“The mother only answered me with her tears and gentle entreaties that I would bring Elsie home. “Everything was ready. In the morning, I was to set forth; but that night, that very night, our child, our poor, poor Elsie came home, in the dark, and all alone. “Her husband had turned her out-of-doors. “We were sitting together, the mother and I, waiting for the morning; for sleep was impossible, and we felt less unhappy in each other’s presence, though we scarcely exchanged a word in the profound sadness that had fallen upon us. Never, in my whole life, do I remember a night of such dreary length. Everything was still. It was winter, and the snow was falling out-of-doors in great flakes, with that perpetual whiteness which makes a night-storm so ghastly. The hickory logs had burned through, and fallen apart into a bed of dying embers; and lay smouldering away, giving out smoke, but no flame. “The old ebony clock ticked loud and sharp, filling the silence with its irritating count of time. Once in a while, we looked out through the frosted windows, searching for a flush of daylight upon the snow; but always to see that eternal sheet of whiteness becoming broader and deeper all around us. This dismal spectacle drove us back into the room, and still another hour we sat cowering together, over the hearthstone that had never seemed cold till then. “We had drawn closer and closer together, till the fire went wholly out, sharing the misery of that hour in deathly silence. The mother’s hand was growing cold in mine, but I had no strength to urge her to bed or wish to rekindle the fire. Gloomy as everything was, the misery in our hearts was darker still. “All at once, I felt the mother’s hand quiver in mine. Her eyes were turned to the window, and directly my gaze followed hers. “A human face was pressed to the window, a face, pale as the snow that lay in wreathing flakes adown those tresses of black hair, and two black eyes looked in upon us. “We arose, holding the breath from our lips, and walked hand-in-hand toward the door, treading softly, as if we felt ourselves in the presence of a ghost. “I opened the door and strove to call our poor child by name; but the tongue clove to my mouth, and all the sound I could make went off through the falling snow like a sob of wind. “The mother’s heart broke its ice first, and in a tender wail she called out, ‘Elsie, Elsie! my child, my child!’ CHAPTER LXXIII. ELSIE RETURNS HOME. “Our child came toward us, pale and cold, as if drifted to her mother’s bosom by the storm. Her trembling arms were held out pleadingly, her eyes seemed full of frozen tears. She shivered from head to foot, and her teeth chattered, partly with cold, partly with anguish. She fell forward upon her mother’s bosom, moaning; but no words came with the desolate sound.