"
They scarcely wept, their joy for her, the ransomed of the Lord, almost
swallowing up their grief for themselves.
But soon Elsie began to tremble violently, shudder after shudder shaking
her whole frame, and in sudden alarm her husband and father led her from
the room.
"Oh. Elsie, my darling, my precious wife!" cried Travilla, in a tone of
agony, as they laid her upon a sofa in her boudoir, "are you ill? are you
in pain?"
"Give way, daughter, and let the tears come," said Mr. Dinsmore, tenderly
bending over her and gently smoothing her hair; "it will do you good,
bring relief to the overstrained nerves and full heart."
Even as he spoke the barriers which for so many hours had been steadily,
firmly resisting the grief and anguish swelling in her breast, suddenly
gave way, and tears poured out like a flood.
Her husband knelt by her side and drew her head to a resting-place on his
breast, while her father, with one of her hands in his, softly repeated
text after text speaking of the bliss of the blessed dead.
She grew calmer. "Don't be alarmed about me, dear Edward, dear papa," she
said in her low sweet tones. "I don't think I am ill; and heavy as our
loss is, dearest husband, how we must rejoice for her. Let me go and
perform the last office of love for her--our precious mother; I am better;
I am able.
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