“But, dearest,” he added, “you must allow others to share your labor, others upon whom she certainly has a nearer claim.  Where is Mrs. Conly?”

“Aunt Louise says she has no talent for nursing,” Elsie answered with a half smile, “and that Prilla, mammy and Dinah are quite capable and I am very foolish to take the work off their hands.”

“And I am partly of her opinion,” he responded playfully; then more seriously, “will you not, for my sake and for your children’s, spare yourself a little.”

“And for your father’s,” added Mr. Dinsmore, whose quiet step as he entered the room, they had not heard.

Elsie turned to him with both hands extended, a smile on her lips, a tear in her eye, “My dear father, how are you?”

“Quite well, daughter,” he said, taking the hands and kissing the rich red lips, as beautiful and as sweet now, as in her childhood or youth, “but troubled and anxious about you.  Are you determined to be quite obstinate in this thing?”

“No,” she said, “I hope not; but what is it that you and my husband would have me do?”

“Take your regular rest at night,” answered the one, the other adding, “And go out for a little air and exercise every day.”

Arthur, coming in at that moment, from his morning visit to his patient, who lay in the next room, joined his entreaties to theirs, and upon his assurance that Enna was improving, Elsie consented to do as they desired.

Still the greater part of her time was spent at Enna’s bedside, and her family saw but little of her.

This was a trial to them all; but especially to the eldest, who was longing for “mamma’s” dear society; she fully appreciated Molly’s and Eddie’s companionship, dearly loved that of her father, and esteemed Vi’s as very sweet, but no one could fill her mother’s place.

Probably not even to her would she have unburdened her heart, she could scarce bear to look into it herself, but the dear mother’s very presence, though she might only sit in silence by her side, would be as balm to her troubled spirit.

She forced herself to be cheerful when with the others, and to take an interest in what interested them, but when left alone would drop her book or work and fall into a reverie, or wander out into the grounds, choosing the most quiet and secluded parts; often the shady banks of the lakelet, where she and Lester had passed many an hour together in days gone by.

She had gone there one morning, leaving the others at home busied with their lessons.  Seated on a rustic bench, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes on the ground and a book lying unheeded in the grass at her feet, she was startled by a sound as of some heavy body falling from a height and crashing through the branches of a thick clump of trees on the other side of the lake.

She sprang up and stood looking and listening with a palpitating heart.  She could see that a large branch had broken from a tall tree, and lay upon the ground and—­yes, something else lay beside or on it, half concealed from her view by the green leaves and twigs; and—­did she hear a groan?