the truth of them in his own experience. Mr. Pennington was magnetic and fascinating, and he wondered much that Elithe had remained so long indifferent to him. Of his many good qualities he was fully aware, but he believed there was a questionable side to his character from which he would shield his daughter. He did not trust to his bones for intuition, as his aunt did to hers, but he had a childlike faith in the signs of Providence and watched them closely. He had prayed that his aunt might answer his letter favorably. She had done so, and sent money for needed expenses. It was right that Elithe should go, and when she asked how they could do without her, he said, “It seems too good a chance to be lost, and it is only for the summer. If we have some one to help us we may be able to get along; eh, Lucy?” He turned to his wife, whom invalidism had not made altogether selfish. There was a feeling like death in her heart as she thought of living without Elithe, but she tried to smile, and said she thought it might be managed, as she was stronger than she had been for some time.