!" exclaimed her aunt
passionately. "_You_ have never known sorrow to be compared to mine! You
have never loved, and lost--you have known none but mere childish
griefs."

"'The heart knoweth his own bitterness!'" thought Elsie, silent tears
stealing down her cheeks, and her breast heaving with emotion.

"Dear Aunt Adelaide," she said in tremulous tones, "_I_ think I _can_
feel for you. Have I not known _some_ sorrow? Is it nothing that I have
pined all my life long for a mother's love? nothing to have been
separated from the dear nurse, who had almost supplied her place? Oh,
Aunt Adelaide!" she continued, with a burst of uncontrollable anguish,
"is it nothing, _nothing_ to be separated from my beloved father, my
dear, only parent, whom I love better than my life--to be refused even a
parting caress--to live month after month, and year after year under his
frown--and to fear that his love may be lost to me forever? Oh! papa,
papa, will you never, _never_ love me again?" she cried, sinking on her
knees, and covering her face with her hands, while the tears trickled
fast between the slender fingers.

Her aunt's presence was for the moment entirely forgotten, and she was
alone with her bitter grief.

Adelaide looked at her with a good deal of surprise. She had never before
seen her give way to such a burst of sorrow, for Elsie was usually calm
in the presence of others.

"Poor child!" she said, drawing the little girl towards her, and gently
pushing back the hair from her forehead, "I should not have said that;
you have your own troubles, I know; hard enough to bear, too. I think
Horace is really cruel, and if I were you, Elsie, I would just give up
loving him entirely, and never care for his absence or his displeasure."

"Oh, Aunt Adelaide! not love my own dear papa? I _must_ love him! I could
not help it if I would--no, not even if he were going to kill me; and
please don't blame him; he does not mean to be cruel. But oh! if he would
only love me!" sobbed the little girl.

"I am sure he does, Elsie, if that is any comfort; here is a letter from
him; he speaks of you in the postscript; you may take it to your room and
read it, if you like," replied her aunt, putting a letter into Elsie's
hand. "Go now, child, and see if you can extract any comfort from it."

Elsie replied with a gush of tears and a kiss of thanks, for her little
heart was much too full for speech. Clasping the precious letter tightly
in her hand,