An anxious, troubled look passed over Frederic's face, he made a vain attempt to raise himself upright in the bed.
"Did you know my parents, Miss?" he asked; "did you ever meet them in America?"
"They are dead!" faltered Jane.
Frederic's head sank languidly back on the pillow.
"I thought so!" he murmured.
She bent close down to him, her breath swept his cheeks, and her voice sank to a whisper,
"When your mother went to the ship, she was not alone, she carried a little child in her arms. Do you remember that child?"
Around his lips vibrated a faint but happy smile. "Yes, my little sister, our Jennie! She must have been very little then, only a few weeks old, but I loved her so dearly!"
"And that sister"--for a moment Jane was silent, voice and strength failed her--"would it give you joy to see her? Shall I show her to you?"
Frederic gazed at her with a foreboding, expectant glance; her eyes, the tone of her voice had already revealed to him the truth.