Before closing this chapter we must glance on the parting scene of one who has played a conspicuous part in this story. In a large well-furnished chamber of a house near the sea at Hamburgh, Juana Ferraras, or Antonia Stacy as we first knew her, lay on her death bed. The shades of evening were falling, the close of a cold frosty day, the fog lay thick on the waters, and the room was fast darkening like her who lay dying within it. Near her bed sat old Stacy; he was sobered and silenced by the approach of death to one, who if he loved mortal being, was object of that love. Rough as his features were, they looked softened that night; hard as his heart was, it seemed flesh again that night! A rustle was heard in the bed, he looked to see if his patient wanted anything. The dying girl sat up, death had nigh done its work, her face was haggard, pale, and wan; her eyes alone survived the wreck of loveliness, and seemed brighter and more gloriously dark than ever. "Bring me my child, let me look my last on that pledge of lost love." Old Bill slided away up the stairs, or as he called them the companion ladder, and hailed a German girl, who soon appeared with an infant child perhaps two months old; she was a fine, bright little girl, with eyes like her mother's, whilst her other features bore some resemblance to those of the De Veres. She presented a strange contrast to her dying parent, as she stretched forth her little arms to her mother. A sad smile lit for a moment Juana's face as she received her in her arms, and pressed her to her bosom--"Farewell, my baby, who will take care of thee when thy mother is laid low? Will thy father ever see his child? farewell, my babe, thou wilt never know a mother's care! She will soon be gone--her last thought was of him who gave thee thy existence! I am sinking--take her away, Stacy; be kind to my child for my sake." "Cuss me if I won't, Tony. Never mind, old girl, you have had a short and rough cruise, you are nigh port now." "I would I were near that haven of rest--may the blessed Virgin keep my soul--oh! my child, my child, it is hard to leave it. If you ever see my lord give him my child--tell him I died blessing him!" "Why shiver my timbers, Tony, if my glimmers haint sprung a leak," said the old man, brushing away his tears with his rough pilot jacket sleeve; "I calculated I had done with tears, but the tanks ain't pumped dry yet." "I am dying,--I feel the tooth of death at my heart. Oh! Santissima Maria! this pain--it tortures me, it gnaws my very vitals. Oh! that I could die." "Cheer up, old gal, many a bark's ridden through a worser storm; ye'll come it yet may be." "No, no--the room grows dark--oh, it is come at last, God bless my child--and Wentworth. God bless * *," with these words she sank back and expired.