Erminie sent for her friend, Dr. Sales, and put all the arrangements for the funeral in his hands. And then she sat down and wrote a letter to Elfie’s father, telling him all that had happened, and begging him to get leave and come to his daughter as soon as possible.
This letter, as it afterwards appeared, never reached Major Fielding, who happened at the very time of its posting to be on his way to Washington.
The funeral of Albert Goldsborough took place on Sunday. He was interred in the same burial ground where the remains of the deceased members of the Rosenthal family reposed.
Elfie returned from the grave sorrowful but composed, and that night she was blessed with the first quiet sleep that had visited her weary-mind and body since her meeting with her wounded husband in the hospital.
On the next day, Monday, Elfie, dressed in her widow’s weeds, was seated in the library, seeking comfort and guidance from the pages of the Holy Scriptures, when she heard the street door bell ring.
And the moment after the library door was opened, and Major Fielding entered the room.
Seeing a quiet little woman sitting there in widow’s weeds, with her fine hair concealed under a widow’s cap, and knowing nothing at all of what had happened to his daughter within the last few weeks, the honest major supposed that he had made a mistake, and intruded upon one of Miss Rosenthal’s visitors. And with an—
“I beg your pardon, Madam; I was told that I should find my daughter here,” he was about to back out, when Elfie looked up, and exclaiming:
“Papa! papa! oh, don’t you know me?” started up and flung herself into his arms, and sobbing violently, clung to him.
“Elfie! you! You in this dress! And weeping so! What is the meaning of it?” demanded the old soldier, in unbounded astonishment.