From the ruined walls no sound is heard,
But a cry of terror is in his ears,
And, lo, the ghost of his sin appears.
Restless and ill at ease, Maurice proved but a poor companion for those fun loving tourists. They had invited him, a chance acquaintance, on the strength of his gentlemanly exterior and genial bearing, but the change in his manner after they were fairly off, not only disappointed them, but in great measure dampened the ardor of what would otherwise have been a joyfully, hilarious party.
Therefore, it was with a feeling of positive relief that the unsuspecting youths saw him embark a little later, via Halifax, for his native shore.
They had visited the quaint little ports of Carbonear and Harbor Grace; crossed the turbulent waters of the Gulf, and after a brief stop at Prince Edward's Island continued their quest for pleasure through that most picturesque of all sections, the Brasd'or Lakes and Historic Arcadia, where the original home of Evangeline was pointed out to them by the ever patriotic natives.
Yet the oppression of an opposing influence was upon them and although Maurice's was but the sin of taciturnity and indifference, still it clouded their perfect enjoyment and threw a feeling of restraint over all their merriment.
For how can one be gay and joyful when one's companions are seemingly prostrate beneath the weight of unspoken anxieties?
It was a risky thing to do, to walk almost into the trap as Maurice was doing, but his was a nature that courted dangers and risks, a brief season of caution was always followed by some deed of extraordinary daring. Still, in this instance, Maurice had laid his plans with more than ordinary precaution.
It was now nearly eight months since the abduction, and Maurice knew well that even crime received but a brief share of attention in so vice laden a city as London. Nevertheless, he landed at Queenstown, and spent some time wandering about Ireland before he dared to brave the scrutiny of the lynx-eyed Scotland Yard detectives.