After awhile the Captain's breathing grew less harsh, and Helga asked me to bring the lamp that she might look at him. His teeth were no longer set, and his eyes as in nature, saving that there was no recognition in them, and I observed that he stared straight into the brilliant glass of magnified flame without winking or averting his gaze. I propped him up, and Helga put the pannikin to his lips, but the fluid ran from the corners of his mouth; upon which I let him rest upon his pillows, softly begging the girl to let God have His way with him. 'He cannot last through the night!' she exclaimed, in a low voice; and the wonderful stillness upon the sea, unvexed by the delicate winnowing of the draught, gathered to my mood an extraordinary emphasis from my being able to hear her light utterances as distinctly as though she whispered in a sickroom. 'You are prepared, Helga?' said I. 'No, no!' she cried, with a little sob. 'Who can be prepared to lose one that is dearly loved? We believe we are prepared--we pray for strength; but when the blow falls it finds us weak and unready. When he is gone, I shall be alone. And, oh! to die _here_!' We sank into silence. Another hour went by, and I believed I had fallen into a light, troubled doze, less sleepful than a waking daydream, when I heard my name pronounced, and instantly started up. 'What is it?' I cried. 'My father is asking for you,' answered Helga. I leaned over the cot and felt for his hand, which I took. It was of a deathlike coldness, and moist. 'I am here, Captain Nielsen,' said I. 'If God preserves you,' he exclaimed, very faintly, 'you will keep your word?' 'Be sure of it--be sure of it,' I said, knowing that he referred to what had passed between us about Helga. 'I thank you,' he whispered. 'My sight seems dark; yet is not that the moon down there?' 'Yes, father,' answered the girl. 'Helga,' he said, 'did you not tell me you had brought your mother's likeness with you?' 'It is with us, and her Bible, father.' 'Would to God I could look upon it,' said he, 'for the last time, Helga--for the last time!' 'Where is the parcel?' I asked. 'I have it close beside me,' she answered. 'Open it, Helga!' said I. 'The lamp will reveal the picture.' Again I lowered the bull's-eye from the masthead, and, while Helga held the picture before her father's face, I threw the light upon it. It was a little oil-painting in an oval gilt frame. I could distinguish no more than the face of a woman--a young face--with a crown of yellow hair upon her head. The sheen of the lamp lay faintly upon the profile of Helga. All else, saving the picture, was in darkness, and the girl looked like a vision upon the blackness behind her, as she knelt with the portrait extended before her father's face.