But, both being eminently fitted to shine in
society, and each proud to display the other, this state of things did
not, after all, so greatly interfere with their enjoyment.
In fact, so delightful did they find their life in that lovely country
that they lingered week after week till nearly six had slipped away, and
letters from home began to be urgent for their return. Mr. Dinsmore was
wearying for his daughter, Mrs. Travilla for her son, and scarcely less
for the daughter so long vainly hoped for.
Every day a servant was despatched to the nearest post-office with their
mail, generally returning as full handed as he went. Mr. Dinsmore's
letters were, as he had promised, daily, and never left unanswered. The
old love was not, could not be forgotten in the new. Elsie was no less a
daughter because she had become a wife; but Edward was always a sharer in
her enjoyment, and she in his.
They were sitting on the veranda one morning when Uncle Ben rode up and
handed the mail-box to his master. Mr. Travilla hastened to open it, gave
Elsie her letters and began the perusal of his own.
A softly breathed sigh called his attention to her.
"What is it, little wife?" he asked; "your face is grave almost to
sadness."
"I was thinking," she answered, with her eye still upon her father's
letter open in her hand.
Pages:
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161