new light, and he called himself a
brute, a monster, a cruel persecutor, and longed to annihilate time and
space, that he might clasp his child in his arms, tell her how dearly he
loved her, and assure her that never again would he require her to do
aught against her conscience.

Again and again he took out his sister's letters and read and re-read
them, vainly trying to assure himself that there was no danger; that she
_could_ not be so very ill. "She is so young," he said to himself, "and
has always been healthy, it _cannot_ be that she will die." He started
and shuddered at the word. "Oh, no! it is impossible!" he mentally
exclaimed. "God is too merciful to send me so terrible an affliction."

He had not received Adelaide's last, and was therefore quite unprepared
to find his child so near the borders of the grave.

It was early on the morning of the day after her fearful relapse, that a
carriage drove rapidly up the avenue, and Horace Dinsmore looked from its
window, half expecting to see again the little graceful figure that had
been wont to stand upon the steps of the portico, ready to greet his
arrival with such outgushings of joy and love.

But, "Pshaw!" he exclaimed to himself, "of course she is not yet able to
leave her room; but my return will soon set her up again--the darling! My
poor little pet!" he added, with a sigh, as memory brought her vividly
before him as he had last seen her, and recalled her sorrowful, pleading
looks and words; "my poor darling, you shall have all the love and
caresses now that your heart can desire." And he sprang out, glancing up
at the windows above, to see if she were not looking down at him; but she
was not to be seen; yet it did not strike him as strange that all the
shutters were closed, since it was the east side of the house, and a warm
summer's sun was shining full upon them.

A servant met him at the door, looking grave and sad, but Mr. Dinsmore
waited not to ask any questions, and merely giving the man a nod,
sprang up the stairs, and hurried to his daughter's room, all dusty
and travel-stained as he was.

He heard her laugh as he reached the door. "Ah! she must be a great deal
better; she will soon be quite well again, now that I have come," he
murmured to himself, with a smile, as he pushed it open.

But alas! what a sight met his eye. The doctor, Mrs. Travilla, Adelaide,
and Chloe, all grouped about the bed, where lay his little daughter,
tossing about and r