Well, he had done it. Lucy's father knew the truth of his dishonorable
beginning. This highly cultured Christian minister was no doubt shocked
into silence by his outburst of confidence. But he must know also that
this occurred among a Christian community, long before either of the
parties concerned knew of or were connected with the "Mormons." So
Chester explained this to the man at his side, who sat as if deaf to
what was being said. His gaze was fixed far out to sea. His lips did not
now quiver, but the lines in his face were rigid.

Chester beckoned to the daughter, and when she came, he said:

"I think your father is not well. Perhaps he ought to go below and
rest."

"Father," cried the somewhat frightened girl, "what is it? Are you ill?"

The father shook himself as if to be freed from some binding power,
looked at Chester and then at Lucy, smiled faintly, and said:

"Oh, I'm all right now, but perhaps I ought to rest a bit. Will you go
down with me, Lucy?"

The daughter took his arm and was about to lead him away. He stopped and
turned again to Chester.

"Excuse me," he said, "but what was your mother's full name?"

"Anna Lawrence."

"Thank you. All right, Lucy. Let's be going."

Chester watched them disappear down the companionway, then looked out to
sea at the black smoke made by a steamer crawling along the horizon,
from Liverpool outward bound.

CHAPTER VI.

A number of men and women were sitting on the promenade deck forward
engaged in an earnest discussion. Just as Chester Lawrence came up and
paused to listen, for it seemed to be a public, free-for-all affair, he
noticed that Elder Malby was talking, directing his remarks to a young
man in the group.

"What is your objective point?" the Elder asked. "What do you live and
work for? What is your philosophy of life by which you are guided and
from which you draw courage, hope, and strength?"

"Oh, I take the world as it comes to me day by day, trusting to luck, or
to the Lord, perhaps I had better say, for the future," replied the
young fellow.

"What would you think of a captain of a vessel not knowing nor caring to
know from what port he sailed or what port was his destination? Who did
not know the object of the voyage, knew nothing of how to meet the
storms, the fog, the darkness of the sea?"

"Well, I'm not the captain of a ship."

"Yes, you are. You are the captain of your own soul, at least; and you
may not know how many mo