Those words! why had they power to make that boy turn pale?  Had he not been screened from the bright glow of the fire-light, the Sea-flower must have noticed his agitation, as she looked up for the good-night kiss; he clasped her in his arms for a moment, and then the door closed upon her gentle form.

The old clock in the church tower had struck eleven, and Harry heard the cry of the watch, “all’s well.”  He still stood where he had parted with his sister; as her last footfall upon the stairs died away, and the house was hushed for the night, the plans which he had matured long days ago, for this night’s execution, laid fast hold of him.  Can it be possible that the boy is about to forget those last words of his mother?  No, they are still sounding in his ear; and his promise, “I will not forget the prayers of my mother.”  But does he consider, in the step which he is about to take, of the arrow which will pierce that mother’s heart?  He walks the room with a quick tread; he does reflect, and pities his mother from the bottom of his heart, praying that the blow may fall gently; but he has shipped for a voyage in the Nautilus, and this night, at high tide, she will sail.

Noiselessly he ascends to his room, and taking his clothes from the drawer, where they had been placed with care, makes them into a bundle, not forgetting the little bible, which was given him by his mother only the day before, as a birthday gift.  Pausing in the upper hall, he listens, if he may get one last faint sound from those he holds so dear; but save the uneasy slumbers of Vingo, nothing is heard.  All is now ready for his departure; stepping into the parlors, where hang the portraits of the family, he takes a farewell of each.  The Sea-flower and his mother! his eyes fill with tears, and his heart is swelling into his throat; he is upon the point of retracing his steps, when his eye rests upon the features of his father.  The daring boldness of the expression, which the artist had but too well portrayed, fires him with fresh courage; every nerve thrills with new life, and kissing the inanimate canvas, as if it were indeed his dear mother and sister, he tore himself away from home.  Walking rapidly down the deserted street, without venturing a look back, he passes many an endeared object; the old white church, where he has been accustomed to worship, Sunday after Sunday, for many years, holds high its head in the bright moonlight, and the hands of the old town clock upon the tower, seem to beckon him to return.  He falters; it would seem as if the very doors of the church would open and receive him.  Throwing down the bundle, he kneels upon the door-stone, and breathes a prayer to heaven, to bless those who will enter therein when he shall be gone.  Pressing his lips to the cold stone where they have trod, he rises, when lo! standing by his side, with the package of clothes in his mouth, is the old house dog, Nep; and as the watch in the tower cries, “past eleven