CHAPTER EIGHTH.
"A mighty pain to love it is And 'tis a pain that pain to miss; But of all pains, the greatest pain It is to love, but love in vain." -- COWLEY.
One lovely afternoon in the second week of their stay at Viamede, Mr.
Dinsmore and his daughter were seated in the shade of the trees on the lawn, she busied with some fancy-work while her father read aloud to her.
As he paused to turn a leaf, "Papa," she said, glancing off down the bayou, "there is a steamer coming, the same that brought us, I think; and see, it is rounding to at our landing.

Can it be bringing us a guest ?" "Yes, a gentleman is stepping ashore.

Why, daughter, it is Harold Allison." "Harold! oh, how delightful!" And rising they hastened to meet and welcome him with truly Southern warmth of hospitality.
"Harold! how good of you!" cried Elsie.

"Mamma wrote us that you were somewhere in this region, and if I'd had your address, I should have sent you an invitation to come and stay as long as possible." "And you have done well and kindly by us to come without waiting for that," Mr.Dinsmore said, shaking the hand of his young brother-in-law with a warmth of cordiality that said more than his words.
"Many thanks to you both," he answered gayly.

"I was conceited enough to feel sure of a welcome, and did not wait, as a more modest fellow might, to be invited.