"Oh, thank you, Gracie! I do love him dearly, dearly; but as you know I am shamefully quick-tempered and wilful and sometimes look vexed at a reproof or prohibition, then the next minute could beat myself well for it."
"Lu, you never, never are in a passion nowadays!" exclaimed Grace. "I own you do look vexed sometimes for a minute or two, but then it's all over and you are just as sweet and pleasant as anyone could wish. Oh, you are just the dearest, dearest girl! Ah, you needn't shake your head and look so dolorous," she added, in a playful tone, putting her arms about Lucilla and kissing her with ardent affection.
"Ah, yes, you are all so dear and loving, so ready to excuse my faults," Lulu said, returning the embrace with interest. "No one more so than our dear father, though I well know I have given him more pain and trouble than any other of his children, if not than all put together. Gracie, let us kneel down together and ask God to take care of papa and all of us, and that if it is His will the storm may soon so abate that our dear father can go to his berth and get a good night's rest."
Grace was more than willing, and they spent some minutes in earnest supplication.
In that act of prayer Grace cast all her care upon the Lord, and scarcely had she more than laid her head upon her pillow before she fell asleep; but Lucilla lay for hours listening to the howling of the wind, the sound of the waves dashing against the sides of the vessel, her father's voice occasionally giving an order through the speaking trumpet, and the hurried and heavy tread of the sailors as they hastened to obey. It seemed a worse storm than any she had ever been in upon the water, and almost her every breath was a prayer for the safety of the yacht with all its living freight—especially her dearly loved father, now exposed to the fury of the wind, waves, and rain—that they might pass through it in safety.
But at last she fell into a deep sleep, and for some hours heard and felt nothing of the storm. Yet it was not over when she awoke; she could still hear the howling of the wind, the rush of the waters, and feel the rolling and pitching of the vessel. But it was daylight, and slipping from her berth with care not to rouse her still sleeping sister, she knelt for a moment of heart-felt thanks to her heavenly Father, that thus far they had weathered the storm, and fervent supplication that the vessel might outride it in safety to the end.
Rising from her knees she made a hasty toilet, then, anxious to learn of her father's welfare, stole from the room, and holding on by the furniture, crossed the saloon, then with some difficulty climbed the cabin stairway and reached the windswept deck.
One glance showed her her father standing at a little distance, giving some direction to a sailor. He did not see her. There was a momentary lull in the wind, and taking advantage of it she started on a run toward him. But just at that moment came another and fierce gust that took her off her feet and swept her toward the side of the vessel.
In another instant she would have been in the water, had her father not turned suddenly and caught her in his arms barely in time to save her from that fate. He held her fast with one arm while he grasped the railing with the other hand, and held on till the gale again moderated for a moment. Then he carried her back to the cabin. They were alone there, for the others were still in their staterooms. He strained her to his breast in silence, and she felt a tear fall on her head.
"Thank God, my darling, precious child is safe in my arms!" he said at last, speaking scarcely above a whisper, pressing his lips again and again to her forehead, her cheek, her mouth.