Mr. Dinsmore replied only by a convulsive grasp of the friendly hand held out to him, and hurrying away to his own apartments, shut himself up there to give way to his bitter grief and remorse where no human eye could see him.

For hours he paced backward and forward, weeping and groaning in such mental agony as he had never known before.

His usual fastidious neatness in person and dress was entirely forgotten, and it never once occurred to his recollection that he had been travelling for several days and nights in succession, through heat and dust, without making any change in his clothing.  And he was equally unconscious that he had passed many hours without tasting any food.

The breakfast-bell rang, but he paid no heed to the summons.  Then John, his faithful servant, knocked at his door, but was refused admittance, and went sorrowfully back to the kitchen with the waiter of tempting viands he had so carefully prepared, hoping to induce his master to eat.

But Horace Dinsmore could not stay away from his child while she yet lived; and though he might not watch by her bed of suffering, nor clasp her little form in his arms, as he longed to do, he must be where he could hear the sound of that voice, so soon, alas! to be hushed in death.

He entered the room noiselessly, and took his station in a distant corner, where she could not possibly see him.

She was moaning, as if in pain, and the sound went to his very heart.  Sinking down upon a seat, he bowed his head upon his hands, and struggled to suppress his emotion, increased tenfold by the words which the next instant fell upon his ear, spoken in his little daughter’s own sweet voice.

“Yes, mamma; yes,” she said, “I am coming!  Take me to Jesus.”

Then, in a pitiful, wailing tone, “I’m all alone!  There’s nobody to love me.  Oh, papa, kiss me just once!  I will be good; but I must love Jesus best, and obey him always.”

He rose hastily, as if to go to her, but the doctor shook his head, and he sank into his seat again with a deep groan.

“Oh, papa!” she shrieked, as if in mortal terror, “don’t send me there! they will kill me!  Oh, papa, have mercy on your own little daughter!”

It was only by the strongest effort of his will that he could keep his seat.

But Adelaide was speaking soothingly to her.

“Darling,” she said, “your papa loves you; he will not send you away.”

And Elsie answered, in her natural tone, “But I’m going to mamma.  Dear Aunt Adelaide, comfort my poor papa when I am gone.”

Her father started, and trembled between hope and fear.  Surely she was talking rationally now; but ah! those ominous words!  Was she indeed about to leave him, and go to her mother?

But she was speaking again in trembling, tearful tones:  “He wouldn’t kiss me! he said he never would till I submit; and oh! he never breaks his word.  Oh! papa, papa, will you never love me any more?  I love you so very dearly.  You’ll kiss me when I’m dying, papa dear, won’t you?”