“And my baby is so young, Gracie such a dear little Christian child, that, if I must give them up, I shall know that they are safe—­

’Safe in the arms of Jesus,
Safe on His gentle breast.’”

Grace, whom they had deemed quite unconscious, opened her eyes and fixed them on Violet’s face with a look of ardent affection.

“Yes, mamma,” she said feebly, “I’m not afraid to die; because I know that Jesus loves me.  My head aches; I’d like to lay it down on His breast.  And—­He’ll comfort you and papa, and—­the rest.”

Violet could not speak for weeping, but Elsie bent over the child, and tenderly smoothing her pillow, said, “Yes, darling, He will; and whether we live or die, we are all His, and we know that He will do what is best for each one of us.”

Grace dropped asleep again almost immediately, and Elsie resumed her seat by her daughter’s side.

“Oh,” murmured Violet, “dearly as I love Gracie, I should far rather see her go than Lulu, because I am sure she is ready for the change; and I know their father would feel so too.  Mamma, how long it is since I have heard from him!  I begin to feel very anxious.  Ah, what comfort and support his presence would be to me now!”

“Yes, dearest; but console yourself with the thought of how much anxiety and distress he is spared by his ignorance of the critical condition of these little ones.  We may be able in a few days to write that they are better—­out of danger, with careful nursing, so that the news of their convalescence will reach him at the same time with that of their severe illness.”

“Yes, mamma, there is comfort in that,” Violet said, smiling through her tears.

On going down to breakfast the next morning Elsie found her father seated at the table, with the morning paper before him.  He glanced up at her as she came in, and something in his expression of countenance set her heart to throbbing wildly.

“Oh, papa, what is wrong?” she asked.  “My boys? have you?—­is there bad news of them?” and she dropped into a chair, trembling in every limb.

“No, no, daughter,” he hastened to say.  “I think they are all right; here are letters from all three,” pointing to a pile on the table before him.

She drew a long breath of relief; then with another glance at his face, “But what is wrong? certainly something is distressing you greatly.  And mamma is shedding tears,” as she saw Rose furtively lift her handkerchief to her eyes.

“Yes,” he sighed, “something is wrong; and not to keep you in suspense—­it is a report that Captain Raymond is lost.  It is now some weeks since his vessel should have been heard from, and it is greatly feared that she has gone down with all on board.”

“Vi! oh, my poor Vi!” gasped Elsie; “her heart will be overwhelmed:  we must keep it from her as long as we can; at least till the children are better.”

“Certainly,” Mr. Dinsmore said, “my dear child,” going to Elsie and taking her hand in his in tender, fatherly fashion.  “Remember it is only a report,—­or rather a conjecture,—­which may be without any foundation in fact.  The captain may be alive and well at this moment.”