"
"Papa," she cried, lifting a very bright face to his, "what a load you
have taken from my mind."
CHAPTER EIGHTH.
"A mighty pain to love it is
And 'tis a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain."
--COWLEY.
One lovely afternoon in the second week of their stay at Viamede, Mr.
Dinsmore and his daughter were seated in the shade of the trees on the
lawn, she busied with some fancy-work while her father read aloud to her.
As he paused to turn a leaf, "Papa," she said, glancing off down the
bayou, "there is a steamer coming, the same that brought us, I think; and
see, it is rounding to at our landing. Can it be bringing us a guest?"
"Yes, a gentleman is stepping ashore. Why, daughter, it is Harold
Allison."
"Harold! oh, how delightful!" And rising they hastened to meet and welcome
him with truly Southern warmth of hospitality.
"Harold! how good of you!" cried Elsie. "Mamma wrote us that you were
somewhere in this region, and if I'd had your address, I should have sent
you an invitation to come and stay as long as possible."
"And you have done well and kindly by us to come without waiting for
that," Mr. Dinsmore said, shaking the hand of his young brother-in-law
with a warmth of cordiality that said more than his words.
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