Mr. Dinsmore pressed forward, and the others followed, slowly picking their way through the ruins, grief swelling in their hearts at every step.  Determined to know the worst, they made the circuit of the house and of the whole estate.

“Can it ever be restored?” Elsie asked at length, amid her tears.

“The house may be rebuilt in a few months, and fields and gardens cleared of weeds, and made to resume something of the old look,” Mr. Dinsmore answered; “but the trees were the growth of years, and this generation will not see their places filled with their like.”

They pursued their way to Ion in almost unbroken silence.  Here the fields presented the same appearance of neglect; lawn and gardens were a wild, but scarcely a tree had fallen, and though the house had been pillaged, furniture destroyed, windows broken, and floors torn up, a few rooms were still habitable; and here they found several of the house-servants, who hailed their coming with demonstrations of delight.

They had lived on the products of the orchard and grapery, and by cultivating a small patch of ground and keeping a few fowls.

Elsie assumed an air of cheerfulness, for her husband’s sake; rejoiced that the trees had been spared, that the family burial-place had escaped desecration, and talked gayly of the pleasure of repairing damages, and making improvements till Ion should not have a rival for beauty the country round.

Her efforts were appreciated, and met fully half-way, by her loving spouse.

The four, taking possession of the rustic seat on the top of a little knoll, where the huge branches of a giant oak protected them from the sun, took a lengthened survey of the house and grounds, and held a consultation in regard to ways and means.

Returning to the Oaks, the gentlemen went to the library, where old Mr. Dinsmore was sitting alone, and reported to him the result of the morning conference.  Roselands was to be rebuilt as fast as men and materials could be procured, Elsie furnishing the means—­a very large sum of money, of which he was to have the use, free of interest, for a long term of years, or during his natural life.

Mr. Horace Dinsmore knew his father would never take it as a gift, and indeed, it cost him a hard struggle to bring his pride down to the acceptance of it as offered.  But he consented at last, and as the other two retired, begged that Elsie would come to him for a moment.

She came in so quietly that he was not aware of her presence.  He sat in the corner of a sofa, his white head bowed upon his knees, and his aged frame shaking with sobs.

Kneeling at his side, she put her arms about him, whispering, “Grandpa, my poor, dear grandpa, be comforted; for we all love and honor you.”

“Child! child!  I have not deserved this at your hands,” he sobbed.  “I turned from you when you came to my house, a little, desolate motherless one, claiming my affection.”