"But we can't cross over to Ireland. Father could not possibly stand the trip," she said. The uncle agreed to that. "We'll have to stop at Liverpool for a day or so--I have it!" he exclaimed, "Captain Andrew Brown is now at home. He told me to be sure to call, and bring you all with me. He has a very nice house up the Mersey--a fine restful place. We'll go there." And they did. Lucy could say nothing for or against, and the father was so ill by the time they reached Liverpool that he did not seem to realize what he was doing or where he was going. A cab took them all out from the noises of the city to the quiet of the countryside. It was afternoon, and the sun shone slantingly on the waters of the river, above which on the hills amid trees and flowering gardens stood the house of Captain Andrew Brown. As the carriage rolled along the graveled path to the house, the captain himself came to meet them, expressing his surprise and delight, and welcoming them most heartily. The minister was helped out and into the house, where he was made comfortable. Lucy was shown to her room by the housekeeper. Uncle Gilbert made explanations to the captain of the reason for this untoward raid on his hospitality. "I'm mighty glad you came," said the captain. "You couldn't possible have gone on, and as for stopping at a hotel--if you had, I should never have forgiven you." The sick man would not take anything to eat. He lay as if half asleep, so he was put to bed. Lucy remained with him during the evening. Once in a while he would open his eyes, reach out his hand for hers and hold it for a moment. Poor, dear father, she thought, as she stroked his hair softly. What could Chester mean to leave his father, even for a few days? He ought to be here.... She could not understand. Was it all just an excuse to get away from them? to get away from this newly-found father and sister? She would not believe that of Chester. That couldn't be true, and yet, and yet-- She turned lower the light, went to the window, and looked out on the river. A crescent moon hung above the mist. The water lay still as if asleep, only broken now and then by some passing craft. The breeze played in the trees near the window and the perfumes of the rich flower beds were wafted to her. The girl stood by the window a long time as if she expected her lover-brother to come to her through the half darkness. Perhaps, after all, it was better he did not come. Perhaps he had acted wisely. The father lay as if sleeping, so she continued to look out at the moon and the water. Her heart burned, but out of it came a prayer. Then she quietly kneeled by the window sill, and still looking out into the night she poured out the burden of her heart to the Father whose power to bless and to comfort is as boundless as the love of parent for child.