He stretched out to me his other hand; I discerned the trace of manacles on his bared wrist. I heard my sister’s sobs, and thought, happy are women who can weep, and in a passionate caress disburden the oppression of their feelings; shame and habitual restraint hold back a man. I would have given worlds to have acted as in days of boyhood, have strained him to my breast, pressed his hand to my lips, and wept over him; my swelling heart choked me; the natural current would not be checked; the big rebellious tears gathered in my eyes; I turned aside, and they dropped in the sea⁠—they came fast and faster;⁠—yet I could hardly be ashamed, for I saw that the rough sailors were not unmoved, and Raymond’s eyes alone were dry from among our crew. He lay in that blessed calm which convalescence always induces, enjoying in secure tranquillity his liberty and reunion with her whom he adored. Perdita at length subdued her burst of passion, and rose⁠—she looked round for Clara; the child frightened, not recognizing her father, and neglected by us, had crept to the other end of the boat; she came at her mother’s call. Perdita presented her to Raymond; her first words were: “Beloved, embrace our child!”