“No:  the captain feels that, and is duly grateful.  It is evident, too, that Lulu’s lack of gratitude, and her bad behavior, are extremely mortifying to him.”

“But don’t you think, Ned, it was rather hard to insist on her going back to that ill-tempered, abusive old music-teacher?”

“Yes,” he acknowledged with some hesitation.  “I rather wonder at grandpa.”

“I wonder how it is going to end,” said Zoe:  “they are both so very determined, I should not like to stand in Lulu’s shoes, nor yet in his.”

A second letter from Betty, received a fort-night later, told how it had ended:  though Betty, not being in Lulu’s confidence as Evelyn was, knew nothing of Capt.  Raymond’s letter to his daughter, or of Lulu’s confession in reply to it; so her story ended with the statement that Lulu had at last submitted, been restored to favor, and was at Magnolia Hall with Evelyn as a companion, all the children who were in health having been banished from Viamede to save them from the danger of catching the dreaded fever.

But to go back to the morning when the first instalment of her story was received.

“It must be a very anxious time for them,—­the family at Viamede, I mean,” remarked Edward musingly.  “And poor, dear Vi is so young to have such burdens to bear.  What a blessing that she has mamma with her!”

“Yes,” said Zoe.  “And, oh!  I hope the children will get well, they are such darlings, both Gracie and the baby.  I feel very sorry they are so ill, and yet I can’t help rejoicing that my dear husband is able to sit up again.

“Is that quite heartless in me?” she asked, laying her hand on one of his, which rested on the arm of his easy-chair; for she was seated in a low rocker, close at his side.

“I think not,” he answered, smiling down into her eyes.  “It will do them no good for us to make ourselves unhappy.  We will sympathize with, and pray for, them, but at the same time be thankful and joyful because of all God’s goodness to us and them.  ’Rejoice in the Lord always:  and again I say, Rejoice.’  ‘Rejoicing in hope; patient in tribulation.’”

“You have certainly obeyed that last injunction,” remarked Zoe, looking at him with affectionate admiration; “so patient and cheerful as you have been ever since your injury!  Many a man would have grumbled and growled from morning to night; while you have been so pleasant, it was a privilege to wait on you.”

“Thank you,” he said, laughing:  “it is uncommonly good in you to say that, but I’m afraid you are rather uncharitable in your judgment of ‘many men.’

“Mamma has not yet heard of my accident,” he remarked presently, “and wonders over my long silence.  I’ll write to her now, if you will be so kind as to bring me my writing-desk.”

“I’m doubtful about allowing such exertion,” she said:  “you are left under my orders, you remember, and I’m to be held responsible for your continued improvement.”