till one hope, and
as long as he could expect De Neufville's arrival all was not lost,
and he must still wait in patience, still struggle with the worm that
gnawed at his heart. With such painful thoughts as these was he busied
when the door opened, and Elise entered with a glowing countenance.

She was so happy, that in her selfishness she did not perceived his
troubled and care-worn looks. "Oh" said she, kissing his hand, "I
am so happy at last to find you alone at home. Several times have I
sought you here."

"With letters for me?" asked he, hurriedly, for he had not observed
Elise's excited countenance. Both were so occupied with their own
thoughts and feelings, that they took note of nothing else. "Have not
letters arrived?" asked he once more.

"No letters have arrived," said she, smiling joyously, "but happiness
has come."

"De Neufville is here, then!" cried Gotzkowsky, anxiously, hurrying
toward the door.

"What has De Neufville to do with it?" asked Elise, with surprise
holding him back.

Gotzkowsky stared for a moment, terrified at her bright face, and then
a sad smile stole across his own. "Poor fool that I am!" he muttered;
"I complain of the egotism of men, while I am selfish enough to think
only of myself." He drew Elise toward him, and looking at her with
infinite tenderness, said, "Well, my child, speak: what happiness has
arrived?"

"Look at me," said she, playfully; "can you read nothing in my looks?"

Sadly he looked down deep into her large bright eyes. "Oh, your eyes
shine as bright as two stars of hope, the last that are left me!"

Elise threw both her arms around his neck, and kissed him, then drew
him with gentle force toward the ottoman, and, as she forced him down
on the cushions, she took her own seat, smiling, on the stool at his
feet. "How often, my father, have you sat here and cared for me! Ah!
I know well how much sorrow I have caused you in these last four sad
years, I could not command my heart to forget. You knew this, and yet
you have been considerate and gentle as a mother, and kind as the best
of fathers. You were never angry with me on account of my grief; you
knew of it, and yet you allowed me to weep." She took his hand in
hers, and for a moment covered her hot, burning face with it, then
looked cheerfully up in his face. "See," she said, "I do not shed any
more tears, or, if I do, they are tears of joy. My father, I come to
ask your blessing. Feodor is again here;