"God knows, Robin, that I have much trouble--my father, I see, I feel,
loves his ship better than any earthly thing; and though it would anger
him to know it, yet I do wish from my heart the vessel would fade from
the waters as a shadow from the green hill's side. He will never become
a staid man--never set his heart on things above--never either be happy,
or make me so, until no plank floats upon ocean that calls him master.
Ah me, Robin! Mistress Cecil used to say that age brought wisdom; and,
if so, methinks wisdom brings sorrow."

It was some minutes before the Ranger offered any comment on her words.
At length he assured her how fully he agreed in believing that Dalton
would be much more happy if his ship "faded," as she termed it, "from
the waters; and yet," he added, "it would be as the separating of soul
and body!"

"A fearful separation that would indeed be, and one I could not bear to
think on. Ah, Robin! I felt death in a dream once, and once almost in
reality;--and yet my dear father, he is the soul, and the ship the
body--the worthless body that ties him to the earth!"

"And has Barbara no little fable of her own to make that come out
prettily?"

"Ah, Robin! I think of fables, as you call them, as much as ever, but am
not able to speak them now; so, good b'ye, Robin, and let not the
promise you have made me be like the flower of the wild rock-rose, which
blooms and blights within a single day. When we indeed sit together, and
read and pray, remember the pledge you have now given freely to one who
will labour to make you happy all the day long."

Robin again pressed his lips upon her hand, and left the chamber with
feelings of deep joy and gratitude that mock description. He had,
however, to witness a scene of a nature very different.

The last interview between him and his mother was brief, for duties
towards those who lived could scarcely yield their influence even to
those which the dying claimed at his hands. The kind and affectionate
heart of the Ranger was chilled as he entered the small and
scantily-furnished chamber in which his mother lay, suffering in body,
but still more in mind. Had her son been a ministering angel, she could
not have welcomed him with greater joy, although her eyes were dim, and
her voice was almost inarticulate as she pressed her shrivelled lips to
his cheek.

"Raise me up, Robin--Robin--and move that chest on my right. Gently,
gently, Robin; it contains much that will