Evelyn's voice was tremulous with pain, and she ended with a burst of
bitter weeping.

"Oh, how could she!" exclaimed Lulu. "I don't wonder you feel so about
it, Eva. A horrid Italian too!" she added, thinking of Signor Foresti.
"I'd never call him father!"

"Indeed, I've no idea of doing that," Eva said indignantly. "I only
hope he may never cross my path; and so I--feel as if my mother is lost
to me. You are far better off than I, Lulu: you have your own dear
father still living, and aunt Vi is so lovely and sweet."

"Yes, I am better off than you," Lulu acknowledged emphatically; "and if
I hadn't such a bad temper, always getting me into trouble, I'd be a
girl to be envied."

CHAPTER X.

LULU'S SENTENCE.

Pending Capt. Raymond's verdict in regard to Lulu, life at Ion fell into
the old grooves, for her as well as the other members of the family.

Studies were taken up again by all the children, including Evelyn
Leland, where they had been dropped; Mr. Dinsmore and his daughter
giving instruction, and hearing recitations, as formerly.

This interval of waiting lasted for over two months, a longer period of
silence on the part of the husband and father than usual; but, as they
learned afterward, letters had been delayed in both going and coming.

Capt. Raymond, in his good ship, far out on the ocean, was wearying for
news from home, when his pressing want was most opportunely supplied by
a passing vessel.

She had a heavy mail for the man-of-war, and a generous share of it fell
to her commander.

He was soon seated in the privacy of his own cabin, with Violet's letter
open in his hand. It was sure to receive his attention before that of
any other correspondent.

With a swelling heart he read of the sore trial she had been passing
through, in the severe illness of Gracie and the babe. Deeply he
regretted not having been there to lighten her burdens with his sympathy
and help in the nursing; and though, at the time of writing, she was
able to report that the little sufferers were considered out of danger,
he could not repress a fear, amid his thankfulness, that there might be
a relapse, or the dread disease might leave behind it, as it so often
does, some lasting ill effect.

He lingered over the letter, re-reading passages here and there, but at
length laid it aside, and gave his attention to others bearing the same
post-mark.

There was a short one from Max, which stirred his heart with fathe