But all had now gone,
the good-nights had been said among the members of the home circle, and
Elsie Travilla was alone in her own apartments.
A little weary with the cares and excitement of the day, she was half
reclining on a sofa, in dressing-gown and slippers, her beautiful hair
unbound and rippling over her shoulders, beside her a jewel-box of ebony
inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
It stood open, and the lamplight falling upon its contents was flashed
back from many a costly gem set in rings, brooches, lockets and chains of
gold.
She took them up, one by one, gazing upon each for a minute or more with a
smile, a sigh, or a falling tear, ere she laid it almost tenderly back in
its place.
So absorbed was she in the contemplation of these mementoes of the past
and the memories called up by them, that she did not hear an approaching
footstep, and deemed herself quite alone, till a hand was laid gently on
her head, and a voice said tenderly, "My darling!"
"Dear papa!" she responded, glancing up into his face with tear-dimmed
eyes, as he stood at the back of her sofa, bending over her. "Let me give
you a chair," and she would have risen to do so, but he forced her gently
back.
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