She at last sat down and finished a letter she had been writing to her father.
"As I near the land," she wrote, "I feel a sort of excitement.

Several times to-day I have recalled so distinctly the picture of Rosy as I saw her last, when we all stood crowded upon the wharf at New York to see her off.

She and Nigel were leaning upon the rail of the upper deck.
She looked such a delicate, airy little creature, quite like a pretty schoolgirl with tears in her eyes.

She was laughing and crying at the same time, and kissing both her hands to us again and again.

I was crying passionately myself, though I tried to conceal the fact, and I remember that each time I looked from Rosy to Nigel's heavy face the poignancy of my anguish made me break forth again.