Sandy McAlpine and a younger brother named Hugh were sitting near by looking over a picture-book together.
“Is your mother not well, boys?” asked the captain, glancing from his paper to them. “I think I have not seen her at all to-day.”
“No, sir,” replied Sandy; “She’s lying down with a headache.”
“She got a letter,” added Hugh; “one of those letters that always make her cry and get a bad headache. I wish they wouldn’t come, ever any more.”
“Hush, hush, Hugh!” muttered Sandy, frowning at his brother and nudging him with his elbow. “You know mother wouldn’t like you talking so, especially to a stranger.”
“I haven’t said anything wicked,” returned the little fellow. “May be you like to see mother cry and have a headache, but I don’t, and I’d just thrash the man that sends her such horrid letters, if I could; and I will, too, when I’m a big, strong man.”
Captain Raymond was seemingly quite occupied with his paper during this little aside between the lads, but he heard every word, and was thinking to himself, “It is probably some financial trouble, and I must see what I can do for her relief; there are very special promises to widows, and as one of the Lord’s stewards it becomes me to be ready to assist them in distress.”
Marian came to the door at that moment with the announcement that tea was ready.
The Raymonds at once rose and obeyed the summons, the captain with his newspaper still in his hand. He laid it aside before sitting down to his meal, and forgot it on leaving the room after supper.
He presently remembered it, however, and went back in search of it. He found Mrs. McAlpine there alone, in tears, and with an open letter in her hand. He would have retreated, but perceived that it was already too late. She was aware of his presence, and opening her lips to speak.