MARTHA FINLEY Ultimate Collection – 35+ Novels in One Volume (Including The Complete Elsie Dinsmore Series & Mildred Keith Collection). Finley Martha

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СКАЧАТЬ Rose, how lovely! and even little Horace bringing auntie a gift!" as the child slipped something into her hand.

      "It's only a card-case; but mamma said you'd like it, Aunt Adie."

      "And I do; it's very pretty. And here's a hug and a kiss for the pet boy that remembered his old-maid auntie."

      "Old maid, indeed! Adelaide, I'll not have you talking so," said Rose. "There's nothing old-maidish about you; not even age yet; a girl of twenty-six to be calling herself that! it's perfectly absurd. Isn't it, my dear?"

      "I think so, indeed," replied Mr. Dinsmore. "Here, Jim, Cato, and the rest of you carry in these trunks and boxes, and let us have them unpacked and put out of sight."

      "Oh, yes!" said Adelaide, "I want to see all the fine things you have brought, Rose. Mamma, Enna, and I are depending upon you and Elsie for the fashions."

      "Yes, we had all our fall and winter dresses made up in Philadelphia; we prefer their styles to the New York; they don't go to such extremes, you know; and besides—hailing from the Quaker city as I do, it's natural I should be partial to her plainer ways—but we brought quantities of patterns from both places; knowing that nothing was likely to be too gay for Enna. We will let Elsie display hers first. I feel in a special hurry, dear, to show your aunt those elegant silks your papa and I helped you to select. I hope you will see them all on her, one of these days, Adelaide.

      "That child's complexion is so perfect, that she can wear anything," she added in an aside, as they followed Elsie to her apartments; "there's a pale blue that she looks perfectly lovely in; a pearl-color too, and a delicate pink, and I don't know how many more. One might think we expected her to do nothing but attend parties the coming season."

      Elsie seemed to take a lively interest in displaying her pretty things to her aunt, and in looking on for a little, while Rose did the same with hers; but at length, though the two older ladies were still turning over and discussing silks, satins, velvets, laces, ribbons, feathers, and flowers, her father noticed her sitting in the corner of a sofa, in an attitude of weariness and dejection, with a pale cheek, and a dreary, far-off look in her eyes that it pained him to see.

      "You are very tired, daughter," he said, going to her side, and smoothing her glossy brown hair with tender caressing motion, as he spoke; "go and lie down for an hour or two. A nap would do you a great deal of good."

      "I don't like to do so while Aunt Adie is here, papa," she said, looking up at him with a smile, and trying to seem fresh and bright.

      "Never mind that; you can see her any day now. Come, you must take a rest." And drawing her hand within his arm, he led her to her boudoir and left her there, comfortably established upon a sofa.

      "A hat trimmed in that style would be becoming to Elsie," remarked Adelaide, continuing the conversation with Rose, and turning to look at her niece as she spoke. "Why, she's not here."

      "Papa took her away to make her lie down," said little Horace.

      "Rose, does anything ail the child?" asked Adelaide, in an undertone.

      "She does not seem to be out of health; but you know we are very careful of her; she is so dear and sweet, and has never looked very strong."

      "But there is something wrong with her, is there not? she does not seem to me quite the gay, careless child she was when you went away. Horace," and she turned to him, as he re-entered the room, "may I not know about Elsie? You can hardly love her very much better than I do, I think."

      "If that is so, you must love her very much indeed," he answered with a faint smile. "Yes, I will tell you." And he explained the matter; briefly at first, then more in detail, as she drew him on by questions and remarks.

      Her sympathy for Elsie was deep and sincere; yet she thought her brother's course the only wise and kind one, and her indignation waxed hot against Arthur and Egerton.

      "And Elsie still believes in the scoundrel?" she said inquiringly.

      "Yes, her loving, trustful nature refuses to credit the proofs of his guilt, and only her sweet, conscientious submission to parental authority has saved her from becoming his victim."

      "She is a very good, submissive, obedient child to you, Horace."

      "I could not ask a better, Adelaide. I only wish it were in my power to make obedience always easy and pleasant to her, poor darling."

      "I hope you have something for me there, my dear," Rose remarked to her husband at the breakfast-table the next morning, as he looked over the mail just brought in by his man John.

      "Yes, there is one for you; from your mother, I think; and, Elsie, do you know the handwriting of this?"

      "No, papa, it is quite strange to me," she answered, taking the letter he held out to her, and which bore her name and address on the back, and examining it critically.

      "And the post-mark tells you nothing either?"

      "No, sir; I cannot quite make it out, but it doesn't seem to be any place where I have a correspondent."

      "Well, open it and see from whom it comes. But finish your breakfast first."

      Elsie laid the letter down by her plate, and putting aside, for the present, her curiosity in regard to it, went on with her meal. "From whom can it have come?" she asked herself, while listening half absently to extracts from Mr. Allison's epistle; "not from him surely, the hand is so very unlike that of the one he sent me in Lansdale."

      "You have not looked at that yet," her father said, seeing her take it up as they rose from the table. "You may do so now. I wish to know who the writer is. Don't read it till you have found that out," he added, leading her to a sofa in the next room, and making her sit down there, while he stood by her side.

      She felt that his eye was upon her as she broke open the envelope and, taking the letter from it, glanced down the page, then in a little flutter of surprise and perplexity turned to the signature. Instantly her face flushed crimson, she trembled visibly, and her eyes were lifted pleadingly to his.

      He frowned and held out his hand.

      "Oh, papa, let me read it!" she murmured low and tremulously, her eyes still pleading more eloquently than her tongue.

      "No," he said, and his look and gesture were imperative.

      She silently put the letter into his hand, and turned away with a low sob.

      "It is not worth one tear, or even an emotion of regret, my child," he said, sitting down beside her. "I shall send it back at once; unread, unless you prefer to have me read it first."

      "No, papa."

      "Very well, then I shall not. But, Elsie, do you not see now that he is quite capable of imitating the handwriting of another?"

      "Yes, papa; but that does not prove that he did in the case you refer to."

      "And he has acted quite fairly and honestly in using that talent to elude my vigilance and tempt you to deception and disobedience, eh?"

      "He is not perfect, papa, but I can't believe him as bad as you think."

      "There are none so blind as those that won't see, Elsie; but, remember"—and his tone changed СКАЧАТЬ