Catharine looked at the sleeping boy, with a keen desire to have him with her a few hours longer; but a habit of self-control, which suffering had matured, enabled her at once to suppress the wish. “No,” she answered, “it would do no good, unless she had him always with her. It is a wild fancy that may not return while he is out of sight; besides, you look weary. Up all night, and _so_ anxious.” “I will go then, if you think it best,” answered the widow, with an effort; and she moved away with the child. “One moment!” pleaded Catharine, for her heart sunk as she saw the boy carried off. “If you will sit down in the breakfast-room a moment, while I take care of poor Elsie, perhaps you will permit me to help you carry him home. I should be so happy, and you are worn out!” “He is heavy,” answered the widow, “but that is nothing. I am so glad to get him in my arms again. I could carry him over the whole world without feeling the weight.” “I should like to carry him,” said Catharine, gently, “if you were willing.” “I will wait, of course I will wait. He _is_ heavy, and I am almost tired out, as you say. It is very kind of you; I will wait!” The widow saw how anxious Catharine was, and with gentle tact gave way to her wishes. They hurried into the breakfast-room together, and after Catharine had arranged the cushions and white dainty couch for the child to rest on, she returned to the library. CHAPTER XLVIII. THE IMAGE IN THE GLASS. Elsie had partially recovered. Her eyes were open, and she was resting on her elbow, looking with child-like wonder around the room; while the dear old people stood hand-in-hand, regarding her through a mist of grateful tears. “How did I come here?” said Elsie, in her sweet, natural voice, that made those two fond hearts leap in unison; “I must have studied late, and fallen asleep after. Did he miss me?” The old people looked at each other in alarm. “Of whom does she speak?” inquired Catharine. “Of him,” answered the old man, glancing toward the portrait. “What can we answer?” “He did not reach home last night,” said Catharine, gently. “And who is this?” inquired Elsie, bending her brows, “who knows of my husband’s movements better than I do myself? Send that woman from the house, father. The last one, you remember the last one!” “Elsie, do you not know me?” inquired Catharine, astonished. “How should I?” was the terse answer. “What am I to you?” “I am your friend!” Elsie laughed softly. “I never had but one friend, and she——” “Well, never mind her, darling,” interposed the old lady, anxiously. Elsie cast a scrutinizing glance at the old lady, and a look of profound astonishment came to her face. “Why, mother, how strange you look! How old you are! Dear me, your hair has grown so white; and that queer cap. This will never do, mother.” “My child—my dear child!” Elsie laughed, and shook her head.