"
Uncle Joe's errand was not done very speedily, and on his return he found
the family collected in the drawing-room.
"Good luck dis time, massa," he said, addressing Mr. Dinsmore, as he
handed him the mail bag, "lots ob papahs an' lettahs."
Eagerly the others gathered about the head of the household. Rose and
Elsie, pale and trembling with excitement and apprehension, Mr. Travilla,
grave and quiet, yet inwardly impatient of a moment's delay.
It was just the same with Mr. Dinsmore; in a trice he had unlocked the bag
and emptied its contents--magazines, papers, letters--upon a table.
Rose's eye fell upon a letter, deeply edged with black, which bore her
name and address in May's handwriting. She snatched it up with a sharp
cry, and sank, half-fainting, into a chair.
Her husband and Elsie were instantly at her side. "Dear wife, my love, my
darling! this is terrible; but the Lord will sustain you."
"Mamma, dearest mamma; oh that I could comfort you!"
Mr. Travilla brought a glass of water.
"Thank you; I am better now; I can bear it," she murmured faintly, laying
her head on her husband's shoulder. "Open--read--tell me."
Elsie, in compliance with the sign from her father, opened the envelope
and handed him the letter.
Glancing over it, he read in low, moved tones.
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