If Joseph Duncombe doted on this bright-haired, blue-eyed daughter, his
love was not unrecompensed. Rosamond idolized her father, whom she
believed to be the best and noblest of created beings.
Rosamond's remembrance of her mother was but shadowy. She had lost that
tender protector at a very early age.
Within the last year and a half her father had retired from active
service, after selling his vessel, the "Vixen," for a large price, so
goodly a name had she borne in the merchant service.
This retirement of Captain Duncombe's was a sacrifice which he made for
his beloved daughter.
For himself, the life of a seaman had lost none of its attractions. But
when he saw his fair young daughter of an age to leave school, he
determined that she should have a home.
He had made a very comfortable little fortune during five-and-thirty
years of hard service. But he had never made a sixpence the earning of
which he need blush to remember. He was known in the service as a model
of truth and honesty.
Driving about the eastern suburbs of London, he happened one day to
pass that dreary plot of waste ground on which the miser's tumble-down
dwelling had been built. It was a pleasant day in April, and the place
was looking less dreary than usual. The spring sunshine lit up the
broad river, and the rigging of the ships stood out in sharp black
lines against a bright blue sky.
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