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.