He broke out into a snatch of song:-- "The splendor falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story!" And with a great, musical roll of his voice he went swinging off into the darkness again, as if his thoughts had lent him wings.

He was dreaming of the inspiration of foreign lands,--of castled crags and historic landscapes.

What a pity, after all, thought Rowland, as he went his own way, that he should n't have a taste of it! It had been a very just remark of Cecilia's that Roderick would change with a change in his circumstances.

Rowland had telegraphed to New York for another berth on his steamer, and from the hour the answer came Hudson's spirits rose to incalculable heights.

He was radiant with good-humor, and his kindly jollity seemed the pledge of a brilliant future.