or I am afraid the doctor will say
you are not well enough to see your papa when, he comes."

"I will try to be very quiet," replied the little girl; "but, oh! I
_hope_ he will come soon, and that the doctor will let me see him."

"I shall read to you now, dear," remarked Adelaide, taking up Elsie's
little Bible, which had been returned to her some days before; for she
had asked for it almost as soon as she was able to speak.

Adelaide opened to one of her favorite passages in Isaiah, and read in a
low, quiet tone that soon soothed the little one to sleep.

"Has my papa come?" was her first question on awaking.

"Do you think you are strong enough to see him?" asked Adelaide, smiling.

"Oh, yes, Aunt Adelaide; is he here?" she inquired, beginning to tremble
with agitation.

"I am afraid you are not strong enough yet," said Adelaide doubtfully;
"you are trembling very much."

"Dear Aunt Adelaide, I will try to be very calm; _do_ let me see him,"
she urged beseechingly; "it won't hurt me half so much as to be kept
waiting."

"Yes, Adelaide, she is right. My precious, precious child! they shall
keep us apart no longer." And Elsie was gently raised in her father's
arms, and folded to his beating heart.

She looked up eagerly into his face.

It was full of the tenderest love and pity.

"Papa, papa, my _own_ papa," she murmured, dropping her head upon his
breast.

He held her for some moments, caressing her silently; then laid her
gently down upon her pillow, and sat by her side with one little hand
held fast in his.

She raised her large, soft eyes, all dim with tears, to his face.

"Do you love me, my own papa?" she asked in a voice so low and weak he
could scarcely catch the words.

"Better than life," he said, his voice trembling with emotion; and he
leaned over her, passing his hand caressingly over her face.

"Does my little daughter love me?" he asked.

"Oh, so very, _very_ much," she said, and closing her eyes wearily, she
fell asleep again.

And now Mr. Dinsmore was constantly with his little girl. She could
scarcely bear to have him out of her sight, but clung to him with the
fondest affection, which he fully returned; and he never willingly
left her for an hour. She seemed to have entirely forgotten their first
meeting, and everything which had occurred since, up to the beginning of
her illness, and always talked to her father as though they had but just
begun their acquaintance; and it was