"If she lacks sufficient control over her feelings it is almost the only fault she has," replied Rose warmly. "And I think, Enna, you are hardly capable of appreciating her delicately sensitive nature, and warm, loving heart, else you would not wound her as you do. She certainly controls her temper well, and puts up with more from you than I should."
"Pray, what do you mean, Mrs. Dinsmore? what have I done to your pet?" asked the young lady angrily.
"She is older than you, yet you treat her as if she were much younger. Your manner toward her is often very contemptuous, and I have frequently heard you sneer at her principles and taunt her with her willing subjection to her father's strict rule; for which she deserves nothing but the highest praise."
"Nobody could ever rule me the way Horace does her!" cried Enna, with a toss of her head. "And as to her being older than I am, I'm sure no one would think it; she is so absurdly childish in her way; not half so mature as I, mamma says."
"I'm glad and thankful that she is not," answered Rose, with spirit; "her sweet childish simplicity and perfect naturalness are very charming in these days, when they are so rarely found in a girl who has entered her teens."
Little Horace, standing by the window, uttered a joyous shout, "Oh, papa tumin'!" and rushed from the room to return the next moment clinging to his father's hand, announcing as they came in together, "Here papa is; me found him!"
Mr. Dinsmore shook hands with his sister, addressed a remark to his wife, then, glancing about the room, asked, "Where is Elsie?"
"She left us a moment since, but did not say where she was going," said Rose.
"I presume you'll find her crying in her boudoir or dressing room," added Enna.
"Crying! Why, what is wrong with her?"
"Nothing that I know of, except that I told her of Herbert Carrington's being so much worse that they've taken him North as a last hope."
"Is that so?" and Mr. Dinsmore looked much concerned.
"Yes, there can be no doubt about it, for I heard it from Harry himself this morning."
Mr. Dinsmore rose, and, putting his little son gently aside, left the room.
Elsie was not in her own apartments; he passed through the whole suite, looking for her; then, going on into the grounds, found her at last in her favorite arbor. She was crying bitterly, but at the sound of his step checked her sobs, and hastily wiped away her tears. She thought he would reprove her for indulging her grief, but instead he took her in his arms and soothed her tenderly.
"Oh, papa," she sobbed, "I feel as if I had done it—as if I had killed him."
"Darling, he is not past hope; he may recover, and in any event not the slightest blame belongs to you. I have taken the whole responsibility upon my shoulders."
She gave him a somewhat relieved and very grateful look, and he went on: "And even if I had allowed you to decide the matter for yourself, you would have done what was your duty in refusing to promise to belong to one whom you love less than you love your father."
Some months later there came news of Herbert's death. Elsie's grief was deep and lasting. She sorrowed as she might have done for the loss of a very dear brother; while added to that was a half-remorseful feeling which reason could not control or entirely relieve; and it was long ere she was quite her own bright, gladsome sunny self again.
Chapter XI
The bloom of opening flowers' unsullied beauty—
Softness and sweetest innocence she wears,
And looks like nature in the world's first spring.
—ROWE'S "TAMERLANE."
"What a very peculiar hand, papa; so stiff and cramped and old-fashioned," Elsie remarked, as her father laid down a letter he had just been reading.
"Yes. Did you ever hear me speak of Aunt Wealthy Stanhope?"
His glance seemed to direct the question to Rose, who answered, with a look of surprise and curiosity, "No, sir. Who is she?"
"A half-sister of my own mother. She was the daughter of my maternal grandfather by his first wife, my mother was the child of the second, and there were some five or ten years between them. Aunt Wealthy never married, would never live with any of her relatives, but has always kept up a cosey little establishment of her own."
"Do you know her, papa?" asked Elsie, who was listening with eager interest.
"I can hardly say that I do. I saw her once, nearly eighteen years ago, about the time you were born—but I was not capable of appreciating her then; indeed, was so unhappy and irritable as to be hardly in a condition to either make or receive favorable impressions. I now believe her to be a truly good and noble little woman, though decidedly an oddity in some respects. Then I called her a fidgety, fussy old maid."
"And your letter is from her?" Rose said inquiringly.
"Yes; she wants me to pay her a visit, taking Elsie with me, and leaving her there for the summer."
"There, papa! where?"
"Lansdale, Ohio. Should you like to go?"
"Yes, I think I should like to go, papa, if you take me; but whether I should like to stay all summer I could hardly tell till I get there."
"You may read the letter," he said, handing it to her.
"It sounds as though it might be very pleasant, papa," she said, as she laid it down after an attentive perusal.
It spoke of Lansdale as a pretty, healthful village, surrounded by beautiful scenery, and boasting of some excellent society: of two lively young girls, living in the next house to her own, who would be charming companions for Elsie, etc.
"Your remark that your aunt was an oddity in some respects has excited my curiosity," said Rose.
"Ah! and I am to understand that you would like me to gratify it, eh?" returned her husband, smiling. "Her dress and the arrangement of her hair are in a style peculiarly her own (unless she has become more fashionable since I saw her, which is not likely); and she has an odd way of transposing her sentences and the names of those she addresses or introduces, or calling them by some other name suggested by some association with the real one. Miss Bell, for instance, she would probably call Miss Ring; Mr. Foot, Mr. Shoe, and so on."
"Does she do so intentionally, papa?" Elsie asked.
"No, not at all; her mistakes are quite innocently made, and are therefore very amusing."
Mrs. Horace Dinsmore's parents had been urging her to visit them, and after some further consideration it was decided that the whole family should go North for the summer, Mr. Dinsmore see his wife and little son safe at her father's, then take Elsie on to visit his aunt; the length of the visit to be determined after their arrival.
* * * * *
It was a lovely morning early in May; the air was vocal with the songs of birds and redolent with the breath of flowers all bathed in dew; delicate wreaths of snowy vapor rose slowly from the rippling surface of the river that threaded its way through the valley, and folded themselves about the richly-wooded hill-sides, behind which bright streaks of golden light were shooting upward, fair heralds of the coming of the king of day. On the outskirts of the pretty village of Lansdale, and in the midst of a well-kept garden and lawn, stood a tasteful dwelling, of Gothic architecture. Roses, honeysuckle, and Virginia creeper clambered over its walls, twined themselves about the pillars of its porticos and porches, or hung in graceful festoons from its many gables; the garden was gay with sweet spring flowers; the trees, the grass on the lawn, and the hedge that separated it from the road, all were liveried in that vivid green so refreshing to the eye.
"Phillis!