oth North and South, and from their distant standpoint
they watched with deep interest and anxiety the course of events fraught
with such momentous consequences to their native land.

Neither Mr. Dinsmore nor Mr. Travilla had ever been a politician; but both
they and their wives were dear lovers of their country, by which they
meant the whole Union. The three who were natives of the South
acknowledged that that section was dearer to them than any other, but that
the whole was nearer and dearer than any part; while Rose said "she knew
no difference; it was all her own beloved native land, to her mind one and
indivisible."

They led a cheerful, quiet life in their Italian home, devoting themselves
to each other and their children; Mr. Dinsmore acting the part of tutor to
young Horace, as he had done to Elsie.

Her little ones were the pets and playthings of the entire household,
while she and their father found the sweetest joy in caring for them and
watching over and assisting the development of their natures, mental,
moral, and physical. Their children would never be left to the care and
training of servants, however faithful and devoted.

Nor would those of Mr. Dinsmore and Rose. In the esteem of these wise,
Christian parents the God-given charge of their own offspring took
undoubted precedence of the claims of society.

Thus placidly passed the summer and autumn, the monotony of their
secluded life relieved by the enjoyment of literary pursuits, and varied
by walks, rides, drives, and an occasional sail, in bright, still weather,
over the waters of the lovely bay.

Elsie entered the drawing-room one morning, with the little daughter in
her arms. The child was beautiful as a cherub, the mother sweet and fair
as ever, nor a day older in appearance than while yet a girl in her
father's house.

She found him sole occupant of the room, pacing to and fro with downcast
eyes and troubled countenance. But looking up quickly at the sound of her
footsteps he came hastily towards her.

"Come to grandpa," he said, holding out his hands to the little one; then
as he took her in his arms, "My dear daughter, if I had any authority over
you now----"

"Papa," she interrupted, blushing deeply, while the quick tears sprang to
her eyes, "you hurt me! Please don't speak so. I am as ready now as ever
to obey your slightest behest."

"Then, my darling, don't carry this child. You are not strong, and I fear
will do yourself an inj