anchored off the
roadstead of Chagres. But Mme. Marmont, in the last stages of
consumption when she embarked at New York, continued extremely ill until
we passed Point Concepcion, on this coast, when she suddenly expired
from an attack of hemorrhage of the lungs.

She was buried at sea; and never can I forget the unutterable anguish of
poor Lucile, as her mother's body splashed into the cold blue waters of
the Pacific.

There she stood, holding on to the railing, paler than monumental
marble, motionless as a statue, rigid as a corpse. The whole scene
around her seemed unperceived. Her eyes gazed upon vacancy; her head was
thrust slightly forward, and her disheveled tresses, black as Plutonian
night, fell neglected about her shoulders.

Captain Watkins, then commanding the "Panama"--whom, may God bless--wept
like a child; and his manly voice, that never quailed in the dread
presence of the lightning or the hurricane, broke, chokingly, as he
attempted to finish the burial rite, and died away in agitated sobs.

One by one the passengers left the spot, consecrated to the grief of
that only child--now more than orphaned by her irreparable loss. Lifting
my eyes, at last, none save the daughter and her father stood before me.
Charmed to the spot was I, by a spell that seemed irresistible. Scarcely
able to move a muscle, there I remained, speechless and overpowered.
Finally the father spoke, and then Lucile fell headlong into his arms.
He bore her into his state-room, where the ship's surgeon was summoned,
and where he continued his ministrations until we reached this port.

It is scarcely necessary to add, that I attended them ashore, and saw
them safely and commodiously lodged at the old Parker House, before I
once thought of my own accommodations.

Weeks passed, and months, too, stole gradually away, before I saw
anything more of the bereaved and mourning child. One day, however, as I
was lolling carelessly in my office, after business hours (and that
meant just at dark in those early times), Lucile hastily entered. I was
startled to see her; for upon her visage I thought I beheld the same
stolid spell of agony that some months before had transfixed my very
soul. Before I had time to recover myself, or ask her to be seated, she
approached closer, and said in a half whisper, "Oh, sir, come with me
home."

On our way she explained that her father was lying dangerously ill, and
that she knew no physician to whom she co