“Yes, I know!  I know!” Elsie answered, again pressing her hands to her head; “but I cannot think, and everything seems so dreadful.”

Adelaide was much alarmed, for Elsie looked quite wild for a moment; but after staying with her for a considerable time, saying all she could to soothe and comfort her—­reminding her that it would be some weeks ere the plan could be carried out, and that in that time something might occur to change her father’s mind, she left her, though still in deep distress, apparently calm and composed.

CHAPTER XI.

“In vain she seeks to close her weary eyes,
Those eyes still swim incessantly in tears—­
Hope in her cheerless bosom fading dies,
Distracted by a thousand cruel fears,
While banish’d from his love forever she appears.”

MRS. TIGHE’S PSYCHE.

When thus alone the little Elsie fell upon her knees, weeping and sobbing.  “Oh!” she groaned, “I cannot, cannot bear it!”

Then she thought of the agony in the garden, and that bitter cry, “Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me!” followed by the submissive prayer, “If this cup may not pass from me except I drink it, thy will, not mine be done.”

She opened her Bible and read of his sufferings, so meekly and patiently borne, without a single murmur or complaint; borne by One who was free from all stain of sin; born not for himself, but for others; sufferings to which her own were not for a moment to be compared; and then she prayed that she might bear the image of Jesus; that like him she might be enabled to yield a perfect submission to her heavenly Father’s will, and to endure with patience and meekness whatever trial he might see fit to appoint her.

Elsie was far from well, and for many long hours after she had sought her pillow she lay tossing restlessly from side to side in mental and physical pain, her temples throbbing, and her heart aching with its intense longing for the love that now seemed farther from her than ever.  And thought—­troubled, anxious, distracting thought—­was busy in her brain; all the stories of martyrs and captive nuns which she had ever read—­all the descriptions of the horrible tortures inflicted by Rome upon her wretched victims, came vividly to her recollection, and when at length she fell asleep, it was but to wake again, trembling with fright from a dream that she was in the dungeons of the Inquisition.

Then again she slept, but only to dream of new horrors which seemed terribly real even when she awoke; and thus, between sleeping and waking, the hours dragged slowly along, until at last the day dawned, after what had seemed to the little girl the longest night she had ever known.

Her maid came in at the usual hour, and was surprised and alarmed to find her young mistress still in bed, with cheeks burning and eyes sparkling with fever, and talking in a wild, incoherent manner.