But no, not even in thought could she say that dreadful word; but she knew now that mamma was in the music room; and earnestly repeating her silent petition for help, she hurried thither.

The door was open; with swift, noiseless steps she gained her mother’s side; passing an arm about her neck, and half averting her own pale, agitated face, “Mamma,” she said in low, tremulous tones, “’God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble!’ Mamma, Jesus loves you, Jesus loves you!  He will help you to bear—­”

“My daughter, what is it?” asked the mother in a tone of forced calmness, a terrible pang shooting through her heart, “your father?  Eddie?  Vi?”—­then starting up at a sound as of the feet of those who bore some heavy burden, she ran into the hail.

For a moment she stood as one transfixed with grief and horror.

“He breathes, he lives,” Mr. Leland hastened to say.

Her lips moved but no words came from them.  Silently motioning them to follow her, she led the way to his room and pointed to the bed.  They laid him on it and at that instant consciousness returned.

“Dear wife, it is nothing,” he faintly murmured, lifting his eyes to her face as she bent over him in speechless anguish.

She softly pressed her lips to his brow, her heart too full for utterance.

The words sent a thrill of gladness to the heart of little Elsie, who had crept in behind the men, and stood near the bed silently weeping; her father lived; and now Eddie’s frantic screams seemed to ring in her ears (in her fear for her father she had scarcely noticed them before) and she must go and tell him the glad news.  She was not needed here; mamma was not conscious of her presence, and she could do nothing for the dear injured father.  She stole quietly from the room.

On the veranda she found Violet crying bitterly, while Mary Leland vainly tried to comfort her.

“Don’t cry so, little sister,” Elsie said, going to her and taking her in her arms in tender motherly fashion, “our dear papa is not killed; I saw him open his eyes, and heard him say to mamma, ’Dear wife, it is nothing.’”

Vi clung to her sister with a fresh burst of tears, but this time they were tears of joy.  “O, I’m so glad!  I thought I had no papa any more.”

A few more soothing words and caresses and Elsie said, “Now I must go and tell poor Eddie.  Do you know where he is?”

“Hark! don’t you hear him crying way off in the grounds?” said Mary, “I think he’s just where he was.”

“O, yes, yes!” and Elsie hastened in the direction of the sounds.

She found him lying on the grass still crying in heart-broken accents, “Oh, I’ve killed my father, my dear, dear father! what shall I do! what shall I do!”

Dick and Walter were gone; like the guilty wretches they were, they had fled as soon as they saw what mischief they had caused.  But Archie too kind-hearted and noble to forsake a friend in distress, was still there.