“What is the latest news from home, Adelaide?” asked Mr. Dinsmore, with evident anxiety.  “I have not heard a word for months past.”

“I had a long letter from Lora yesterday;” she answered; “the first since the close of the war.  Her eldest son, Ned, and Enna’s second husband, were killed in the battle of Bentonville, last March.  Lora’s husband has lost an arm, one of his brothers a leg; the others are all killed, and the family utterly ruined.

“The Carringtons—­father and sons—­have all fallen, Sophie is here, with her orphan children; her mother-in-law, with her own daughter, Lucy Ross.  Philip has escaped unhurt.  They will all be here next week to attend May’s wedding.

“Papa, Louise—­you know that she too has lost her husband—­and Enna are all at the Oaks; for Roselands is a ruin, Ion not very much better, Lora says.”

“And the Oaks has escaped?”

“Yes, almost entirely; not being visible from the road.  Papa sends a message to you.  He is too heart-broken to write.  He knows he is welcome in your house; he is longing to see you, now his only son——­” Adelaide’s voice faltered, and it was a moment ere she could go on—­“but he would have you stay away till September, not risking a return during the hottest season; and, if you wish, he will attend to the plantation, hiring blacks to work it.”

“My poor, poor old father!” Mr. Dinsmore exclaimed, with emotion.  “Welcome in my house?  If I had but a dollar, I would share it with him.”

“He shall never want a home, while any of us live!” sprang simultaneously from the lips of Mr. Allison and Mr. Travilla.

Adelaide and Elsie were too much moved to speak, but each gave her husband a look of grateful affection.

“Thank you both,” Mr. Dinsmore said.  “Adelaide, I shall write my father to-day.  Does Lora say that he is well?”

Mrs. Allison could hardly speak for tears, as she answered, “He is not ill, but sadly aged by grief and care.  But you shall read the letter for yourself.  Stay to breakfast with us (there’s the bell), and I’ll give it to you afterwards.”

“Thanks; but I fear they may wait breakfast for me at the other house.”

“No; I will send them word at once that we have kept you.”

There was an effort after cheerfulness as they gathered about the plentiful board; but too many sad thoughts and memories had been called up in the hearts of the elders of the party:  and only the children were really gay.

Edward Allison was pale and thin, his health having suffered from the hardships incident to his army life.

Elsie remarked it, in a tone of grief and concern; but he answered with a smile, “I have escaped so much better than many others, that I have more reason for thankfulness than complaint.  I am hearty and robust compared to poor Harold.”

A look of deep sadness stole over his face as he thus named his younger brother.