She lifted the child in her arms, then pointed
to the vacant seat at her side. He understood
what she meant, and stood for a moment wavering.
Suddenly, he covered his face with his
hands and burst into tears. Within half an
hour, Brita boarded the vessel, and as the first
red stripe of the dawn illumined the horizon, the
wind filled the sails, and the ship glided westward
toward that land where there is a home
for them whom love and misfortune have exiled.

It was a long and wearisome voyage. There
was an old English clergyman on board, who
collected curiosities; to him she sold her rings
and brooches, and thereby obtained more than
sufficient money to pay her passage. She hardly
spoke to any one except her child. Those of
her fellow-parishioners who knew her, and perhaps
guessed her history, kept aloof from her,
and she was grateful to them that they did.
From morning till night, she sat in a corner
between a pile of deck freight and the kitchen
skylight, and gazed at her little boy who was
lying in her lap. All her hopes, her future, and
her life were in him. For herself, she had
ceased to hope.

"I can give thee no fatherland, my child," she
said to him. "Thou shalt never know the name
of him who gave thee life. Thou and I, we