Lady Cecil viewed the dying Falkner and his devoted, affectionate daughter with the sincerest compassion; dying she thought him, for he was wasted to a shadow, his cheeks colourless, his hands yellow and thin--he could not stand upright--and when, in the cool of evening, he was carried into the open air, he seemed scarcely able to speak from very feebleness. Elizabeth's face bespoke continual anxiety: her vigilance, her patience, her grief, and her resignation formed a touching picture, which it was impossible to contemplate without admiration. Lady Cecil often tried to win her away from her father's couch, and to give herself a little repose from perpetual attendance; she yielded but for a minute; while she conversed, she assumed cheerfulness--but in a moment after she had glided back and taken her accustomed place at her father's pillow. At length their prison-gates were opened, and Falkner was borne on board a felucca bound for Genoa. Elizabeth took leave of her new friend, and promised to write, but while she spoke she forgot what she said--for, dreading at each moment the death of her benefactor, she did not dare look forward, and had little heart to go beyond the circle of her immediate, though dreary sensations. A fair wind bore them to Genoa, and Falkner sustained the journey very well: at Genoa they transferred themselves to another vessel, and each mile they gained towards France lightened the fears of Elizabeth. But this portion of their voyage was not destined to be so prosperous They had embarked at night, and had made some way during the first hours; but by noon on the following day they were becalmed; the small vessel--the burning sun--the shocking smells--the want of all comfortable accommodation, combined to bring on a relapse--and again Falkner seemed dying. The very crew were struck with pity; while Elizabeth, wild almost with terror and the impotent wish to save, preserved an outward calm, more shocking almost than shrieks and cries. At evening she caused him to be carried on the deck, and placed on a couch, with a little sort of shed prepared for him there; he was too much debilitated to feel any great degree of relief--there was a ghastly hue settled on his face that seemed gradually sinking into death. Elizabeth's courage almost gave way; there was no physician, no friend; the servants were frightened, the crew pitying, but none could help.