“Yes, my Gertie, stick to the ship, we are about ready to land,” was the faint reply; and with a bitter cry, as if at the sight of the man who called himself her father every barrier had gone down, Gertie gave way, and winding both her arms round the form she held, sobbed passionately:
“Oh, Godfrey, my darling, if you can hear me now, listen while I tell you how much I love you, for I do,—I do, oh, Godfrey, oh, Colonel Schuyler,” and she lifted her white face piteously to him. “Forgive me, if I am wrong, I cannot,—cannot love him as a brother.”
Her head drooped upon her bosom, and it was in vain that Godfrey whispered:
“Steady now, La petite capitaine, the boat is running into port.”
CHAPTER LVIII.
GERTIE AND THE STORY.
Gertie did not go into Godfrey’s room again, nor was it necessary, as he was very quiet and seemed to be sleeping, while his father sat by him with his head bowed down, and such marks of age upon him that Miss Rossiter asked him if he were sick. He did not hear her at first, and she said, again:
“Howard, are you sick? Have you any trouble on your mind?”
Then he looked up, with a faint smile, and answered her:
“Trouble? sick? No, not sick, and no trouble now; that is past. I say, Christine, have I grown very old? isn’t my hair turning gray? I did not like to ask Edith, because, you see, the—the trouble concerned her the most.”