“Yes, father, how often have those promises been my comfort and support as the inheritance of both my children and myself; inherited by me from both you and my sainted mother and her pious ancestors.”

“And from mine; for my mother was a devoted Christian and came of a long line of God-fearing men and women.  But I see nothing yet of Edward and his party; they must have taken another road.”

“Yes, sir; and shall we not turn now?  I ought not to be long away from my poor sick darlings.”

“I think it would be well to return by the other road; we shall reach it in a moment, and our ride will be lengthened by but a half mile or so.”

She acquiesced in his decision, as was her custom.

On the homeward way, as they neared the cross-road leading to the city, they saw a boy on horseback coming at a hard gallop down it in their direction.

On catching sight of them he held aloft what looked like a letter, waving it about his head in evident desire to attract their attention; then as he reached their road he halted and waited for them to come up.

“Mr. Dinsmore, from the Oaks or Ion, isn’t it?” he queried, lifting his cap and bowing to the lady and her escort as they reined in their steeds close at hand.

“Yes.”

“A telegram for you, sir.”

Mr. Dinsmore took the missive, tore it open and glanced at the contents, then, handing it to Elsie, paid the boy and dismissed him.

“Oh, my poor darling!” she exclaimed, her tears dropping upon the paper.  “Father, what shall we do? tell her at once?  Perhaps that would be best.”

“Yes; I think it is her right.  But of course it must be done as gently as possible.  Dear daughter, do not grieve too sorely for her; try to trust her as well as yourself in your heavenly Father’s hands.”

“I will, papa, I will! but oh my heart bleeds for her!”

“Will you break the news to her? or shall I?”

“My kindest of fathers! you would if possible spare me every trial, bear all my burdens.  But perhaps the dear child may suffer less in hearing the sad news from her mother’s lips, as, in her place, I could bear it better from yours than from any other.”

“Unselfish as ever, my darling,” he said, “but I believe you are right—­that the blow will be somewhat softened to Elsie coming to her through the medium of her tender and dearly loved mother.”

“I think, papa,” Mrs. Travilla said, checking her horse to a walk as they entered the avenue at Ion, “I shall reserve my communication until my poor child has had her breakfast.”

He expressed approval of her decision, adding interrogatively, “You will breakfast with the family this morning?”

“Yes, sir; if I find all going well in the sick-room.”

A servant was in waiting to lead the horses away to the stable.  Violet, Edward, Harold and Herbert, just returned from their ride, were on the veranda.