days since, although his actual departure had been from English
shores, his heart had said a passionate farewell.

If Anna, with her graceful form, her delicately-colored, healthful
cheeks, her cleancut and dainty features, offered a strong contrast
to the buxom German maidens, dark, big-eyed Italian girls and others
of the many-nationed women-travelers upon that steerage-deck, her
father offered as strong contrast to the men. Among the swart
Italians, blonde, stupid-looking Swedes, Danes and Norwegians and fat,
red-faced Germans of the male steerage company, his finely-chiselled
features, pale and ascetic-looking in their frame of whitened hair,
stood out with accentuated testimony to high breeding, right living
and exalted aims. And there was another difference, but less pleasing.
By this, the ninth day out from port, grief, born of leaving friends
and childhood scenes had vanished from the faces of the other
voyagers, and, under the influence of a moderately smooth sea and
splendid, sparkling weather, their thoughts were busy with the new
shores to which the voyagers were journeying, with expectations of
great days. But on his face no glow of pleasant anticipation ever
shone. The old man's eyes were always turned toward that dear Germany
which, first, he had been forced to leave for London, and now was, by
the stern necessities of life, obliged to go still further from.
Rarely, since the voyage had begun, had he, when on deck, raised his
gaze from the great vessel's churning wake, which stretched, he liked
to think, straight back toward Germany, save when his daughter spoke
to him and roused him, for a moment, from his black depression. It was
as if that thread of foam was the one thing, brief, evanescent,
futile, though it was, which bound him, now, to the only land he cared
for. His face was that of one who passes into final exile. Only when
his eyes were on his daughter's did the expression of suppressed grief