Elsie sat by her father's side gay and happy as a bird—chatting, singing, laughing; plying him with intelligent questions about everything she saw that was new and strange, and about the cousins whom they were going to visit; he answering her with a patient kindness that never wearied.
He had neglected her in her babyhood, and once—only a year ago—his tyrannical severity had brought her to the borders of the grave: he could not forget it; he felt that he could never fully atone to her for it by any amount of the tenderest love and care; but she should have all he could lavish upon her.
A joyous welcome awaited them on their arrival. Mrs. Keith embraced her cousin with sisterly, his child with motherly affection, and Mildred wept for joy as she folded Elsie to her heart.
Indeed Elsie's beauty, her sweet, loving looks and smiles as she accepted and returned their greetings, won all hearts; while all presently esteemed "Cousin Horace" far more agreeable and lovable than he had been on his former visits; there was less of pride and hauteur about him, more of gentleness and thought for the comfort and happiness of others.
Mildred and her mother were especially delighted with the ardent affection evidently subsisting between him and his little girl; neither seemed willing to lose sight of the other for a single hour; she hovered about him, being almost always close at his side or on his knee, he caressing her now and then, half unconsciously, as he talked, or his hand toying with her curls.
Mrs. Keith remarked upon it to him as they sat alone together the day after his arrival, expressing her heartfelt joy in beholding it.
Elsie had just left the room with Annis, her father's eyes following her as she went, with the wonted expression of parental pride and tenderness.
"Yes," he said with a sigh, "she is the very light of my eyes. Ah, Marcia, I shall never cease to regret not having followed your advice on my last visit, by taking immediate possession of my child! I have lost by that mistake eight years of the joy of fatherhood to the sweetest child ever parent had. And yet it has, perhaps, been better for her, for I should have made her very worldly-minded instead of the sweet little Christian I found her."
"You have at all events escaped the loss I feared for you," Mrs. Keith said, with a sympathizing smile.
"Of her filial love and obedience? Yes, she could not be more dutiful or affectionate than she is. And yet there was at one time a terrible struggle between us; but for which, I now see, that I alone was to blame. It was my severity, my determination to enforce obedience to commands that conflicted with the dictates of her enlightened conscience, that caused the almost mortal illness of which I wrote you. Yes, a year ago I had nearly been written childless. At one time I thought she was gone, and never, never can I forget the unutterable anguish of that hour." His voice had grown husky, his features worked with emotion, and tears filled his eyes.