"Since writing to you yesterday that I was going up north on the _Clytie_, I have been thinking about the baby, and that it might be wise to provide for her as best I can in case anything should happen to me. So I enclose a draft for eleven thousand five hundred dollars made payable to you. I have realised on my property here, but this is all I have aside from my passage-money and a little more, and, if I land safely, I shall probably ask you to return at least a large part of it. "But, if the ship should go down, as I sincerely hope it won't, she will be sure of this, for her clothing and education. In case anything should happen to her, of course I would want you and Matilda to have the money, but if it doesn't, give Rosemary everything she needs or wants while the money lasts, and oh, mother, be good to my little girl! "Your loving son, "Frank." [Sidenote: The Truth of the Matter] In a flash of insight Rosemary divined the truth. The gold hidden behind the loose brick in the chimney was hers, given to her by her dead father. And she had not even a postage stamp! But swiftly her anger died away in joy--a joy that surged and thrilled through her as some white, heavenly fire that warmed her inmost soul. Not alone, but cared for--sheltered, protected, loved. "Oh," breathed Rosemary, with her eyes shining; "Father, dear father--my father, taking care of me!" Then, in her thought, she added, without dreaming of irreverence, "I think God must be like that!" XVI One Little Hour [Sidenote: The Two Faces] When she awoke in the morning it was with a bewildering sense of change. Something had happened, and, in the first moment, she was not quite sure whether a dream had not boldly overstepped the line into daylight. The faded photograph, propped up on the table at the head of her bed, at once reassured her, and Rosemary smiled, with a joy so great that it was almost pain tugging at the fibres of her heart. To an outsider, perhaps, the two faces would have been common enough, but one of love's divinest gifts is the power to bestow beauty wherever it goes. The old man, bent with years, with the snows of his fourscore winters lying heavily upon his head, may seem an object of kindly pity as he hobbles along with crutch or cane, going oh, so slowly, where once his feet were fain to run from very joy of living. The light may be gone from his faded eyes, his dull ears may not respond to question or call, but one face, waiting at a window, shall illumine at the sight of him, and one voice, thrilling with tenderness, shall stir him to eager answer. [Sidenote: Beauty the Twin of Love]