"Does it not seem like some strange recompense of Providence that she should have been saved from death by her father?" he said, thoughtfully.
She agreed with him, and then he saw a wistful look stealing into her gentle eyes.
"You are longing for your child?" he asked.
"My heart aches to clasp her again," she answered.
"Be patient. In a few hours I will bring her to you," he answered.
"And you?" she asked, slowly. "Are you glad or sorry that the waves gave her back to us?"
"I love her," he answered, simply, and with that she was content.
He went away on his mission to restore the child to her mother's arms, and Elaine waited with eager impatience for his return.
"He has a brave, true heart," she said. "Irene will have a noble husband. After all, the mistake of that dreadful night may prove a providence to them both."
For it seemed to her that they could not help from loving each other. It seemed like a match made in Heaven. He was so handsome, so noble, so kind. Irene was so lovely, so tender, and her mother knew that beneath her pretty, wilful ways, that were but as the foam on the sea, she had a heart of gold.