Elsies Girlhood | Page 8

the daughter and
granddaughter, always living as housekeeper in the families where they
resided--had grown to be a sweet, engaging child, inheriting her
mother's beauty and gentleness. She had also her mother's craving for
affection, and was constantly looking and longing for the return of her
unknown father, which was delayed from time to time until she was
nearly eight years of age.
"At last he came; but ah, what a bitter disappointment awaited the poor
child! His mind had been poisoned against her, and instead of the love
and tenderness she had a right to expect, he met her with
coldness--almost with aversion. Poor little one! she was nearly
heartbroken, and for a time scarcely dared venture into her father's
presence. She was gentle, submissive, and patient; he cold, haughty,
and stern. But she would love him, in spite of his sternness, and at
length she succeeded in winning her way to his affections, and he
learned to love her with passionate tenderness.
"Still her troubles were not over. She was sincerely pious, and
conscientiously strict in many things which her father deemed of little
importance; especially was this the case in regard to the observance of
the Sabbath. He was a man of iron will, and she, though perfectly
submissive in other respects, had the firmness of a martyr in resisting
any interference with her conscience.
"Well, their wills came in collision. He required her to do what she
considered a violation of God's law, although he could see no harm in it,
and therefore considered her stubborn and disobedient. He was firm,
but so was she. He tried persuasions, threats, punishments--all without
effect. He banished her from his arms, from the family circle, deprived
her of amusements, denied her to visitors, broke off her correspondence
with a valued friend, sent away her nurse; and finding all these acts of
severity ineffectual, he at length left her, telling her he would return
only when she submitted; and even refusing her a parting caress, which
she pleaded for with heart-breaking entreaties."
Mr. Dinsmore's voice trembled with emotion, but recovering himself,
he went on:

"Don't think, Miss Allison, that all this time the father's heart was not
bleeding; it was, at every pore; but he was determined to conquer, and
mistook the child's motives and the source of her strength to resist his
will.
"He had bought a beautiful estate; he caused the house to be
handsomely fitted up and furnished, especially lavishing trouble and
expense upon a suite of rooms for his little girl, and when all was
completed, he wrote to her, bidding her go and see the lovely home he
had prepared for her reception as soon as she would submit,--and
presenting, as the only alternative, banishment to a boarding-school or
convent until her education was finished. This was the one drop which
made the cup overflow. The poor suffering child was prostrated by a
brain fever which brought her to the very gates of death. Then the
father's eyes were opened; he saw his folly and his sin, and repented in
sackcloth and ashes; and God, in His great mercy, was pleased to spare
him the terrible crushing blow which seemed to have already
fallen;--for at one time they told him his child was dead. Oh, never,
never can he forget the unutterable anguish of that moment!"
Mr. Dinsmore paused, unable to proceed. Rose had been weeping for
some time. She well knew to whose story she was listening, and her
gentle, loving heart was filled with pity for both him and for his child.
"I have but little more to tell," he resumed; "the child has at length
entirely recovered her health; she is dearer to her father's heart than
words can express, and is very happy in the knowledge that it is so, and
that henceforward he will strive to assist her to walk in the narrow way,
instead of endeavoring to lead her from it.
"Their home has been a very happy one; but it lacks one thing--the wife
and mother's place is vacant; she who filled it once is gone--never to
return!--but there is a sweet, gentle lady who has won the hearts of both
father and daughter, and whom they would fain persuade to fill the void
in their affections and their home.
"Miss Rose, dare I hope that you would venture to trust your happiness
in the hands of a man who has proved himself capable of such cruelty?"

Rose did not speak, and he seemed to read in her silence and her
averted face a rejection of his suit.
"Ah, you cannot love or trust me!" he exclaimed bitterly. "I was indeed
a fool to hope it. Forgive me for troubling you; forgive my presumption
in imagining for a moment that