Elsie at Nantucket | Page 6

I'm doing both to the very best of my ability."
"But you won't be if you send me away from you. No, no; I have a right
to stay with you, and I shall claim it always," she returned, clinging to
him as if she feared an immediate separation.
"Foolish child!" he said, with a happy laugh, holding her close; "think

what you would lose: the sea voyage in the pleasantest of company--"
"No; the pleasantest company would be left behind if you were," she
interrupted.
"Well, very delightful company," he resumed; "then I don't know how
many weeks of the oppressive heat here you would have to endure,
instead of enjoying the cool, refreshing breezes sweeping over
Nantucket. Surely, you cannot give it all up without a sigh?"
"I can't give up the thought of enjoying it all with you without sighing,
and crying, too, maybe," she answered, smiling through tears; "but I'd
sigh and cry ten times as much if I had to go and leave you behind. No,
Mr. Travilla, you needn't indulge the hope of getting rid of me for even
a week. I'm determined to stay where you stay, and go only where you
go."
"Dreadful fate!" he exclaimed. "Well, little wife, I shall do my best to
avert the threatened disappointment of your hopes of a speedy
departure out of this heated atmosphere and a delightful sea voyage to
that famous island. Now, I must leave you and begin at once my search
for a substitute as manager of the plantation."
"Oh, I do hope you will succeed!" she said. "Shall I go on with my
packing?"
"Just as you please, my dear; perhaps it would be best; as otherwise you
may be hurried with it if we are able to go with the others."
"Then I shall; and I'm determined not to look for disappointment," she
said, in a lively, cheery tone, as he left the room,
At the conclusion of his conference with Edward, Mr. Dinsmore sought
his daughter in her own apartments. He found her busied much as Zoe
was, looking over clothing and selecting what ought to be packed in the
trunks a man-servant was bringing in.
She had thrown aside the widow's weeds in which she was wont to

array herself when about to leave the seclusion of her own rooms, and
donned a simple white morning dress that was very becoming, her
father thought.
"Excuse my wrapper, papa," she said, turning toward him a bright,
sweet face, as he entered; "I found my black dress oppressive this warm
morning."
"Yes," he said; "it is a most unwholesome dress, I think; and for that
reason and several others I should be extremely glad if you would give
it up entirely."
"Would you, my dear father?" she returned, tears springing to her eyes.
"I should indeed, if it would not involve too great a sacrifice of feeling
on your part. I have always thought white the most suitable and
becoming dress for you in the summer season, and so did your
husband."
"Yes, papa, I remember that he did; but--I--I should be very loath to
give the least occasion for any one to say or think he was forgotten by
her he loved so dearly, or that she had ceased to mourn his loss."
"Loss, daughter dear?" he said, taking her in his arms to wipe away the
tears that were freely coursing down her cheeks, and caress her with
exceeding tenderness.
"No, papa, not lost, but only gone before," she answered, a lovely smile
suddenly irradiating her features; "nor does he seem far away. I often
feel that he is very near me still, though I can neither see nor speak to
him nor hear his loved voice," she went on, in a dreamy tone, a
far-away look in the soft brown eyes as she stood, with her head on her
father's shoulder, his arm encircling her waist.
Both were silent for some moments; then Elsie, lifting her eyes to her
father's face, asked, "Were you serious in what you said about my
laying aside mourning, papa?"

"Never more so," he answered. "It is a gloomy, unwholesome dress,
and I have grown very weary of seeing you wear it. It would be very
gratifying to me to see you exchange it for more cheerful attire."
"But black is considered the most suitable dress for old and elderly
ladies, papa; and I am a grandmother, you know."
"What of that?" he said, a trifle impatiently; "you do not look old, and
are, in fact, just in the prime of life. And it is not like you to be
concerned about what people may think or say. Usually your only
inquiry is, 'Is it right?' 'Is it what I ought to do?'"
"I fear