“It is almost too soon to hope for it yet, dear child; but I trust we may hear before very long,” said Violet.

At that moment there came a little tap at the door; and the sweetest of voices asked, “Shall I come in?”

“Oh, yes, mamma!”

“Yes, grandma Elsie!” answered the two addressed.

“I thought our little girl might like some help with her toilet for the evening,” Elsie said, advancing into the room.  “But—­is any thing wrong?  I think you are looking troubled and unhappy, Lulu.”

Violet explained the cause; and Elsie said, very kindly, “I don’t want you sent away, Lulu, dear.  No one could desire a better behaved child than you have been of late; and I have written to your father to tell him so, and ask that you may stay with us still.  So cheer up, and hope for the best, little girl,” she added, with a smile and an affectionate kiss.

Lulu had risen, and was standing by Elsie’s side.  As the latter bent down to bestow the caress, her arms were thrown impulsively about her neck with a glad, grateful exclamation, “O grandma Elsie! how good you are to me!  I don’t know how you could want to keep me here, when I’ve been so bad and troublesome so many times.”

“I trust you have been so for the very last time, dear child,” Elsie responded.  “Think how it will rejoice your father’s heart if he learns that you have at length conquered in the fight with your naturally quick, wilful temper, which has been the cause of so much distress to both him and yourself.”

“I do think of it very often, grandma Elsie,” Lulu returned, with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her heart.  “And I do want to please papa, and make him happy:  but,—­oh, dear! when something happens to make me angry, I forget all about it and my good resolutions till it’s too late; the first thing I know, I’ve been acting like a fury, and disgracing myself and him.”

“Yet don’t be discouraged, or ever give up the fight,” Elsie said.  “Persevere, using all your own strength, and asking help from on high, and you will come off conqueror at last.”

About the same time that this little scene was enacting at Ion, Elsie Leland, passing the door of Evelyn’s room, thought she heard a low sob coming from within.

She paused and listened.  The sound was repeated, and she tapped lightly on the door.  There was no answer; and opening it, she stole softly in.

Evelyn sat in an easy-chair at the farther side of the room, her face hidden in her hands, an open letter lying in her lap.

“My poor child!  Is it bad news?” Elsie asked, going up to the little girl, and touching her hair caressingly.

“It is heart-breaking to me, aunt Elsie; but read and judge for yourself,” Evelyn replied, in a voice choking with sobs; and taking up the letter, she put it into her aunt’s hand.

Elsie gave it a hasty perusal, then, tossing it indignantly aside, took the young weeper in her arms, bestowing upon her tender caresses and soothing words.