“I suppose your little son must have been playing with a pistol,” he answered, with evident reluctance.  “I heard him screaming, ’O, I’ve killed my father, my dear, dear father!’”

“Eddie!” she groaned, staggering back against the wall, and putting her hand over her eyes.

“My dear madam!” “My dear Mrs. Travilla,” the gentlemen exclaimed simultaneously, “do not let it distress you so, since it must have been the merest accident, and the consequences are not so serious as they might have been.”

“But he was disobeying his father, and has nearly taken his life,” she moaned low and tremulously, the big tears coursing down her cheeks.  “Oh, my son, my son!”

The gentlemen looked uneasily at each other, scarcely knowing what consolation to offer; but a well known step approached, hastily, yet with caution, and the next instant Elsie was clasped in her father’s arms.

“My darling, my poor darling!” he said with emotion, as she laid her head on his breast, with a burst of almost hysterical weeping.

He caressed her silently.  How could he ask the question trembling on his lips? what meant this bitter weeping?  His eye sought that of the physician, who promptly answered the unspoken query with the same cheering report he had just given her.

Mr. Dinsmore was intensely relieved.  “Thank God that it is no worse!” he said in low, reverent tones.  “Elsie, daughter, cheer up, he will soon be well again.”

Mr. Leland, taking leave, offered to return and watch by the sick bed that night; but Mr. Dinsmore, while joining Elsie in cordial thanks, claimed it as his privilege.

“Ah, well, don’t hesitate to call upon me whenever I can be of use,” said Mr. Leland, and with a kindly “Good evening,” he and the doctor retired, Mr. Dinsmore seeing them to the door.

Returning, he found Elsie still in the parlor where he had left her.

She was speaking to a servant, “Go, Prilla, look for the children, and bring them in.  It is getting late for them to be out.”

The girl went, and Elsie saying to her father that Prilla had brought word that Mr. Travilla was now sleeping, begged him to sit down and talk with her for a moment.  The tears fell fast as she spoke.  It was long since he had seen her so moved.

“Dear daughter, why distress yourself thus?” he said, folding her in his arms, and drawing her head to a resting place upon his breast; “your husband’s injuries are not very serious.  Dr. Burton is not one to deceive us with false hopes.”

“No, papa, oh, how thankful I am to know he is not in danger; but—­oh, papa, papa! to think that Eddie did it! that my own son should have so nearly taken his father’s life!  I grow sick with horror at the very thought!”

“Yet it must have been the merest accident, the child almost idolizes his father.”

“I had thought so, but he must have been disobeying that father’s positive command else this could not have happened.  I could never have believed my son could be so disobedient, and it breaks my heart to think of it all.”