"Nor I," said Lucilla. "No greater calamity than the loss of our father could possibly befall us. And there are plenty of other people to look after the Cubans."
"So I think," said Violet. "If our country was in peril it would be a different matter. And, my dear, as your eldest son is in the fight—such a dear fellow as he is too!—I am sure that ought to be considered your full share of giving and doing for the Cuban cause."
"I should think so indeed!" chimed in Lucilla and Grace in a breath.
"And, oh, I can't bear to think that my dear brother Max may get wounded!" exclaimed Elsie; and Ned added, "And if he does, I'd just like to shoot the fellow that shoots him."
"We must try not to feel revengeful, my little son," said his father.
"Well, papa, please promise not to offer to go into the fight," pleaded Grace, and the others all added their earnest solicitations to hers, till at length they won the desired pledge. They were too dear to the captain's heart to be denied what they pleaded for so earnestly and importunately.
Grace was feebler and oftener ailing that spring than she had been for several years before, and Dr. Arthur Conly, or one or the other of his partners,—Harold and Herbert Travilla,—was often there to give advice and see that it was followed. It had been Harold oftener, of late, than any one else, and he had grown very fond of the sweet girl who always listened with such deference to his advice, and called him "uncle" in her sweet voice. The thought of leaving her gave him a keener pang than anything else, as he contemplated leaving his home for the labors and dangers of the seat of war. He was glad indeed when he learned that the captain would remain at home to take care of her and the rest of his family.
Grace noticed with pleasure that as the time of his leaving drew near his manner toward her grew more affectionate, till it seemed almost as tender as that of her father, and she thought it very nice that Uncle Harold should be so fond of her. She looked up to him as one who was very wise and good, and wondered that he should care particularly for her, as she was not really related to him at all. He was fond of Lucilla also, but Grace seemed to him the lovelier of the two. He had always been fond of her, but did not know until about to leave her for that dangerous field of usefulness that his affection was of the sort to make him long for her as the partner of his life. But so it was. Yet could it be? Would the captain ever consent to such a mixture of relationships? He feared not; and at all events it was quite certain that he would not be allowed to try to win his coveted prize for years to come—she being so young, and far from strong and well. Then as he was about to risk his life on battlefields, it would be cruelty to her to try to win her love before he went.
He resolved to go without revealing his secret to any one. But he had never had an important secret from his mother; all his life he had been used to talking freely with her, telling of his hopes, aims, and wishes, his doubts and perplexities, and almost before he knew it he had said enough of his feelings for Grace to show to that mother's keen-sighted affection how the land lay.
"Grace is very lovely, and a dear child," she said low and gently; "but, as you know, she is not well or strong. Also she is so young that her father would not hear of her marrying for years to come."