“I can scarce bear to think of such a possibility,” the captain said a
trifle huskily, and tightening his clasp of Violet’s slender waist, “it
seems that one such loss should be enough in a lifetime. But it is just
like my own sweet Violet to desire to have Grace’s children remember
her with affection.”
“Her name was Grace?”
“Yes; our little Gracie wears her name as well as her looks; also
inherits from her the frail health which causes us so much anxiety, as
well as her timidity and sweet gentleness of manner and disposition.”
“She must have been sweet and beautiful,” Violet said low and softly.
“And you loved her very much?”
“Dearly, dearly; but no more than I love her sweet successor,”
accompanying the last words with a very tender caress. “I have often
asked myself what I ever did to deserve the love of two such women.”
“I should rather ask what they ever did to deserve yours,” said Violet.
“I think the hardest part of dying would be leaving you.”
“Strange! Grace told me it was so to her,” he remarked in surprise.
“Poor thing! I can not help pitying her,” said Violet. “And I quite
fill her place to you, Levis?” she asked with some hesitation, and a
wistful, longing look up into his face.
“Entirely, my dear love,” he said, holding her close to his heart, with
repeated and most loving caresses.
“Ah, then I do not feel jealous of the love you had for her, no matter
how great it was. But please tell me more about her; of the life you
led together, and the time when—she left you.”
“Ah, that was a sad time,” he said with emotion; then for some moments
seemed lost in retrospective thought.
Violet waited in silence, her hand still in his, her eyes gazing
tenderly into his grave, almost sorrowful face.
Presently he heaved a sigh, and in a low, half-absent tone, as if he
were rather thinking aloud than talking to her, began the story she had
asked for.
“It is just about fifteen years,” he said, “since I first met Grace
Denby. She was then hardly more than eighteen, a fair, fragile-looking
girl, with delicate features, large, liquid blue eyes, and a wealth of
golden hair.
“A gentle, timid, clinging creature—almost alone in the world, having
neither parent, brother nor sister—she was just the sort to win the
enthusiastic devotion of a great, strong fellow like myself; I felt a
protecting love for her from the first hour of our acquaintance.”
Violet was listening with deep interest, and as the captain paused in
his narrative, she asked in her low, soft tones, “Where did you meet
her?”
“At the house of my friend, Lieutenant Henry Acton. We were
fellow-officers on the same vessel, intimate friends; and getting a
leave of absence together, when our ship came into port one summer day,
nothing would content Harry but for me to go home with him and see the
pretty young wife he was so proud of.
“She and Grace had been school-girls together and were bosom friends.
“Grace, as I learned at length, was comparatively poor, and not treated
in a way to make her happy in the family of an uncle with whom she made
her home, not of choice, but necessity; so she had gladly accepted the
invitation of Mrs. Acton to spend some weeks with her.
“Well, to make a long story short, Harry and his wife were naturally
very much taken up with each other, and Grace and I were constantly
thrown together, often left without other society; and soon we did not,
I think, care for any other. Before the first week was out I at least
was deeply in love, and the second had not elapsed ere we were engaged.
“It was the evening before my leave expired, and the next day’s parting
was both sweet and sorrowful.”
“You did not marry at once?” Violet said inquiringly, as again the
captain paused with a slight sigh and a half absent air.
“No; I should have been glad to do so; was, indeed, very urgent for the
right at once to claim her as my own and provide for all her wants,
but—” and he turned to Violet with a slight smile—“ladies are, I am
inclined to think, almost always desirous to defer the final plunge,
even when they would be by no means willing to resign all prospect of
matrimony.”
“Yes; the step is so irretrievable and so important—involving so much
of happiness or misery—that it is no wonder we pause and half shrink
back on the brink of the precipice,” she returned with an arch glance
up into his face. “But go on, please; I am deeply interested. How long
were you forced to wait, poor fellow?” stroking his cheek caressingly
with her pretty white hand. “I was only a little girl then, so have no
need to feel as though you should have waited for me.”
“No; you were waiting and growing up, ready for me,” he answered with
tender look and smile.
“Yes, so it seems; and it was just as well that you were enjoying Grace
in the meantime, and that she was happy with you, as I am quite sure
she must have been.”
“I think she was,” he said; “she often told me so, though our many
partings wrung both our hearts.
“I had another leave of absence within the year, and then we were
married. We went to Niagara for a week, then came back and started our
housekeeping.
“It was only in a small way. Harry and I had taken a double house, that
our wives might be close together when their husbands were off at sea,
yet each have her own little domicile—a plan which worked very nicely.
“On my next home-coming I found a new treasure; Grace met me with Max
in her arms, and perhaps you can imagine the joy and pride with which I
took him into mine after the mutual tender embrace between his parents.
