“Here is a letter for you, Elsie,” said her grandfather, the next morning, at the breakfast-table.  “Here, Pomp”—­to the servant—­“hand this to Miss Elsie.”

The child’s eyes sparkled with pleasure, and she held out her hand eagerly to take it.

But her father interfered.

“No, Pomp,” he said, “bring it to me; and remember, in future, that I am to receive all Miss Elsie’s letters.”

Elsie relinquished it instantly, without a word of remonstrance, but her heart was so full that she could not eat another morsel; and in spite of all her efforts the tears would come into her eyes, as she saw her father deliberately open and read the letter, and then refold and put it into his pocket.  He looked at her as he did so, and seeing the tears rolling down her cheeks, sternly bade her leave the room,

She obeyed, feeling more angry and rebellious toward him than she ever had before.  It seemed so cruel and unjust to deprive her of her own letters; one of Miss Rose’s—­as she knew it must be, for she had no other correspondent—­which never contained anything but what was good, and kind, and comforting.  They were always a great treat to the little girl, and she had been longer than usual without one, and had been looking longingly for it every day for several weeks past; for sad and lonely as her days now were, she felt very keenly the need of her friend’s sympathy and love; and now to have this letter taken from her just as she laid her hand upon it, seemed a disappointment almost too great to be endured.  She had a hard struggle with herself before she could put away entirely her feelings of anger and impatience.

“Oh! this is not honoring papa,” she said to herself; “he may have good reasons for what he has done; and as I belong to him, he certainly has a sort of right to everything that is mine.  I will try to be submissive, and wait patiently until he sees fit to give me my letter, as perhaps he will, some time.”

All the morning the thought of her letter was scarcely out of her mind, and as soon as she was released from school duties, and dressed for dinner, she went down to the drawing-room, hoping that her father might be there, and that he would give it to her.

But he was not in, and when he came, brought a number of strangers with him, who remained until after tea; so that all the afternoon passed away without affording her an opportunity to speak to him.  But, to her great joy, the visitors all left early in the evening, excepting a very mild, pleasant-looking, elderly gentleman, who had settled himself in the portico, with Enna on his knees.

Elsie was watching her fathers movements, and was not sorry to see him, after the departure of his guests, return to the drawing-room, and take up the evening paper.

No one else was at that end of the room, so now, at last, she might speak to him without fear of being overheard.  She was glad, too, that his back was towards her, for she had grown very timid about approaching him of late.  She stole softly up to the back of his chair, and stood there for some moments without speaking; her heart beat so fast with mingled hope and fear, that it seemed impossible to command her voice.