Something in the expression of his countenance as he drew rapidly nearer startled her with a vague fear.
"What is it, papa?" she asked tremulously.
"Take my arm," he said, offering it. "I have something to say to you. Rosie, do you and Walter go to your mammy."
The children obeyed, while he and their mother turned into another path.
Elsie's heart was beating very fast. "Papa, is—is anything wrong with—"
"With any of your loved ones? No, daughter: they are all safe and well so far as I know. But I have a message for you—a request which it will not be easy or pleasant for you to grant, or to refuse. Boyd is drawing very near his end, and with a mind full of horror and despair. He says there is no hope, no mercy for him—nothing but the blackness of darkness forever."
Elsie's eyes overflowed. "Poor, poor fellow! Papa, can nothing be done for him?"
"Could you bear to go to him?" he asked tenderly. "Forgive me, dear child, for paining you with such a suggestion; but the poor wretch thinks he could die easier if he heard you say that you forgive him."
There was a shudder, a moment's struggle with herself; then she said, very low and sadly, "Yes, papa, I will go at once. How selfish I have been in staying away so long. But—O Edward! my husband, my husband!"
He soothed her very tenderly for a moment, then asked gently, "Would he not have bidden you go?"