“Dear papa,” replied the little girl meekly, “you wrong poor mammy, if you think she would ever uphold me in disobedience to you; for on the contrary, she has always told me that I ought, on all occasions, to yield a ready and cheerful obedience to every command, or even wish of yours, unless it was contrary to the word of God.”

“There! that is just it!” said he, interrupting her with a frown; “she and Mrs. Murray have brought you up to believe that you and they are wiser and more capable of interpreting the Bible, and deciding questions of right and wrong, than your father; and that is precisely the notion that I am determined to get out of your head.”

She opened her lips to reply, but bidding her be silent, he turned to leave her; but she clung to him, looking beseechingly up into his face.

“Well,” he said, “what is it—­what do you want?”

She struggled for utterance.

“Oh, papa!” she sobbed, “I feel so sad and lonely to-night—­will you not sit down a little while and take me on your knee?—­my heart aches so to lay my head against you just for one moment.  Oh, papa, dear papa, will you not let me—­will you not kiss me once, just once?  You know I am all alone!—­all alone!”

He could not resist her pleading looks and piteous accents.  A tear trembled in his eye, and hastily seating himself, he drew her to his knee, folded her for an instant in his arms, laid her head against his breast, kissed her lips, her brow, her cheek; and then putting her from him, without speaking a word, walked quickly away.

Elsie stood for a moment where he had left her, then sinking on her knees before the sofa, whence he had just risen, she laid her head down upon it, weeping and sobbing most bitterly, “Oh! papa, papa! oh, mammy, mammy, dear, dear mammy! you are all gone, all gone! and I am alone! alone! all alone!—­nobody to love me—­nobody to speak to me.  Oh, mammy!  Oh, papa! come back, come back to me—­to your poor little Elsie, for my heart is breaking.”

Alas! that caress, so earnestly pleaded for, had only by contrast increased her sense of loneliness and desolation.  But in the midst of her bitter grief a loving, gentle voice came to her ear, whispering in sweetest tones, “I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”  “When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, I, the Lord, will take thee up.”  “I will deliver thee in six troubles; yea, in seven there shall no evil touch thee.”  And the sobs were hushed—­the tears flowed more quietly, until at length they ceased altogether, and the little sorrowing one fell asleep.

“As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you; and ye shall be comforted.”

CHAPTER VIII.

“No future hour can rend my heart like this, Save that which breaks it.”

MATURIN’S BERTRAM.

“Unless thy law had been my delight, I should then have perished in mine affliction.”