not leave her room again until dinner-time.

She was on her way to the dining-room, when her Aunt Adelaide, passing
her in the hall, caught hold of her, saying, "Elsie, your papa is so ill
that the doctor trembles for his life; he says he is certain that he has
something on his mind that is distressing him and causing this alarming
change, and unless it is removed he fears he will never be any better.
Elsie, _you know what that something is_."

Elsie stood as if turned to stone, while Adelaide, letting go her arm,
moved quickly away, leaving her alone, stunned, bewildered, terrified by
the suddenness of the dreadful announcement.

She could not think or reason; she could only press her hands to her
temples, in the vain endeavor to still their wild throbbing; then,
turning back to her own room again, she threw herself upon her knees,
and, resting her head against the bed, gave vent to her over-wrought
feelings in such groans of anguish as seldom come from the heart of one
so young. At first she could neither weep nor pray; but at length tears
came to her relief, and she poured out agonizing supplications "that her
dear, _dear_ papa might be spared, at least, until he had learned
to love Jesus, and was fit to go to heaven."

She felt as though her heart would break at the very thought of being
separated from him forever in this world, but even that was as nothing
compared to the more terrible fear of not meeting him in another.

That was a long, sad afternoon to the poor child; the longest and saddest
she had ever known. Chloe now and then brought her word how her father
was, but no one else came near her to speak a word of comfort or hope.