Martha Finley

—Rogers.

The morning was but dull and dreary, for though the storm had spent itself, the sky was obscured with clouds and the sea still wrought tempestuously; but its sullen roar may, perchance, have been as favorable to the prolonged slumbers of our worn-out friends, whom the tempest had robbed of so many hours of their accustomed sleep, as the lack of brightness in the sky and atmosphere.

However that may have been, most of them, retiring about dawn of day, slept on till noon, or near it.

In Mrs. Travilla's cottage the family gathered round the breakfast table at the usual hour.

The meal was nearly concluded when a servant brought in the morning paper and handed it to Mr. Dinsmore.

"I fear that brings news of many disasters caused by the storm, especially on the Atlantic seaboard," remarked his daughter as he took it up. "Altogether likely," was his rejoinder. Then as he ran his eye down the long list of casualties, "Why, what is this?" he exclaimed, and went on to read aloud.

"Went ashore last night at Ocean Beach, the Curlew, a pleasure yacht belonging to W. V. Tallis; Captain Collins. She is a total wreck, but no lives were lost, passengers and crew being taken off by the men of Life-Saving Station No. —. List of passengers, Mr. W. V. Tallis, Mr. Edward Travilla, Mr. Charles Perrine, Miss Mary Keith, Miss Amy Fletcher, and Miss Ella Neff."

There was a moment of astonished silence, then "Violet!" gasped the mother, turning deathly pale.

"She was evidently not on board," Mr. Dinsmore hastened to reply, "or else her name was carelessly omitted in the list, for it says distinctly, 'No lives were lost.'"

"I hope you are right, Horace," Mrs. Conly remarked, "but if she were my child I shouldn't have any peace till I knew all about it."

"There isn't the least probability that if a life had been lost the reporter would have failed to say so," returned Mr. Dinsmore with some severity of tone.

"Of course you are in the right, Horace, you always are," she said, bridling.

"Well," remarked Virginia, "I'm astonished, I must own, that such pattern good children should go off on such an expedition without so much as saying by your leave to either mother or guardian."

"I have just said that I am morally certain Violet did not go," said Mr. Dinsmore.

"And I do not blame Edward that he did," added the mother in her sweet, gentle tones; "he is old enough now to decide such matters for himself in the absence of his natural guardians. Also he knows me well enough to judge pretty correctly whether I would approve or not, and I should not have objected had I been there."

"Shall we drive over and see about the children?" asked her father.

"Yes, papa, if you please, and let us start as soon as the necessary arrangements can be made."

Violet had scarcely completed her morning toilet, though it was a little past noon, when glancing from the window she saw a carriage at the gate and her grandfather in the act of assisting her mother to alight from it.

With a low, joyous exclamation, she flew to meet and welcome them.

"Mamma, mamma! I am so glad, so glad you have come!"

"My darling, my darling! Thank God that I have you safe in my arms!" the mother said, holding her close with kisses and tears. "What is this I hear of danger and shipwreck?"

"It is a long story, mamma; but we are all safe. Edward, Charlie, and the girls are still sleeping, I believe, for they were worn out with anxiety and the loss of two nights' rest."

"And you, dear child?"

"Was not with them, but of course slept but little last night—indeed not at all until after daybreak, when they were all safe on shore—and have only just risen."

"Then we will hear the story after you have breakfasted," her grandfather said.

They did not get the whole of it, however, until Edward joined them, an hour or two later. It was to them a deeply interesting and thrilling account that he gave. He had also much to say in Violet's praise, but was relieved and gratified to learn that neither mother nor grandfather blamed him for the course he had taken. He brought in his friend Tallis and introduced him, and was glad to see that the impression on both sides was favorable.

Edward had already urged Tallis to pay him a visit, and Mr. Dinsmore and Elsie repeated the invitation. But the young man declined it for the present, on the plea that the loss of his vessel made it necessary for him to give his attention to some pressing business matters.

Elsie proposed taking her son and daughter home with her, and they were nothing loath. She would have had all the rest of the young party come at once to her cottage and remain as long as they found it agreeable to do so, but all declined with thanks however, except Donald, Mary and Charlie, who promised to come in a few days. Amy was not quite able to travel; they would stay with her until she was sufficiently recruited to undertake the journey to her own home. Charlie would see her and Ella safely there, and follow Mary to the cottage home of the Travillas.

Before leaving Ocean Beach, Elsie and her father visited the life-saving station, and the latter insisted upon bestowing a generous reward upon each of the brave surfmen. Also he contributed largely to the making good their losses to the poor shipwrecked sailors.

