what a bright
little girl you were," the Captain went on. "You have forgotten, I dare
say, the old-fashioned sea-songs that he used to be so fond of teaching
you. It was the strangest and prettiest contrast, to hear your small
piping child's voice singing of storms and shipwrecks, and thunder and
lightning, and reefing sails in cold and darkness, without the least
idea of what it all meant. Your mother was strict in those days; you
never amused her as you used to amuse your father and me. When she
caught you searching my pockets for sweetmeats, she accused me of
destroying your digestion before you were five years old. I went on
spoiling it, for all that. The last time I saw you, my child, your
father was singing 'The Mariners of England,' and you were on his knee
trying to sing with him. You must have often wondered why you never saw
anything more of me. Did you think I had forgotten you?"

"I am quite sure I never thought that!"

"You see I was in the Navy at the time," the Captain resumed; "and we
were ordered away to a foreign station. When I got back to England,
miserable news was waiting for me. I heard of your father's death and of
that shameful Trial. Poor fellow! He was as innocent, Sydney, as you are
of the offense which he was accused of committing. The first thing I did
was to set inquiries on foot after your mother and her children. It was
some consolation to me to feel that I was rich enough to make your lives
easy and agreeable to you. I thought money could do anything. A serious
mistake, my dear--money couldn't find the widow and her children. We
supposed you were somewhere in London; and there, to my great grief, it
ended. From time to time--long afterward, when we thought we had got the
clew in our hands--I continued my inquiries, still without success. A
poor woman and her little family are so easily engulfed in the big city!
Years passed (more of them than I like to reckon up) before I heard of
you at last by name. The person from whom I got my information told me
how you were employed, and where."

"Oh, Captain Bennydeck, who could the person have been?"

"A poor old broken-down actor, Sydney. You were his favorite pupil. Do
you remember him?"

"I should be ungrateful indeed if I could forget him. He was the only
person in the school who was kind to me. Is the good old man still
living?"

"No; he rests at last. I am glad to say I was able to make his last days
on earth the happiest days of hi