I made an excursion to the docks, where I soon succeeded in finding a berth; and shipped for the “run” in a large vessel—a “liner”—bound to New York. This business being settled, I proceeded to the house of Mrs Hyland—to bid her and her daughter “good-bye.”
They showed every evidence of regret at my departure; and yet they did not urge me very strenuously to remain: for they knew something of my disposition.
I had a long conversation with Lenore alone.
“Miss Hyland,” said I, “I am going in search of a fortune—a fortune that must be obtained by hard toil; but that toil shall be sweetened by hope—the hope of seeing you again. We are both young; and the knowledge of that gives me encouragement to hope. I shall not now speak to you of love; but I shall do so on my return. I believe that we are friends; but I wish to make myself worthy of something more than your friendship.”
I fancied that Lenore understood me. I cannot describe the exquisite pleasure that thrilled me, as I noted the expression of her features while she stood listening. It did not forbid me to hope.
“I will not try to detain you, Rowland,” she answered, “but if you are unsuccessful abroad, do not remain long away. Return to us; and you will find those who can sympathise with your disappointments. I shall pray that no harm may befall you; and that we may soon meet again.”
I could perceive her bosom trembling with some strong emotion, as she uttered these parting words.
As I took her hand to bid the final “good bye,” we were both unable to speak; and we parted in silence.
The memory of that parting cheered me through many a dark and stormy hour of my after life.