A journey begun without distinct purpose had brought to him father and sweetheart. Outward bound he had been alone, empty and void in his life; and now he was going home with heart full of love and life rich with noble purpose.

Chester's father appeared before Lucy. The son met him and took his arm as they paced the deck slowly. The father declared to Chester that he was feeling fine; and, in fact, he looked remarkably well.

"I am sorry we did not hear from Gilbert before we sailed," said the father; "but I suppose the fault was ours in not writing to him sooner."

"He barely had time to get the letter," said Chester.

"I suppose so. But it doesn't matter. We should only have just stopped off at Kildare Villa to say goodbye, any way."

"It's a pity we don't stop at Queenstown. He could have come out on the tender."

"Perhaps he would, and then perhaps he wouldn't. It would depend on just how he felt--halloo, Lucy--you up already?"

"I couldn't lay abed longer this beautiful morning," exclaimed Lucy as she came up to them. "Isn't this glorious! Is Wales below the sea yet?"

"No; there's a tip left. See, there, just above the water."

"Goodbye, dear old Europe," said Lucy, as she waved her handkerchief.

"I've always loved you--I love you now more than ever."

Father and son looked and smiled knowingly at her. Then they all went down to breakfast.

Just about that same time of day, Thomas Strong's delayed letter reached his brother in Cork. Uncle Gilbert read the letter while he ate his breakfast, and Aunt Sarah wondered what could be so disturbing in its contents; for he would not finish his meal.

"What is it, Gilbert?" she asked.

"Thomas, Lucy, and that young fellow, Chester Lawrence are going to--yes, have already sailed from Liverpool with Captain Brown."

"And they're not coming to see us before they leave?"

"Didn't I say, they're already on the water--or should be--off to New York with Captain Brown--and he doesn't touch at Queenstown, and in that boat--"

Uncle Gilbert wiped his forehead.

"I'm sorry that they did not call," commented Aunt Sarah complacently; "but I suppose they were in a hurry, and Captain Brown will take care of them."

"In a hurry! No. Captain Brown--" but the remark was lost to his wife.

He cut short his eating, hurried to town, and, in faint hopes that it might be in time, sent a telegram to his brother in Liverpool which read:

"Don't sail with Captain Brown. Will explain later."

This telegram was delivered to Captain Brown's housekeeper, who sent it to the steamship company's office, where it was safely pigeon-holed.

The morning passed at Kildare Villa. The telegram brought no reply. In foolish desperation, hoping against hope, Uncle Gilbert took the first fast train northward, crossed by mail steamer to Holyhead, thence on to Liverpool, where he arrived too late. The boat had sailed. He went to the steamship company's office in Water Street, and passed, without asking leave, into the manager's office. That official was alone, which was to Gilbert Strong's purpose.

"Why did you permit my brother to sail with Captain Brown?" asked he abruptly.

"My dear Mr. Strong," said the manager, "calm yourself. I do not understand."

"Yes, you do. You know as well as I do that his ship is--is not in the best condition. You ought not to have allowed passengers at all."

"Sit down, Mr. Strong. The boat is good for many a trip yet, though it is true, as you know, that she is to go into dry dock for overhauling on her return. Has your brother sailed on her?"

"He has, my brother, his daughter and her young man. I suppose there were other passengers also?"

"Yes; a few--perhaps twenty-five all told. Don't worry; Captain Brown will bring them safely through."

"Yes," said Gilbert Strong, as he left the office, "yes, if the Lord will give him a show--but--"

He could say no more, for did he not know full well that at a meeting of company directors at which he had been present, it had been decided to try one more trip with Captain Brown in command, and the fact that the boat was not in good condition was to be kept as much as possible from the captain. A little tinkering below and a judicious coat of paint above would do much to help the appearance of matters, one of the smiling directors had said. And so--well, he would try not to worry. Of course, everything would be well. Such things were done right along, with only occasionally a disaster or loss--fully covered by the insurance.

But for all his efforts at self assurance, when he went home to Aunt Sarah he was not in the most easy frame of mind.

The little company under Captain Brown's care was having a delightful time. The weather was so pleasant that there was very little sickness.

Chester again escaped and even his father and Lucy were indisposed for a day or two only. After that the long sunny days and much of the starry nights were spent on deck. The members of the company soon became well acquainted. Captain Brown called them his "happy family."

And now Chester and Lucy had opportunity to get near to each other in heart and mind. With steamer chairs close together up on the promenade deck where there usually were none but themselves, they would sit for hours, talking and looking out over the sea. "Shady bowers 'mid trees and flowers" may be ideal places for lovers; but a quiet protected corner of a big ship which plows majestically through a changeless, yet ever-changing sea, has also its charms and advantages.

On the fourth day out. The water was smooth, the day so warm that the shade was acceptable. Chester and Lucy had been up on the bridge with Captain Brown, who had told them stories of the sea, and had showed them pictures of his wife and baby, both safe in the "Port of Forever," he had said. All this had had its effect on the two young people, and so when they went down to escape the glare of the sun on the exposed bridge, they sought a shady corner amid-ships. When they found chairs, Chester always saw that she was comfortable, for though well as she appeared, she was never free from the danger of a troublesome heart. The light shawl which she usually wore on deck, hung loosely from her shoulders across her lap, providing a cover behind which two hands could clasp. They sat for some time that afternoon, in silence, then Lucy asked abruptly:

"Chester, you haven't told me much about that girl out West. You liked her very much, didn't, you?"

"Yes," he admitted, after a pause. "I think I can truthfully say I did; but this further I can say, that my liking for her was only a sort of introduction to the stronger, more matured love which was to follow,--my love for you. I think I have told you before that you bear a close resemblence to her; and it occurs to me now that therein is another of God's wonderful providences."

"How is that?"

"Had you not looked like her I would not have been attracted to you, and very likely, would have missed you and my father, and all this."

"I'm glad your experience has been turned to such good account. Now, I for example, never had a beau until you came."

"What?"

"Oh, don't feign surprise. You know, I'm no beauty, and I never was popular with the boys. Someone once told me it was because I was too religious. What do you think of that?"

"Too religious! Nonsense. The one thing above another, if there is such, that I like about you is that your beauty of heart and soul corresponds to your beauty of face--No; don't contradict. You have the highest type of beauty--"

"Beauty is in the eyes that see," she interrupted.

"Certainly; and in the heart that understands. As I said, the highest type of beauty is where the inner and the outer are harmoniously combined. I think that is another application of the truth that the spiritual and the mortal, or 'element' as the revelation calls it, must be eternally connected to insure a perfect being. Somehow, I always sympathize with one whose beautiful spirit is tabernacled in a plain body. And yet, my pity is a hundred times more profound for one whom God has given a beautiful face and form, but whose heart and soul have been made ugly by sin--but there, if I don't look out, I'll be preaching."

"Well, your congregation likes to hear you preach."

Space will not permit the recording of the number of times emphasis was given to various expressions in this conversation by the hand pressure under the shawl.

"Now," continued he, "I can't conceive of your not having any admirers."

"I didn't say admirers--I said beaux."