Elsie's Widowhood

"All love is sweet, Given or returned. Common as light is love, And its familiar voice wearies not ever." —Shelley. "Come in, Vi, darling," said Mrs. Travilla's sweet voice, "we will be glad to have you with us." Violet, finding the door of her mother's dressing-room ajar, had stepped in, then drawn hastily back, fearing to intrude upon what seemed a private interview between her and her namesake daughter; Elsie being seated on a cushion at her mamma's feet, her face half hidden on her lap, while mamma's soft white hand gently caressed her hair and cheek. "I feared my presence might not be quite desirable just now, mamma," Violet said gayly, coming forward as she spoke. "But what is the matter?" she asked in alarm, perceiving that tears were trembling in the soft brown eyes that were lifted to hers. "Dear mamma, are you ill? or is Elsie? is anything wrong with her?" "She shall answer for herself," the mother said with a sort of tremulous gayety of tone and manner. "Come, bonny lassie, lift your head and tell your sister of the calamity that has befallen you." There was a whispered word or two of reply, and Elsie rose hastily and glided from the room.