“I’m mighty glad you came,” said the captain.  “You couldn’t possible have gone on, and as for stopping at a hotel—­if you had, I should never have forgiven you.”

The sick man would not take anything to eat.  He lay as if half asleep, so he was put to bed.  Lucy remained with him during the evening.  Once in a while he would open his eyes, reach out his hand for hers and hold it for a moment.  Poor, dear father, she thought, as she stroked his hair softly.  What could Chester mean to leave his father, even for a few days?  He ought to be here....  She could not understand.  Was it all just an excuse to get away from them? to get away from this newly-found father and sister?  She would not believe that of Chester.  That couldn’t be true, and yet, and yet—­

She turned lower the light, went to the window, and looked out on the river.  A crescent moon hung above the mist.  The water lay still as if asleep, only broken now and then by some passing craft.  The breeze played in the trees near the window and the perfumes of the rich flower beds were wafted to her.  The girl stood by the window a long time as if she expected her lover-brother to come to her through the half darkness.  Perhaps, after all, it was better he did not come.  Perhaps he had acted wisely.

The father lay as if sleeping, so she continued to look out at the moon and the water.  Her heart burned, but out of it came a prayer.  Then she quietly kneeled by the window sill, and still looking out into the night she poured out the burden of her heart to the Father whose power to bless and to comfort is as boundless as the love of parent for child.

Captain Brown was not an old man, yet in his fine strong face there were deep lines traced by twenty years on the sea.  Ten years on the bridge basking in the sun, facing storm and danger had told their tale.  He was in the employ of a great navigation company whose ships went to the ends of the earth for trade.  He had built this home-nest for wife and child, to which and to whom he could set the compass of his heart from any port and on any sea.  Three years ago wife and child had taken passage over the eternal sea.  Now he came back only occasionally, between trips.  His housekeeper always kept the house as nearly as possible like it was when wife and child were there.

“I have a week, perhaps ten days ashore,” explained Captain Brown next morning at the breakfast table, “and I was just wondering what I could do all that time—­when here you are!  You are to remain a week.  Tut, tut, business”—­this to Uncle Gilbert who had protested—­“you ought not to worry any longer about business.  Aren’t we making you good money?  Oh, I see!  Aunt Sarah; well, we’ll send for her.  Your father can’t possibly be moved, can he, Miss Lucy?”

“He’s very comfortable here,” replied Lucy.

“To be sure he is—­and you, too, look as though a rest would help you.”

“I have to get back soon—­ought to be in Cork tomorrow, in fact,” said Uncle Gilbert.