I had been gone for over a year, and he was a fine, big fellow, old
enough to be afraid of his father at first, but not many days had
passed before he would come to me even from his mother, and strangely
enough, it seemed to please her mightily.”
“Ah, I can understand that,” remarked Violet.
“I had a long leave that time,” the captain went on, “and a very happy
time it was. Of course it was succeeded by a sorrowful parting, for
I was ordered off to the coast of China, and again more than a year
elapsed before I saw wife and children—a little daughter had been added
to my treasures in the meanwhile, you will understand, and having been
apprized of the fact, I was very eager to see her as well as her mother
and our son.
“That, too, was a joyful time, but my after-visits to my little family
were saddened by my wife’s ill health; she was never well after
Gracie’s birth, but grew more and more feeble year by year till the end
came.”
A heavy sigh followed the concluding words, and for some moments he sat
silent, his eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the floor.
“Were you with her at the last?” asked Violet, in low, feeling tones.
“Yes; I have always been thankful for that. She was a Christian, and
for her death had no terrors; she was glad to go, except when she
thought of the parting from her dear ones.
“‘My little children! my poor soon-to-be-motherless darlings!’ she
moaned one day, as I sat by her side, with her hand in mine; ‘what is
to become of them!’
“I assured her I would do my best for them; earnestly endeavoring to be
father and mother both in one.
“‘But, oh, you can not, because you will be forced to leave them for
months or years together,’ she sobbed: ‘ah, the only bitterness of
death to me is leaving them and you, my dear, dear husband.’
“I could only remind her of God’s gracious promises to the seed of the
righteous, and his tender care for all helpless ones, and entreat her
to trust them implicitly to Him; and at length she seemed able to do so.
“She died in my arms, her dear eyes gazing into mine with a look of
intense affection which I can never forget.”
He was silent for a moment, then resumed his narrative.
“My leave of absence had so nearly expired that I had scarce more than
time to see her dear body laid in the grave, and place my children in
the care of Mrs. Scrimp (a sad mistake, as I have since thought, but
seemingly the best thing that could be done then), when I was forced to
bid my poor motherless darlings good-by, and leave them.
“Ah, how they clung to me, crying as if their hearts would break, and
begging most piteously that I would stay with them or take them away
with me. But, as you know, neither alternative was possible, and though
it broke my heart as well as theirs, I was compelled to tear myself
away, leaving them in their bitter sorrow and loneliness.
“Oh, I can not think of it yet without sore pain!” he added in moved
tones.
Then, after a moment’s pause, “How thankful I am that now I can give
them a good home and have the constant oversight of them! I find it
sweet work to teach and train them, and watch the unfolding of their
minds; and how sweet to be able to fondle and caress them whenever
I will, and to receive such loving caresses from them as I do every
day!—my precious darlings!”
“They are dear, lovable children,” she said, “and what a good father
you are, Levis.”
“I don’t know,” he said, doubtfully; “I certainly have a very strong
desire to be such, but I fear I sometimes make mistakes. I have used
greater severity toward Lulu than I ever did with either of the others,
or ever expect to. It pains me to think of it; and yet I felt it my
duty at the time; it was done from a strong sense of duty, and seems to
have had an excellent effect.”
“It certainly does, and therefore you should not, I think, feel badly
about it.”
“The child is very dear to me,” he said; “I sometimes think all the
dearer because she is a constant care and anxiety. I dare not forget
her for an hour, but must be always on the watch to help her guard
against a sudden outburst of her passionate temper; and I strongly
sympathize with her in the hard struggle necessary to conquer it.
“Her mother’s invalidism was a most unfortunate thing for Lulu. Poor
Grace felt that she had no strength to contend against the child’s
determined will; so humored her and let her have her own way far more
than was at all good for her; while she was seldom or never called to
account and punished for her fits of rage.
“Mrs. Scrimp’s treatment following upon that, was, I think, even more
hurtful to Lulu, subjecting her to constant irritation as well as the
absence of proper control.
“I am more and more convinced as I watch my children and notice the
diversity of character which they show, that it is very necessary to
vary my system of training accordingly. The strictness and occasional
severity absolutely needful in dealing with Lulu, would be quite
crushing to the tender, timid nature of my little Grace; a gentle
reproof is all-sufficient for her in her worst moods, and she is never
willfully disobedient.”
“Nor is Max, so far as I am aware,” remarked Violet with a look and
smile that spoke fond appreciation of the lad.
“No; when Max disobeys or is guilty of any other misdemeanor, it is
pretty certain to be from mere thoughtlessness; which is bad enough
to be sure, but far less reprehensible than Lulu’s willful defiance
of authority. That last is something which, in my opinion, no parent
has a right to let go unpunished; much less overlook or ignore, as of
little or no consequence.”