The great steamer surged on through the sunlit waters. And now even those who were without glasses could distinguish, here and there along that line of pale-blue land, a touch of yellowish-white; and they guessed that the new world there was already shining with the light of the new day. Brand felt a timid, small hand glide into his. Natalie was standing beside him, her beautiful black hair a trifle dishevelled, perhaps, and her eyes still bearing traces of her having been in the realm of dreams; but those eyes were full of tenderness, nevertheless, as she met his look. He asked her if she could make out that strip of coast beyond the shining waters.
"Can you see, Natalie? It is our future home!"
"Oh yes, I can see it," she said; "and the sunrise is there before us: it is a happy sign."
There remains to be added only this—that about the last thing Natalie Lind did before leaving England was to go and plant some flowers, carefully and tenderly, on Kirski's grave; and that about the first thing she did on landing in America
was to write to Madame Potecki, asking her to look after the little Anneli, and sending many loving messages: for this girl—or, rather, this beautiful child, as Calabressa would persist in calling her—had a large heart, that could hold many affections and many memories, and that was not capable of forgetting any one who had been kind to her.