“And I should be more than willing to take her so, if I could get her,” the captain answered, returning the smile; “it would be a dear delight to me to provide her with all things desirable by my own exertions.”

“Excuse the question, Capt.  Raymond, but have you taken into consideration the fact that Violet’s extreme youth must render her unfit for the cares and responsibilities of motherhood to your children?”

“Mr. Dinsmore, there is not a woman in a thousand of those twice her age whom I would as willingly trust.  But she shall have no care or labor that I can save her from, always supposing I can be so happy as to win her for my own.”

The family had retired for the night to their own apartments.  Mrs. Travilla, almost ready to seek her couch, sat alone in her dressing-room in front of the brightly blazing wood fire; her open Bible was in her hand, a lamp burning on a little table by the side of her easy-chair.

Her dressing-gown of soft white cashmere became her well, and her unbound hair lying in rich masses on her shoulders lent a very youthful look to face and figure.

Her father thought, as he came softly in and stood at her side, gazing down upon her, that he had seldom seen her more rarely beautiful.

She lifted her eyes to his with the old sweet smile of filial love and reverence, shut her book and laid it on the table.

He laid his hand gently on her head, bent down and kissed her on brow and cheek and lip.

“Dear papa, won’t you sit down?” she said, rising to draw up a chair for him.

“Yes,” he answered; “I want a little talk with you.  How wonderfully young you look to-night!—­so like my little girl of other days that I feel a strong inclination to invite you to your old seat upon my knee.  Will you take it?” sitting down and drawing her gently toward him.

She yielded to his wish, saying, as she put her arm about his neck and gazed lovingly into his eyes, “I am still child enough to enjoy it greatly, if I am not so heavy as to weary you, my dear father.”

“I do not feel your weight unpleasantly,” he returned.  “You must remember I am a very strong man, and you but a slight and delicate woman.  Not so plump as I could wish to see you,” he added, pushing up the sleeve of her gown and clasping his fingers round the white arm.

“Isn’t there plenty of flesh there to hide the bones?” she asked laughingly.

“The bones are well hidden, but the flesh is not so solid as I would have it.”

“Ah, papa, you must not be so hard to please!” she said, with playful look and tone.  “I think I’m in very good condition; am glad I’m not too heavy to sit here and play at being your own little girl again.  What happy days those were! when I had not a care or anxiety except to please my earthly and my heavenly father.”

“Would you like to go back to them?”

“No, dear father, your love and tender care made me a very happy child, but I have no desire to retrace my steps.  I should far rather press forward to the heavenly home whither you are travelling with me—­’the rest that remaineth to the people of God,’ rest from sin as well as from sorrow, pain, and care.”