The _Dolphin's_ passengers retired early to their staterooms on that stormy Sunday night; that is, all of them except the captain and Lucilia. He was on the deck, and she sat in the saloon, reading and waiting for a little chat with her father before seeking her berth for the night. Presently she heard his approaching footsteps, and, closing her book, looked up at him with a glad smile. "Ah, daughter, so you are here waiting for me as usual," he said in his kind, fatherly tones; and, taking a large easy-chair close at hand, he drew her to a seat upon his knee. "You haven't sat here for quite a while," he said, passing his arm about her and pressing his lips to her cheek. "No, sir; and I am very glad to be allowed to do it again, big and old as I am," she returned, with a smile that was full of love and pleasure. "Oh, I am so glad--so glad every day that God gave me to you instead of to somebody else. I thank him for it very often." "As I do," he said; "for I consider my dear eldest daughter one of God's good gifts to me." "Whenever I hear you say that, father, I feel ashamed of all my faults and follies and want--oh, so much--to grow wiser and better." "I too need to grow better and wiser," he said; "and we must both ask daily and hourly to be washed from our sins in the precious blood of Christ--that fountain opened for sin and for uncleanness. "'There is a fountain filled with blood, Drawn from Immanuel's veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains.'" "Papa, I love that hymn, and am thankful to Cowper for writing it," she said. "And so am I," he returned. "Oh, what gratitude we owe for the opening of that fountain! for the love of Christ that led him to die that painful and shameful death of the cross--that we might live. 'The love of Christ which passeth knowledge.'" They were silent for a little; then he said, "It is growing late, daughter; it is quite time time that this one of my birdlings was in her nest. Give me my good-night kiss and go." "Can I go to you on the deck in the morning, papa?" she asked as she prepared to obey. "That depends upon the weather," he answered. "If it is neither raining nor blowing hard, you may; otherwise, you may not." "Yes, sir; I'll be careful to obey," she said: with a loving smile up into his face. All seemed quiet within and without when she awoke in the morning, and dressing speedily she stole out through the cabin, and up the stairway, till she could look out upon the deck. Her father was there, caught sight of her at once, and drew quickly near. "Good-morning, daughter," he said; "you may come out here, for it is not raining just now, and the wind has fallen." "Is the storm over, father, do you think?" she asked, hastening to his side. "The worst of it certainly is, and I think it will probably clear before night." "So that we can start on our homeward journey?"