Mr.Dinsmore's letters were, as he had promised, daily, and never left unanswered.

The old love was not, could not be forgotten in the new.

Elsie was no less a daughter because she had become a wife; but Edward was always a sharer in her enjoyment, and she in his.
They were sitting on the veranda one morning when Uncle Ben rode up and handed the mail-box to his master.

Mr.Travilla hastened to open it, gave Elsie her letters and began the perusal of his own.
A softly breathed sigh called his attention to her.
"What is it, little wife ?" he asked; "your face is grave almost to sadness." "I was thinking," she answered, with her eye still upon her father's letter open in her hand.

"Papa says," and she read aloud from the sheet, "How long you are lingering in Viamede.