Most joyously was the return of Edward and Violet welcomed by grandmother, brothers and sisters. Edward was the hero of the hour, especially with Harold and Herbert, who in fact quite envied him his adventure now that it was safely over.

Violet found home and its beloved occupants dearer and more delightful than ever. The presence there of her aunt and cousin seemed the only drawback upon her felicity; yet that occasionally proved a serious one to both herself and "Cousin Donald," with whom Virginia was determined to get up a flirtation. He did not admire her and would not fall in with her plans, perceiving which she turned against him, became his bitter foe, and made him and Violet both uncomfortable by sly hints that he was seeking her; and that simply because she was an heiress.

Old Mr. Dinsmore had gone to visit his daughter Adeline and most sincerely did Violet wish that "Aunt Louise" and Virginia would follow.

Mrs. Travilla was, as we have said, living a very retired life, not mingling in general society at all, but an old friend of her husband and father, who had been a frequent and welcome guest at the Oaks and Ion, had taken up his temporary residence at a hotel near by, and now and then joined their party on the beach or dropped in at the cottage for a friendly chat with Mr. Dinsmore.

Sometimes Mrs. Travilla was present and took part in the conversation; once or twice it had happened that they had been alone together for a few moments. She neither avoided intercourse with the gentleman nor sought it; though he was a widower and much admired by many of her sex.

Perhaps Mrs. Conly and Virginia were the only persons who had any sinister thoughts in connection with the matter; but they, after the manner of the human race, judged others by themselves. One day Violet accidentally overheard a little talk between them that struck her first with indignation and astonishment, then with grief and dismay.

"What brings Mr. Ford here, do you suppose, mamma?" inquired Virginia, in a sneering tone.

"What a question, Virginia, for a girl of your sense!" replied her mother, "he's courting Elsie, of course. Isn't she a rich and beautiful widow? I had almost added young, for she really looks hardly older than her eldest daughter."

"Well, do you think he'll succeed?"

"Yes, I do; sooner or later. He is certainly a very attractive man, and she can't be expected to live single all the rest of her days. But what a foolish will that was of Travilla's—leaving everything in her hands!"

"Why, mamma?"

"Because Ford may get it all into his possession and make way with it by some rash speculation. Men often do those things."

Violet was alone in a little summer-house in the garden, back of the cottage, with a book. She had been very intent upon it until roused by the sound of the voices of her aunt and cousin, who had been pacing up and down the walk and now paused for an instant close to her, though a thick growth of vines hid her from sight. They moved on with Mrs. Conly's last word, and the young girl sprang to her feet, her cheeks aflame, her eyes glittering, her small hand clenched till the nails sank into the soft flesh. "How dare they talk so of mamma! and papa too, dear, dear papa!" she exclaimed half aloud; then her anger and grief found vent in a burst of bitter weeping as she cast herself down upon the seat from which she had risen, and bowed her head upon her hands.

The storm of feeling was so violent that she did not hear a light, approaching footstep, did not know that any one was near until she felt herself taken into loving arms that clasped her close, while her mamma's sweet voice asked in tenderest tones, "my poor darling, what can have caused you such distress?"

"Mamma, mamma, don't ask me! please don't ask me!" she cried, hiding her blushing, tearful face on her mother's bosom.

"Has my dear Vi then secrets from her mother?" Elsie asked in tones of half reproachful tenderness.

"Only because it would distress you to know, dearest mamma. Oh I could not bear to hurt you so!" sobbed the poor girl.

"Still tell me, dearest" urged the mother. "Nothing could hurt me so sorely as the loss of my child's confidence."

"Then mamma, I will; but oh don't think that I believe one word of it all." Then with a little hesitation. "I think mamma, that I am not doing wrong to tell you, though the words were not meant for my ear?"

"I think not, my dear child, since it seems it is something that concerns both you and me."

The short colloquy had burnt itself into Violet's brain and she repeated it verbatim.

It caused her loved listener a sharper pang than she knew or supposed. Elsie was deeply hurt and for a moment her indignation waxed hot against her ungrateful, heartless relations.

Then her heart sent up a strong cry for help to forgive even as she would be forgiven.

But she must comfort Vi, and how vividly at this moment did memory recall a little scene in her own early childhood when she was in like sore distress from a similar fear, roused in very nearly the same manner; and her father comforted her.

"Vi, darling," she said in quivering tones, and with a tender caress, "it is altogether a mistake. And you need never fear anything of the kind. Your beloved father is no more dead to me than though he were but in the next room. His place is not now—can never be, vacant in either my home or my heart. We are separated for time by 'the stream—the narrow stream of death,' but when I, too, have crossed it, we shall be together, never to part again."

THE END.

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