ode up and
handed the mail-box to his master. Mr. Travilla hastened to open it, gave
Elsie her letters and began the perusal of his own.

A softly breathed sigh called his attention to her.

"What is it, little wife?" he asked; "your face is grave almost to
sadness."

"I was thinking," she answered, with her eye still upon her father's
letter open in her hand. "Papa says," and she read aloud from the sheet,
"How long you are lingering in Viamede. When will you return? Tell
Travilla I am longing for a sight of the dear face his eyes are feasting
upon, and he must remember his promise not to part us.

"I am writing in your boudoir. I have been thinking of the time (it seems
but yesterday) when I had you here a little girl, sitting on my knee
reciting your lessons or listening with almost rapt attention to my
remarks and explanations. Never before had tutor so dear, sweet, and
interesting a scholar!"

"A fond father's partiality," she remarked, looking up with a smile and
blush. "But never, I am sure, was such another tutor; his lucid
explanations, intense interest in the subject and his pupil, apt
illustrations, and fund of information constantly opened up to me, made my
lessons a delight."

"He has made you wonderfully well informed and thorough," said her
husband.

She colored with pleasure.

"Such words are very sweet, coming from your lips. You appreciate papa."

"Yes, indeed, and his daughter too, I hope," he answered, smiling fondly
upon her. "Yes, your father and I have been like brothers since we were
little fellows. It seems absurd to think of him in any other relation."

"But what about going home? isn't it time, as papa thinks?"

"That you shall decide, _ma chere_; our life here has been very delightful
to me, and to you also, I hope."

"Very, if we had your mother and papa and mamma and the children here, I
should like to stay all winter. But as it is I think we ought to return
soon." He assented, and after a little more consultation they decided to
go soon--not later than the middle of the next week, but the day was not
set.

CHAPTER FOURTEENTH.

"The low reeds bent by the streamlet's side,
And hills to the thunder peal replied;
The lightning burst on its fearful way
While the heavens were lit in its red array."
--WILLIS GAYLORD CLARK.

"Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge
Accurs'd, and in a cursed hour he hies."