"Don't think of it. I'm going to live a long, long time, Chester--with you. Listen, dear, and don't look so worried. Things have changed again.

I don't need to break good news gently, so I may tell you now, papa--I mean, your father, has been telling me something I never dreamed of--Chester, listen. I'm not your father's child--only by adoption--you're not my brother, only of course in the brotherhood of the faith."

"Lucy, what are you saying?"

"I am telling you the truth--as I was told it. He adopted me as a baby--I was an orphan--I am not your sister. Chester--I--"

He seized her hands, and held her at arms length, while his eyes seemed to devour her. She could not repress the tears, and when he saw them, he drew her close and kissed her.

"Lucy, not my sister, but my sweetheart again, my little wife to be--what--does it all mean?"

There came a loud knock at the door, and the father entered without being bidden. He walked firmly up to them, placed a hand on each shoulder, and said:

"My son, I have to ask your forgiveness again. I intended to tell you about Lucy as soon as you learned the truth about yourself, but I was hindered. Don't think, my boy, that I would purposely cause you suffering. What Lucy has told you is true, and I am so glad that the misunderstanding and the mixups no longer exist between us."

The three now found seats and talked over the new situation in which they found themselves, not forgetting the part Uncle Gilbert had taken in recent events, until the strenuous voice of Captain Brown had to supplement the housekeeper's bell, before the three would come down for luncheon.

Those were golden days to Chester, Lucy, and the Rev. Thomas Strong. Out of restless uncertainty, doubts, fears, and heart-aching experiences they now had come to a period of peaceful certainty. Out of straits they had come to a quiet sun-kissed harbor.

Captain Brown looked on all this happiness approvingly. His shore leave was going splendidly. The neighbor's horse and carriage were often brought into requisition, and the father would not be denied his share of these drives. The captain's own boat, long since unused, was put into commission, and with the captain at the tiller the whole family sailed over the placid Mersy. The moon grew rounder, and as the evenings were warm, the boat often lingered in the moonlight. Then songs were sung, Chester and Lucy singing some which the father recognized as "Mormon,"

but which the captain knew only as beautiful and full of sweet spirit.

During those days when the visitors remained with the captain rather more for his own sake than for any other reason, there was just one little cloud in Chester's and Lucy's sunlight. That was that the father took no abiding interest in the religion which now meant so much to them. Once or twice the subject had been carefully broached by Chester, but each time the father had not responded. He made no objections. The young man sometimes thought there would be more hope if he did. However, he and Lucy were not discouraged. They reasoned, with justice, that it was no easy matter to change a life-long habit of belief and practice.

They comforted each other by the hope that all would be well in the end.

Had they not already ample evidence of God's providence shaping all things right.

It was plainly to be seen, however, that the father took great comfort in his new-found son; and well any father might, for Chester was a strong, open-spirited, clean young man. Father and son strolled out together, Lucy sometimes peeping at them from behind the curtain, but denying herself of their company. Chester, by his father's request, told him more of his life's story. The father wished to live as much as could be by word-telling the years he had missed in the life of his son; and the father, for his part, acquainted Chester with his more recent years.

"I married quite late in life," said the father, "a sweet girl who did much for me. That we had no children was a great disappointment to both of us, and when we saw that very likely we never would have any of our own, we found and adopted Lucy. She would never have known the truth about that had not you come and compelled me to tell it. But it's all right now, and the Lord has been kinder to me than I deserve."

"'God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform,'"

quoted Chester.

"'He plants his footsteps in the sea And rides upon the storm,'"

mused the father.

At another time the father said to Chester:

"My boy, it would please me if you would take my name. You need not discard the one you already have, but add mine to it--yours by all that's right."

"Yes, father."

"I have no great fortune, but I have saved a little; and when I am gone, it will be yours and Lucy's--I'll hear no objections to that--for can't you see, all that I can possibly do for you will only in part pay for the wrong I have done. You say you have no definite plans for the future. Then you will come with us to Kansas City, where I expect to take up again my labors in the ministry, at least for a time."

Lucy came upon them at this point.

"Chester has promised to take my name," explained the father.

"That will make it unnecessary for you to change yours," said Chester, as he put his arm around her.

A week passed as rapidly as such golden days do. Chester sent the latest news to Elder Malby. Uncle Gilbert, always impatient, wrote from Kildare Villa, asking when they were "coming home." Captain Brown had made a number of trips of inspection to the docks to see how the loading of his ship was progressing.

At the captain's invitation they all visited the vessel one afternoon.

"Why," exclaimed Lucy in surprise, when she saw the steamer at the dock, "you have a regular ocean liner here. I thought freight boats were small concerns."

"Small! well, now, you know better. Come aboard."

He led the way on deck, and then below.

"This ship is somewhat old," explained Captain Brown, "but she is still staunch and seaworthy. As you see, she has once been a passenger boat, and in fact, she still carries passengers--when we can find some who would rather spend twelve days in comfort than be rushed across in six or seven by the latest greyhounds. I say, when we can find such sensible people," repeated the captain, as he looked curiously at his guests.

The dining room was spacious, the berths of the large, roomy kind which the grasp for economy and capacity had not yet cut down.

"This is a nicer state room than I had coming over," declared Lucy. "Why can't we return with Captain Brown?"

"I should be delighted," said the captain. "The booking offices are on Water Street."

"When do you sail?" asked the father.

"In three days, I believe we shall be ready."

"And your port?"

"New York."

"Your cargo?"

"Mixed."

"Any passengers?"

"A dozen or so--plenty of room, you see. We'll make you comfortable, more so than on a crowded liner. Think about it, Mr. Strong."

"We shall," said Lucy and her father in unison.

CHAPTER XIX.

And thus it came about that the party of three visiting with Captain Andrew Brown, decided to sail with him to New York. A few more days on the water was of no consequence, except as Chester said to Lucy, to enjoy a little longer the after-seasickness period of the voyage. As for Chester himself, he was very pleased with the proposition.

A visit to the company's office in Water Street completed the arrangement. "Yes," said the agent, "we can take care of you. There will be a very small list of passengers, which gives you all the more room.

Besides, it's worth while to cross with Captain Brown."

As the boat did not lay up to the Landing Stage, but put directly to sea from the dock, the passengers were stowed safely away into their comfortable quarters the evening before sailing. When they awoke next morning, they were well out into the Irish sea, the Welsh hills slowly disappearing at the left. Chester was the first on deck. He tipped his cap to Captain Brown on the bridge as they exchanged their morning greetings. The day was bright and warm, the sea smooth. Chester stood looking at the vanishing hills, glancing now and then at the companionway, for Lucy. As he stood there, he thought of the time, only a few days since, when he had caught his first sight of those same green hills. What a lot had happened to him between those two points of time!