“I hope not, darling” replied Chloe, soothingly.  “Massa Horace am pretty sick, I know; but I tinks de good Lord spare him, if we pray.”

“Oh, yes, yes, mammy, let us pray for him.  Let us both pray very earnestly, and I am sure God will spare him, because he has promised to grant whatever two shall agree to ask.”

They knelt down, and Chloe prayed in her broken way; and when she had finished, Elsie poured out such a prayer as comes only from a heart ready to break with its load of sorrow and care.

None but he who has tried it can tell what a blessed relief comes to those who thus “cast their care on Jesus.”  Elsie’s burden was not less, but she no longer bore it alone; she had rolled it upon the Lord and he sustained her.  She shed a few quiet tears after she had laid her head upon her pillow, but soon forgot all her sorrows in a deep, sweet sleep, that lasted until morning.

It was still early when she awoke and sprang up, with the intention of hastening, as usual, to her father’s side; but alas! in another moment memory had recalled all the distressing events of the previous day, and, sinking back upon her pillow, she wept long and bitterly.

But at length she dried her tears, and, kneeling at the bedside, poured out her sorrows and supplications into the ear of her Saviour, and thus again grew calm and strong to endure.

As soon as she was dressed she went to her papa’s door, hoping to see some one who could tell her how he was; but no one came, and she dared not venture in, and her intense anxiety had yet found no relief when the bell summoned the family to breakfast.

The same cold looks awaited her there as on the night before, and the poor child could scarcely eat, and was glad when the comfortless meal was over.

She followed Adelaide to Mr. Dinsmore’s door, and begged her with tears and sobs to ask her papa to allow her to come to him, if it was only for one moment, just to look at him, and then go away again.

Adelaide was touched by her evident anxiety and distress, and said, almost kindly, as she laid her hand on the handle of the door, “Well, Elsie, I will ask him; but I have no idea that it will be of any use, unless you will give up your foolish obstinacy.”

Elsie stood outside waiting with a beating heart, and though her aunt was really gone but a moment, it seemed a long time to her ere the door again opened.

She looked up eagerly, and read the answer in Adelaide’s face, ere she heard the coldly spoken, stern message—­

“Your papa says you very well know the conditions on which you will be admitted to his presence, and that they are as unalterable as the laws of the Medes and Persians.”

The tears gushed from Elsie’s eyes, and she turned away with a gesture of despair.

“Elsie,” said her aunt, “let me advise you to give up at once; for I am perfectly certain you never can conquer your father.”