ercies of strangers. Ah!
you don't know how strongly I was tempted to give her a kiss, just now,
when she begged so hard for it. But what _shall_ I do with her,
Adelaide?--have you no suggestion to make?"

"Indeed, I don't know what to say, Horace; I shouldn't like to give up
to her, if I were you; it does seem as if you ought to conquer her, and
if you don't do it now, I do not believe you ever will."

"Yes, that is just it," he said. "I have sometimes felt sorry for having
begun the struggle, and yet perhaps it is just as well, since it must
have come sooner or later. Ten years hence I shall want to take her
occasionally to the theatre or opera, or perhaps now and then to a ball,
and unless I can eradicate these ridiculously strict notions she has got
into her head, she will be sure to rebel then, when she will be rather
too old to punish, at least in the same way in which I might punish her
now."

"A thought has just struck me, Horace," said Adelaide suddenly.

"Well, what is it?" he asked.

Adelaide hesitated. She felt some little sympathy for Elsie, and did not
quite like to propose a measure which she knew would give her great pain;
but at length she said, in a half-regretful tone--

"I think, Horace, that Aunt Chloe upholds Elsie in her obstinacy, and
makes her think herself a martyr to principle, for you know she has the
same strange notions, which they both learned from the old housekeeper,
Mrs. Murray, who was an old-fashioned Presbyterian, of the strictest
sort; and now, as Elsie is still so young, it seems to me it might be
_possible_ to change her views, if she were entirely removed from all
such influences. But take notice, Horace, I do not advise it, for I
know it would wellnigh break both their hearts."

For a moment Mr. Dinsmore seemed lost in thought. Then he spoke:

"That is a wise suggestion, Adelaide. I thank you for it, and shall
certainly take it into consideration. Yet it is a measure I feel loth to
adopt, for Chloe has been a most faithful creature. I feel that I owe her
a debt of gratitude for the excellent care she has taken of Elsie, and of
her mother before her, and as you say, I fear it would wellnigh break
both their hearts. But if less severe measures fail, I shall feel
compelled to try it, for I am more anxious than I can tell you to
bring Elsie to unconditional obedience."

"Here is a letter for you, Elsie," said her grandfather, the next
morning, at the breakfast-table. "Here