he is--and you, too, look as though a rest would help you."

"I have to get back soon--ought to be in Cork tomorrow, in fact," said
Uncle Gilbert.

"Well, now Gilbert, if you _have_ to, I've no more to say--about you.
Go, of course; but Lucy and her father are going to stay with me. I'm
the doctor and the nurse. You go to Aunt Sarah, for that's your
'business reason' and it's all right--I'm not blaming you--and in a week
come back for your well brother."

"Yes, that might do," agreed Uncle Gilbert, with much relief in his
manner of saying it. "I don't like to impose on you--"

"Look here--if you want to do me a favor, you go to your wife and let me
take care of these people. In fact," he laughed, "I don't want you
around bothering. The steamer sails for Dublin this evening."

Out of this pleasant banter came the fact that Uncle Gilbert could very
well go on his way to Ireland. His brother was in no immediate
danger--in fact that morning he was resting easily and his power of
speech was returning. Gilbert spoke to his brother about the plan, and
no protest was made. So that evening, sure enough, Uncle Gilbert was
driven in to Liverpool by the captain, where he set sail for home.

No sooner was his brother well out of the way than Lucy's father called
to her. He had been up and dressed all afternoon. He was now reclining
in the captain's easy chair by the window. Lucy came to him.

"Yes, father," she said.

He motioned to her to sit down. She fetched a stool and seated herself
by him, so that he could touch her head caressingly as he seemed to
desire.

"Where is Chester?" he asked slowly, as was his wont when his speech
came back.

"In London," she replied. "He could not come with us."

"So--Gilbert said;--but I--want him."

"Shall we send for him?"

"Yes."

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