He had not received Adelaide’s last, and was therefore quite unprepared to find his child so near the borders of the grave.

It was early on the morning of the day after her fearful relapse, that a carriage drove rapidly up the avenue, and Horace Dinsmore looked from its window, half expecting to see again the little graceful figure that had been wont to stand upon the steps of the portico, ready to greet his arrival with such outgushings of joy and love.

But, “Pshaw!” he exclaimed to himself, “of course she is not yet able to leave her room; but my return will soon set her up again—­the darling!  My poor little pet!” he added, with a sigh, as memory brought her vividly before him as he had last seen her, and recalled her sorrowful, pleading looks and words; “my poor darling, you shall have all the love and caresses now that your heart can desire.”  And he sprang out, glancing up at the windows above, to see if she were not looking down at him; but she was not to be seen; yet it did not strike him as strange that all the shutters were closed, since it was the east side of the house, and a warm summer’s sun was shining full upon them.

A servant met him at the door, looking grave and sad, but Mr. Dinsmore waited not to ask any questions, and merely giving the man a nod, sprang up the stairs, and hurried to his daughter’s room, all dusty and travel-stained as he was.

He heard her laugh as he reached the door.  “Ah! she must be a great deal better; she will soon be quite well again, now that I have come,” he murmured to himself, with a smile, as he pushed it open.

But alas! what a sight met his eye.  The doctor, Mrs. Travilla, Adelaide, and Chloe, all grouped about the bed, where lay his little daughter, tossing about and raving in the wildest delirium; now shrieking with fear, now laughing an unnatural, hysterical laugh, and so changed that no one could have recognized her; the little face so thin, the beautiful hair of which he had been so proud all gone, the eyes sunken deep in her head, and their soft light changed to the glare of insanity.  Could it be Elsie, his own beautiful little Elsie?  He could scarcely believe it, and a sickening feeling of horror and remorse crept over him.

No one seemed aware of his entrance, for all eyes were fixed upon the little sufferer.  But as he drew near the bed, with a heart too full for speech, Elsie’s eye fell upon him, and with a wild shriek of mortal terror, she clung to her aunt, crying out, “Oh, save me! save me! he’s coming to take me away to the Inquisition!  Go away! go away!” and she looked at him with a countenance so full of fear and horror, that the doctor hastily took him by the arm to lead him away.

But Mr. Dinsmore resisted.

“Elsie! my daughter! it is I! your own father, who loves you dearly!” he said in tones of the keenest anguish, as he bent over her, and tried to take her hand.  But she snatched it away, and clung to her aunt again, hiding her face, and shuddering with fear.