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He ran out of the cabin. The Admiral pillowed his son's head with his arm, and gazed at the marble-still features. Never could any man appear more stricken, though 'tis hard to tell by posture or by expression of face the depth of human sorrow, the pang of the wound that death alone can heal. His only son—whom he had cursed for his wickedness—whose professional life, extinguished by an act of drunken madness, had swelled the eyes of the father with the unshed tears of the spirit of[Pg 439] a man—lying dead or dying on his arm—self-slain!, "The spirit of her mother came to her aid," said the Admiral, who had heard much of the genius of Kitty O'Hara., "Jest couldn't he? I'll take you down to the marsh some day an' show you how quick he kin kill a womper.".