The father looked out of the window where shortly the moon would again shine down on the river. He stroked the head at his knee. "Lucy, you--love me?" "Oh, father, dear daddy, what a question!" "I--must--tell you--something--should--have told you--long ago--" It was difficult for the man to speak; more so, it appeared, because he was determined to deliver a message to the girl--something that could not wait, but must be told now. Impatient of his slow speech, he walked to the table and seated himself by it. "Light," he said; and while Lucy brought the lamp and lighted it he found pencil and paper. She watched him curiously, wondering what was about to happen. Was he writing a message to Chester? From the other side of the table she watched him write slowly and laboriously until the page was full. Then he paused, looked up at Lucy opposite, reached for another sheet and began again. That sheet was also filled, and the girl's wonder grew. Then he pushed them across the table, saying, "Read;" and while she did so, he turned from her, his head bowed as if awaiting a sentence of punishment. A little cry came from the reader as her eyes ran along the penciled lines. Then there was silence, broken only by her hard breathing, and the ticking of the clock on the mantel. Then while the father still sat with bowed head, the girl arose softly, came up to him, kneeled before him, placed a hand on each of his cheeks, kissed him, and said: "You are my father anyway--always have been, always will be--the only one I have ever known. Thank you for taking me an outcast, orphaned baby and adopting me as your own. Oh, I _love you daddy for that_! Just a few days before a son had found a father at this man's knee; now by the same knee Lucy first realized that this man was her father only in the fact that he had fathered her from a child; but as that, after all, is what counts most in this world, she thought none the less of him; rather, her heart went out to the man in a way unknown before. "Chester doesn't know this?" she asked. "Chester is _not_ my brother?" "No." "Oh, he must know this--he must know right away," she panted. "Yes--I meant to tell--but I couldn't--" said he. "I know daddy dear; I know, don't worry. We'll send for him right away--poor boy. There's Captain Brown now. I'll run down and ask him to send a telegram. Yes, I have his address." She kissed him again, holding his head between her palms, and saying softly, "Daddy, dear daddy." Then she sped down to where the Captain was talking in the hall. The Rev. Thomas Strong looked up, listened to their conversation, and then smiled. CHAPTER XVIII.