Then, as another phantom, darker, more terrible than all the others flitted before his mind, he shivered as with a chill, while the great drops of sweat came out upon his forehead, and the palms of his hands which he clasped so tightly together, were dripping with perspiration. And while he lay there alone suffering the torments of remorse he could hear the rapid movements of the sailors and the excited crowd on deck watching for the shore. And Reinette, he knew, was with them, looking eagerly upon the new world which recently he had tried to teach her to love as her future home. “Home—America,” he murmured; “I must see it again!” and, regardless of consequences, he got out of his berth, and, tottering to his window, looked out upon the beautiful bay, and saw in the distance the city, which had grown so much since he last looked upon it. But the exertion was too great for him, and, dizzy and faint, he crept back to his bed, where he lay unconscious for a moment; then rousing himself, and alarmed by the terrible feeling stealing over him so fast, he called aloud for Reinette. The call was heard by Pierre, who was never far away, and who came at once, greatly alarmed by the pallor in his master’s face and the flecks of blood upon the lips and chin. To go for Reinette was the work of an instant, and like a frightened deer, she bounded down the stairway to her father’s side, and in her impetuosity almost threw herself upon him. But he motioned her back, and whispered. “Not so close; you take my breath away. Pierre,” he added faintly as his valet started for the physician, “don’t go for him; it’s too late now. I am dying; nothing can help me, and I must not be disturbed. I must be alone with Queenie. Stand outside till I call.” The frightened Pierre obeyed, and then Reinette was alone with her dying father. She knew he was dying, but the awful suddenness stunned her so completely that she could only gaze at him in a stupefied kind of way, as his eyes were fixed so earnestly upon her. “Little Queenie,” he said, using the pet name he always gave her, “kneel down beside me and hold my hands in yours while I tell you something I ought to have told you long ago.” She obeyed, and, covering his cold hands with kisses, whispered: “Yes, father, I am waiting.” But if he heard, he did not answer at once; and when at last he spoke, it was with difficulty, and like one who labors for breath. His mind, too, seemed wandering, and he said: “I can’t tell, but if it ever comes to you, promise you will forgive me. I have loved you so much, my darling oh, my darling, promise while I can hear you!” “Yes, father, I promise,” Reinette replied, knowing nothing to what she pledged herself, thinking nothing except of the white face on the pillow, where the sign of death was written.