"Gone! gone!" echoed the old man, in his imbecile distraction, and dropped his gray head upon the corpse, and groaned aloud.
Mrs. Waugh came and laid her hand affectionately on his shoulder. He looked up in such hopeless, helpless trouble, and cried out:
"Oh, Henrietta! he was my son—my only, only son! My poor, unowned boy!
Oh, Henrietta! is he dead? Are you sure? Is he quite gone?"
"He is gone, Commodore Waugh; lay him down; come away to your room," said Henrietta, gently taking his hand.
Jacquelina, white with horror, was kneeling with clasped hands and dilated eyes, gazing at the ruin. The old man's glance fell upon her there, and his passion changed from grief to fury. Fiercely he broke forth:
"It was you! You are the murderess—you! Heaven's vengeance light upon you!"
"Oh, I never meant it! I never meant it! I am very wretched! I wish I'd never been born!" cried Jacquelina, wringing her pale fingers.
"Out of my sight, you curse! Out of my sight—and may Heaven's wrath pursue you!" thundered the commodore, shaking with grief and rage.