"Get up," he said sternly, again interrupting her; "control yourself, or leave the room till you can."
His look was as stern and cold as his words.
She struggled to her feet and went back to her own rooms, crying very bitterly.
"Oh, mammy, mammy," she sobbed, "it's even worse than I expected, for I'm forbidden to call him father or papa. Oh, what shall I do? How can I call him anything else? And I mustn't hug or kiss him or sit on his knee; and—and he called me 'Miss Dinsmore.' Just think of it! Not even Elsie, without the pet names I love so to hear from his lips, but Miss Dinsmore, as if I were a stranger he cared nothing about."
"'Tain't gwine to las' long, honey darlin', dat ar ain't," said Chloe soothingly, taking the weeper in her arms and caressing her tenderly; "you' jes' de light ob massa's eyes, like I tole you befo', an' de pet names be sho' to come again fo' long. 'Sides, you'll hab yo' ole seat on massa's knee, an' all de hugs and kisses you wants."
"I'm afraid not for a long while, mammy," sobbed the little girl. "I think papa has not been so displeased with me since that dreadful time, so long ago, when we lived at Roselands."
The tea-bell rang.
"Is you gwine to de table, darlin'?" Chloe asked.
"Oh no, no, mammy!" Elsie exclaimed, with a fresh burst of grief; "papa bade me leave the room till I could control myself, and I know I could not do that in his presence yet; oh, how can I ever be with him and not call him father or papa?"
As they sat down to the table Rose glanced at the vacant seat, then at her husband. "I fear the dear child is ill with grief and remorse, Horace," she said, with a troubled, anxious look; "she has such a tender conscience, and so dearly loves the father whose displeasure she has incurred."