verything and to be sinking into a kind of apathy.

"I wish," said Mrs. Dinsmore one day, as Elsie passed out into the
garden, "that Horace had sent that child to boarding-school, and stayed
at home himself. Your father says he needs him, and as to her--she has
grown so melancholy of late, it is enough to give one the vapors just to
look at her."

"I am beginning to feel troubled about her," replied Adelaide, to whom
the remark had been addressed; "she seems to be losing flesh, and
strength, too, so fast. The other day I went into her room, and found
Fanny crying heartily over a dress of Elsie's which she was altering.
'Oh! Miss Adelaide,' she sobbed, 'the chile gwine die for sartain!' 'Why
no, Fanny,' I said, 'what makes you think so? she is not sick.' But she
shook her head, saying, 'Just look a here, Miss Adelaide,' showing me how
much she was obliged to take the dress in to make it fit, and then she
told me Elsie had grown so weak that the least exertion overcame her. I
think I must write to Horace."

"Oh, nonsense, Adelaide!" said her mother, "I wouldn't trouble him
about it. Children are very apt to grow thin and languid during the hot
weather, and I suppose fretting after him makes it affect her rather more
than usual; and just now in the holidays she has nothing else to occupy
her thoughts. She will do well enough."

So Adelaide's fears were relieved, and she delayed writing, thinking that
her mother surely knew best.

Mrs. Travilla sat in her cool, shady parlor, quietly knitting. She was
alone, but the glance she occasionally sent from the window seemed to say
that she was expecting some one.

"Edward is unusually late to-day," she murmured half aloud. "But there he
is at last," she added, as her son appeared, riding slowly up the avenue.
He dismounted and entered the house, and in another moment had thrown
himself down upon the sofa, by her side. She looked at him uneasily; for
with the quick ear of affection she had noticed that his step lacked its
accustomed elasticity, and his voice its cheerful, hearty tones. His
orders to the servant who came to take his horse had been given in a
lower and more subdued key than usual, and his greeting to herself,
though perfectly kind and respectful, was grave and absent in manner; and
now his thoughts seemed far away, and the expression of his countenance
was sad and troubled.

"What ails you, Edward--is anything wrong, my son?" she asked, laying her
hand on his