"Elsie," he said in his sternest tones, "sit down to the piano instantly, and do as I bid you, and let me hear no more of this nonsense."
She sat down, but raising her pleading eyes, brimful of tears to his face, she repeated her refusal. "Dear papa, I cannot sing it to-day. I cannot break the Sabbath."
"Elsie, you must sing it," said he, placing the music before her. "I have told you that it will not be breaking the Sabbath, and that is sufficient; you must let me judge for you in these matters."
"Let her wait until to-morrow, Dinsmore; tomorrow will suit us quite as well," urged several of the gentlemen, while Adelaide good-naturedly said, "Let me play it, Horace; I have no such scruples, and presume I can do it nearly as well as Elsie."
"No," he replied, "when I give my child a command, it is to be obeyed; I have said she should play it, and play it she must; she is not to suppose that she may set up her opinion of right and wrong against mine."
Elsie sat with her little hands folded in her lap, the tears streaming from her downcast eyes over her pale cheeks. She was trembling, but though there was no stubbornness in her countenance, the expression meek and humble, she made no movement toward obeying her father's order.
There was a moment of silent waiting; then he said in his severest tone, "Elsie, you shall sit there till you obey me, though it should be until to-morrow morning."
"Yes, papa," she replied in a scarcely audible voice, and they all turned away and left her.
"You see now that you had better have taken my advice, Horace," remarked Mrs. Dinsmore, in a triumphant aside; "I knew very well how it would end."
"Excuse me," said he, "but it has not ended; and ere it does, I think she will learn that she has a stronger will than her own to deal with."