“Never, provided Columbia’s sons are faithful to their trust; remembering that ‘eternal vigilance is the price of liberty,’” responded his grandfather.

Grace was clinging tightly to her father, and her little face was pale and wore a look of fright.

“What is it, darling?” he asked.

“O papa, will they come here some time and kill us?” she asked, tremulously.

“Do not be frightened, my dear little one,” he said, holding her close; “you are in no danger from them.”

“I don’t believe all Roman Catholics would have Protestants persecuted if they could,” remarked Betty.  “Do you, uncle?”

“No; I think there are some truly Christian people among them,” he answered; “some who have not yet heard and heeded the call, ’Come out of her, my people, that ye be not partakers of her sins, and that ye receive not of her plagues.’  We were talking, not of Papists, but of Popery.  Sincere hatred of the system is not incompatible with sincere love to its deluded followers.”

CHAPTER XI.

“My voice shalt thou hear in the morning, O Lord; in the morning will I direct my prayer unto thee, and will look up.”—­Psalm 5:3.

It was early morning; Captain Raymond was pacing to and fro along the top of the cliffs, now sending a glance seaward, and now toward the door of the cottage which was his temporary home, as if expecting a companion in his ramble.

Presently the door opened and Lulu stepped out upon the porch.  One eager look showed her father, and she bounded with joyful step to meet him.

“Good-morning, my dear papa,” she cried, holding up her face for a kiss, which he gave with hearty affection.

“Good-morning, my dear little early bird,” he responded.  “Come, I will help you down the steps and we will pace the sands at the water’s edge.”

This was Lulu’s time for having her father to herself, as she phrased it.  He was sure to be out at this early hour, if the weather would permit, and she almost equally sure to join him:  and as the others liked to lie a little longer in bed, there was seldom any one to share his society with her.

He led her down the long flights of stairs and across the level expanse of sand, close to where the booming waves dashed up their spray.

For some moments the two stood hand in hand silently gazing upon sea and sky, bright with the morning sunlight; then they turned and paced the beach for a time, and then the captain led his little girl to a seat in the porch of a bathing-house, from which they could still look far out over the sea.

“Papa,” she said, nestling close to his side, “I am very fond of being down here all alone with you.”

“Are you, daughter?” he said, bending down to caress her hair and cheek.  “Well, I dearly love to have my little girl by my side.  How long have you been up?”