Two horses stood ready saddled and bridled before the principal entrance
to the mansion, and Mr. Horace Dinsmore was pacing the veranda to and fro
with slow, meditative step, while Bruno, crouching beside the door,
followed his movements with wistful, questioning eyes, doubtless wondering
what had become of his accustomed merry, romping play-mates.

A light step came down the hall, and a lady in riding hat and habit
stepped from the open doorway, stooped for an instant to touch the dog's
head caressingly with a "Poor Bruno! do you miss your playfellows?" then
glided quickly toward Mr. Dinsmore, who received her with open arms and
tenderest caress.

Then holding her off and scrutinizing the sweet, fair face with keen,
searching eye, "You are looking better and brighter than I dared to hope,
my darling," he said. "Did you get some sleep?"

"Yes, papa, thank you, several hours. And you? did you rest well?"

"Yes, daughter. How are the children?"

"No worse, Arthur says; perhaps a trifle better. He, Elsie and Mammy are
with them now, and 'Mamma' can be spared for a short ride with her
father," she said, smiling lovingly into the eyes that were gazing with
the tenderest fatherly affection upon her.

"That is right; you need the air and exercise sorely; a few more days of
such close confinement and assiduous nursing would, I very much fear, tell
seriously upon your health."