He lingered over the letter, re-reading passages here and there, but at length laid it aside, and gave his attention to others bearing the same post-mark.

There was a short one from Max, which stirred his heart with fatherly love and pride in his boy; that came next after Violet’s:  then he opened Lulu’s bulky packet.

He sighed deeply as he laid it down after a careful perusal, during which his face had grown stern and troubled, and, rising, paced the cabin to and fro, his hands in his pockets, his head bowed on his breast, which again and again heaved with a deep-drawn sigh.

“What I am to do with that child, I do not know,” he groaned within himself.  “If I could make a home for her, and have her constantly with me, I might perhaps be able to train her up aright, and help her to learn the hard lesson how to rule her own spirit.

“I could not do that, however, without resigning from the service; and that would be giving up my only means of earning a livelihood for her as well as the others and myself.  That is not to be thought of:  nor could I forsake the service without heartfelt regret, were I a millionnaire.”

The captain was a man of prayer.  Some moments were spent on his knees, asking guidance and help for himself, and a change of heart for his wayward little daughter; then, again seating himself at his writing-table, he opened yet another letter, one whose superscription he recognized as that of a business agent in one of our far Western States.

His face lighted up as he read, and a text flashed across his mind:  “And it shall come to pass, that before they call, I will answer; and while they are yet speaking, I will hear.”

That sheet of paper was the bearer of most strange, unlooked-for tidings:  a tract of wild land, bought by him for a trifle years before, and long considered of little or no value, had suddenly become—­by the discovery that it contained rich mineral deposits, and the consequent opening of mines, and laying out of a town upon it—­worth many thousands, perhaps millions of money.

And he—­Capt.  Raymond—­was the undisputed owner of it all,—­of wealth beyond his wildest dreams.  He could scarce believe it:  it seemed impossible.  Yet it was undoubtedly true; and a bright vision of a lovely home, with wife and children about him, rose up before his mind’s eye, and filled him with joy and gratitude to the Giver of all good.

He would send in his resignation, and realize the vision at the earliest possible moment.

But stay! could he now, in the prime of life, forsake the service for which he had been educated, and to which he had already given many of his best years?  Could he be content to bid a final farewell to the glorious old ocean so long his home, so beautiful and lovable in its varied moods, and settle down upon the unchanging land, quite reconciled to its sameness?  Would he not find in himself an insatiable longing to be again upon the ever restless sea, treading once more the deck of his gallant ship, monarch of her little world, director of all her movements?