Mrs. Travilla had some time since found it absolutely necessary to give her personal attention to her own household, and Adelaide, quite worn out with nursing, needed rest; and so, with a little help from Chloe, Mr. Dinsmore took the whole care of his little girl, mixing and administering her medicines with his own hand, giving her her food, soothing her in her hours of restlessness, reading, talking, singing to her—­exerting all his powers for her entertainment, and never weary of waiting upon her.  He watched by her couch night and day; only now and then snatching a few hours of sleep on a sofa in her room, while the faithful old nurse took his place by her side.

One day he had been reading to Elsie, while she lay on her sofa.  Presently he closed the book, and looking at her, noticed that her eyes were fixed upon his face with a troubled expression.

“What is it, dearest?” he asked.

“Papa,” she said in a doubtful, hesitating way, “it seems as if I had seen you before; have I, papa?”

“Why, surely, darling,” he answered, trying to laugh, though he trembled inwardly, “I have been with you for nearly two weeks, and you have seen me every day.”

“No, papa; but I mean before.  Did I dream that you gave me a doll once?  Were you ever vexed with me?  Oh, papa, help me to think,” she said in a troubled, anxious tone, rubbing her hand across her forehead as she spoke.

“Don’t try to think, darling,” he replied cheerfully, as he raised her, shook up her pillows, and settled her more comfortably on them.  “I am not in the least vexed with you; there is nothing wrong, and I love you very, very dearly.  So shut your eyes and try to go to sleep.”

She looked only half satisfied, but closed her eyes as he bade her, and was soon asleep.  She seemed thoughtful and absent all the rest of the day, every now and then fixing the same troubled, questioning look on him, and it was quite impossible to interest her in any subject for more than a few moments at a time.

That night, for the first time, he went to his own room, leaving her entirely to Chloe’s care.  He had watched by her after she was put in bed for the night, until she had fallen asleep; but he left her, feeling a little anxious, for the same troubled look was on her face, as though even in sleep memory was reasserting her sway.

When he entered her room again in the morning, although it was still early, he found her already dressed for the day, in a pretty, loose wrapper, and laid upon the sofa.

“Good-morning, little daughter; you are quite an early bird to-day, for a sick one,” he said gayly.

But as he drew near, he was surprised and pained to see that she was trembling very much, and that her eyes were red with weeping.

“What is it, dearest?” he asked, bending over her in tender solicitude; “what ails my little one?”

“Oh, papa,” she said, bursting into tears, “I remember it all now.  Are you angry with me yet? and must I go away from you as soon as—­”