nly interested, questioning gaze upon the stranger.

"Then it is, it must be the same family," said the latter, half to
himself, half to Harold.

"Same as what, sir?"

"That letter I could not help hearing was dated Naples, signed Rose
Dinsmore, and talked of Elsie, Mr. Travilla, and their children. Now
Lieutenant Dinsmore told me he had a brother residing temporarily in
Naples, and also a niece, a Mrs. Elsie Travilla; and before going into the
fight he intrusted to me a small package directed to her, with the request
that, if he fell, I would have it forwarded to her when an opportunity
offered. Will you, sir, take charge of it, and see that it reaches the
lady's hands?"

"With pleasure. How glad she will be to get it, for she loved Walter
dearly."

"They were near of an age?"

"Yes; the uncle a trifle younger than the niece."

"Dinsmore and I were together almost constantly during the last six months
of his life, and became very intimate. My haversack, Smith, if you
please," addressing a nurse.

It was brought, opened, and a small package taken from it and given to
Harold.

He gazed upon it with sad thoughtfulness for a moment; then, bestowing it
safely in his breast-pocket, "Thank you very much," he said, "I will
deliver it with my own hand, if she returns from Europe as soon as we
expect."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHTH.

"She led me first to God;
Her words and prayers were my young spirit's dew."
--JOHN PIERPONT.

Elmgrove, the country-seat of the elder Mr. Allison, had never looked
lovelier than on a beautiful June morning in the year 1865.

The place had been greatly improved since Elsie's first sight of it, while
it was still Rose's girlhood's home where Mr. Dinsmore and his little
daughter were so hospitably entertained for many weeks.

There was now a second dwelling-house on the estate, but a few hundred
yards distant from the first, owned by Edward Allison, and occupied by
himself, wife, and children, of whom there were several.

Our friends from Naples had arrived the night before. The Dinsmores were
domiciled at the paternal mansion, the Travillas with Edward and Adelaide.

The sun was not yet an hour high as Elsie stood at the open window of her
dressing-room, looking out over the beautiful grounds to the brook beyond,
on whose grassy banks, years ago, she and Harold and Sophie had spent so
many happy hours. How vividly those scenes of he