“No, oh, no! he said he did not love a rebellious child,” she sobbed; “he said he would never kiss me again until I submit; and you know I cannot do that; and oh, Aunt Adelaide, he never breaks his word!”

“Oh, Horace!  Horace! will you never come? will you let her die? so young, so sweet, so fair!” wept Adelaide, wringing her hands.

But Elsie was speaking again, and she controlled herself to listen.

“Aunt Adelaide,” she murmured, in low, feeble tones, “I am too weak to hold a pen; will you write something for me?”

“I will, darling; I will do anything I can for you,” she replied.

Then turning to the maid, who had just entered the room:  “Fanny,” she said, “bring Miss Elsie’s writing-desk here, and set it close to the bedside.  Now you may take that waiter down-stairs, and you need not come in again until I ring for you.”

Elsie had started and turned her head on the opening of the door, as she invariably did, looking longingly, eagerly toward it—­then turned away again with a sigh of disappointment.

“Poor papa! poor, dear papa!” she murmured to herself; “he will be so lonely without his little daughter.  My heart aches for you, my own papa.”

“I am quite ready now, Elsie, dear.  What do you wish me to write?” asked her aunt.

“Aunt Adelaide,” said the little girl, looking earnestly at her, “do you know how much mamma was worth? how much money I would have if I lived to grow up?”

“No, dear,” she replied, much surprised at the question, for even in health Elsie had never seemed to care for riches; “I cannot say exactly, but I know it is a great many thousands.”

“And it will all be papa’s when I am gone, I suppose.  I am glad of that.  But I would like to give some of it away, if I might.  I know I have no right, because I am so young—­papa has told me that several times—­but I think he will like to do what I wish with a part of it; don’t you think so, too, Aunt Adelaide?”

Adelaide nodded assent; she dared not trust herself to speak, for she began to comprehend that it was neither more nor less than the last will and testament of her little niece, which she was requesting her to write.

“Well, then, Aunt Adelaide,” said the feeble little voice, “please write down that I want my dear papa to support one missionary to the heathen out of my money.  Now say that I know he will take care of my poor old mammy as long as she lives, and I hope that, for his little Elsie’s sake, he will be very, very kind to her, and give her everything she wants.  And I want him to do something for Mrs. Murray, too.  Mamma loved her, and so do I; for she was very kind to me always, and taught me about Jesus; and so I want papa to give her a certain sum every year; enough to keep her quite comfortable, for she is getting old, and I am afraid she is very poor.”

“I have written all that, Elsie; is there anything more?” asked Adelaide, scarcely able to command her voice.