"Ah, is that so?" he said, with a low, gleeful laugh, as he held her close to his heart. "But he says you accepted him on condition that papa would give consent, that you owned you cared for him."
"And so I do, papa; I've always loved him as if he were my brother; and I'm so sorry for all he suffers, that I would do anything I could to make him happy."
"Even to sacrificing yourself? It is well indeed for you that you have a father to take care of you."
"Are you going to say 'No' to him, papa?" she asked, looking up half beseechingly.
"Indeed I am."
"Ah, papa, he said it would kill him if you did."
"I don't believe it; people don't die so easily. And I have several reasons for my refusal, each one of which would be quite sufficient of itself. But you just acknowledged to me that you don't love him at all as you ought. Why, my child, when you meet the right person you will find that your love for him is far greater than what you feel for me."
"Papa, I don't think that could be possible," she said, clinging closer to him than before.
"But you'll be convinced when the time comes, though I hope that will not be for many a long year yet. Then Herbert's ill health and lameness are two insuperable objections. Lastly, you are both entirely too young to be thinking of such matters."
"He didn't mean to ask you to give me to him now, papa; not for a year or two at the very least."
"But I won't have you engaging yourself while you are such a mere child. I don't approve of long engagements, or intend to let you marry for six or seven years to come. So you may as well dismiss all thoughts on the subject; and if any other boy or man attempts to talk to you as Herbert has, just tell him that your father utterly forbids you to listen to anything of the kind. What! crying! I hope these are not rebellious tears?"
"No, papa; please don't be angry. It is only that I feel so sorry for poor Herbert; he suffers so, and is so patient and good."
"I am sorry for him too, but it cannot be helped. I must take care of you first, and not allow anything which I think will interfere with your happiness or well being."
"Papa, he wants to correspond with me."
"I shall not allow it."
"May we see each other often?"
"No; not at all for some time. He must get over this foolish fancy first, it cannot be anything more; and there is great danger that he will not unless you are kept entirely apart."
Elsie sighed softly, but said not a word. There was no appeal from her father's decisions, no argument or entreaty allowed after they were once announced.
Little feet were heard running down the hall; then there was the sound of a tiny fist thumping on the door, and the voice of little Horace calling, "Elsie, Elsie, tum out! me wants to see you!"
"There, you may go now," her father said, releasing her with a kiss, "and leave me to write that note. Well, what is it?" for she lingered, looking up wistfully into his face.
"Dear papa, be kind to him for my sake," she murmured softly, putting her arm about his neck again. "He is such a sufferer, so patient and good, and it quite makes my heart ache to think how grievously your refusal will pain him."
"My own sweet child! always unselfish, always concerned for the happiness of others," thought the father as he looked down into the pleading face; but he only stroked her hair, and kissed her more tenderly than before, saying, "I shall try to be as kind as circumstances will allow, daughter. You shall read the letter when it is done, and if you think it is not kind enough it shall not be sent."
She thanked him with a very grateful look, then hurried away, for the tiny fists were redoubling their blows upon the door, while the baby voice called more and more clamorously for "sister Elsie."
She stooped to hug and kiss the little fellow, then was led off in triumph to "mamma," whose greeting, though less noisy, was quite as joyous and affectionate.
"Oh, how nice it is to get home!" cried Elsie, and wondered within herself how she had been contented to stay away so long. She had hardly finished giving Rose an animated account of her visit, including a minute description of the birthday party, when her father's voice summoned her to the study again.
"Does it satisfy you?" he asked when she had read the note.
"Yes, papa; I think it is as kind as a refusal could possibly be made."
"Then I shall send it at once. And now this settles the matter, and I bid you put the whole affair out of your mind as completely as possible, Elsie."
"I shall try, papa," she answered in a submissive and even cheerful tone.
That note, kindly worded though it was, caused great distress to Herbert Carrington. He passed an almost sleepless night, and the next morning, finding himself quite unable to rise from his couch, he sent an urgent entreaty that Mr. Dinsmore would call at Ashlands at his earliest convenience.
His request was granted at once, and the lad pleaded with all the eloquence of which he was master for a more favorable reception of his suit.
Had he been as well acquainted with Horace Dinsmore's character as Elsie was, he would have known the utter uselessness of such a proceeding. He received a patient hearing, then a firm, though kind denial. Elsie was entirely too young to be allowed even to think of love or matrimony, her father said; he was extremely sorry the subject had been broached to her; it must not be again for years. He would not permit any engagement, correspondence, or, for the present at least, any exchange of visits; because he wished the matter to be dropped entirely, and, if possible, forgotten. Nor would he hold out the slightest hope for the future; answering Herbert's petition for that by a gentle hint that one in his ill health should be content to remain single.
"Yes, you are right, Mr. Dinsmore, and I don't blame you for refusing to give me your lovely daughter; I'm entirely unworthy of such a treasure," said the poor boy in a broken voice.
"Not in character, my dear boy," said Mr. Dinsmore, almost tenderly; "in that you are all I could ask or desire, and it is all that you are responsible for. And now while she is such a mere child, I should reject any other suitor for her hand, quite as decidedly as I do you."
"You don't blame me for loving her?"
"No; oh, no!"
"I can't help it. I've loved her ever since I first saw her, and that was before I was five years old."
"Well, I don't object to a brotherly affection, and when you can tone it down to that, shall not forbid occasional intercourse. And now, with the best wishes for your health and happiness, I must bid you good-bye."
"Good-bye, sir; and thank you for your kindness in coming," the boy answered with a quivering lip. Then, turning to his mother, as Mr. Dinsmore left the room, "I shall never get over it," he said. "I shall not live long, and I don't want to; life without her isn't worth having."
Her heart ached for him, but she answered cheerily: "Why, my dear child, don't be so despondent; I think you may take hope and courage from some things that Mr. Dinsmore said. It is quite in your favor that he will not allow Elsie to receive proposals from any one at present, for who knows but, by the time he considers her old enough, you may be well and strong."
Mrs. Carrington's words had a very different effect from what she intended. The next time Herbert saw his physician, he insisted so strongly on knowing exactly what he might look forward to that there was no evading the demand; and on learning that he was hopelessly crippled for life, he sank into a state of utter despondency, and from that moment grew rapidly worse, failing visibly day by day.
Elsie, dutifully abstaining from holding any communication with Ashlands, and giving all her thoughts as far as possible to home duties and pleasures knew nothing of it till one day Enna came in, asking, "Have