“Yes, my little daughter, I have something to say to you.”
“Something bad?” asked Sibyl.
“Something very bad.”
Sibyl shut her eyes for a minute, then she opened them and looked steadily at her father, her childish lips became slightly compressed, it was as if a world of strength suddenly entered her little frame, as though, dying as she was, she was bracing herself to endure.
“I am very sorry,” she said. “I love you so much. What is it, darlingest father?”
“Let me hold your hand,” he said. “It will be easier for me to tell you something then.”
She gave it to him. He clasped it in both of his, bent forward, and began to speak.
“At the moment, little Sibyl, when the cablegram which told me of your accident was put into my hand, I had just done something so wicked, so terrible, that God Himself, God Almighty, rose up and smote me.”
“I don’t understand,” said the child.
“I will explain. The cablegram told me that you were ill, very ill. I wanted to undo what I had done, but it was too late. I hurried back to you. God came with me on board the ship. God came, and He was angry; I had a terrible time.”