“Bless you for those words, dearest,” he said; “God helping me you never shall have cause to regret them.”

A door opened, and a handsome, dark eyed boy, a miniature likeness of his father, came hurrying in.  “Elsie!  Papa said I might come and see how beautiful you are!” he cried, as if resolutely mastering some strong emotion, “but I’m not to say anything to make you cry.  I’m not to hug you hard and spoil your dress.  Oh, but you do look like an angel, only without the wings.  Mr. Travilla, you’ll be good, good to her, won’t you?” and the voice almost broke down.

“I will, indeed, Horace; you may be sure of that.  And you needn’t feel as if you are losing her, she’ll be back again in a few weeks, please God.”

“But not to live at home any more!” he cried impetuously.  “No, no, I wasn’t to say that, I——­”

“Come here and kiss me, my dear little brother,” Elsie said tenderly; “and you shall hug me, too, as hard as you like, before I go.”

He was not slow to accept the invitation, and evidently had a hard struggle with himself, to refrain from giving the forbidden hug.

“You may hug me instead, Horace, if you like,” said Mr. Travilla; “you know we’re very fond of each other, and are going to be brothers now.”

“Yes, that I will, for I do like you ever so much,” cried the boy, springing into the arms held out to him, and receiving and returning a warm embrace, while the sister looked on with eyes glistening with pleasure.

“Now, in a few minutes I’ll become your brother Edward; and that’s what I want you to call me in future.  Will you do it?”

“Yes, sir; if papa doesn’t forbid me.”

A light tap at the door leading into the boudoir, and Walter put in his head.  “The company, the clergy-man, and the hour have come.  Are the bride and groom ready?”

“Yes.”

Releasing the child, Mr. Travilla drew Elsie’s hand within his arm.  For an instant he bent his eyes with earnest, questioning gaze upon her face.  It wore an expression that touched him to the heart, so perfectly trustful, so calmly, peacefully happy, yet with a deep tender solemnity mingling with and subduing her joy.  The soft eyes were misty with unshed tears as she lifted them to his.

“It is for life,” she whispered; “and I am but young and foolish; shall you never regret?”

“Never, never; unless you grow weary of your choice.”

The answering smile was very sweet and confiding.  “I have not chosen lightly, and do not fear because it is for life,” was its unspoken language.