“A letter from Mrs. Osborn,” replied Hugh. “Well, is it not for you?” inquired the old captain. “Certainly,” said Hugh, “but then—” “If it is for you, it is not for me,” said the captain, “and, Hugh, my boy, understand for now and for all time that I have no curiosity as to any arrangements my wife may make or any letters she may choose to write. I trust her without question.” “I hardly know why,” said Hugh, “but some way your words chill me.” He waited a moment in silence, and then went on, “I wish I were nearer to you, Captain, for ever since I saw that tear fall on little Harry’s sleeping face I have longed to be as close to you as a son.” The captain noticeably softened, and said, huskily, “There, there, Hugh, my boy, sit down and let me tell you something. You know I am much older than Mrs. Osborn. We have been married twelve years. She was about to enter a convent when I met her pretty girlish face and fell desperately in love with it; and, notwithstanding my almost fifty years of life, it was my first and only love-affair. She finds pleasure in society, and I despise it most cordially—regard it as a hollow mockery. It is not right to object to that in which she finds innocent pleasure. I am a sort of turned-down back number, while she is in the zenith of life. I have thought it all over, and here are my deductions: Mrs. Osborn must have an opportunity of pursuing those innocent paths of amusement in which she finds her greatest pleasure. She has given to me our little Harry, God bless the boy! She is Harry’s mother, and therefore she can do no wrong. When you are older you will learn that love is a looking-glass sort of an affair, framed about with a gossamer network of illusions, easily broken and impossible to mend.” There was a pathetic tenderness in the old captain’s words as he uttered the last sentences, and it struck Hugh, at the time, as being odd. “Now, my boy,” continued the captain, as he looked kindly at Hugh, “I have spoken to you as to no other person on earth. If you were my own son I could not have spoken more freely.” “Thank you,” said Hugh, as he took the captain’s outstretched hand, “I shall strive earnestly to prove myself worthy of your confidence.” “Not only on account of your father, whose memory I certainly revere, but also on account of yourself, I shall try to be all that a father should be to such a son; and, Hugh, if anything should ever happen to me, do as much for little Harry, and the account will be more than balanced.”