It is this element of uncertainty that keeps hope alive in our hearts, and many times wrings victory from seeming defeat.
As they passed down the far famed Irish sea the tops of the green hills could always be seen above the haze that sometimes hid their base and the fishing villages nestling there from view.
Roderic spent much time in leaning over the rail and watching this everchanging panorama, while smoking his pipe—for Cleo had made it distinctly understood that she was very fond of tobacco smoke in the open air, and that he was at liberty to indulge when and where he chose; a privilege that caused Miss Becky to lift her eyes in horror, for she had a special aversion to this self same odor.
However, she never found Roderic other than a gentleman, and he would always move his seat in order that the fragrant smoke might not blow across her sacred person, so that in this way he made a firm friend of the old maid.
When nightfall came they took their last look at old Ireland's green hills, for unless all calculations failed they would be out on the broad Atlantic by daylight, headed for the West Indies.
Roderic had by this time thrown off the reserve that weighed down his spirits at first and become his own sociable self, ready to enter into any game that promised relaxation and sport.
The shore line faded as the glow left the western sky, and presently only lights upon the hills told how near they were to the Irish coast.
Thus the voyage was begun, that would bring much of success or grief to his fortunes—before him like a will-o'-the-wisp flitted the blockade runner, having on board the beautiful maid of San Juan—and the game was transferred from the Old to the New World.