Though Roderic was not sorry to leave Dublin, under the circumstances, he must always cherish a pleasant recollection for the bright Irish capital.
It was here the incubus that had pressed upon his shoulders for well nigh two years had been cast aside, and the sun of hope burst from behind the clouds of despair.
Yes, the name of Dublin would ever be associated with pleasant memories, for the little encounter with Don Porfidio was but a romance; while his capture and imprisonment by the Spanish clique had only been the means of bringing his beloved sweetheart again to his arms, and he could not harbor ill feelings against any cause that had brought about such an effect.
By ten o'clock they were on board the yacht.
Roderic could not help casting many eager glances around at the various vessels lying at anchor in Kingstown harbor.
He was thinking of the Sterling Castle.
Already he had made inquiries concerning the steamer, and knew her build.
There were several marked peculiarities about her style, the painting of her funnel and other things that would stamp her individuality, so that he was able to declare after searching the harbor, that the impudent little blockade runner was not present.
Then she had about twelve hours the start and was doubtless far down the Irish coast.