As the boat did not lay up to the Landing Stage, but put directly to sea from the dock, the passengers were stowed safely away into their comfortable quarters the evening before sailing.  When they awoke next morning, they were well out into the Irish sea, the Welsh hills slowly disappearing at the left.  Chester was the first on deck.  He tipped his cap to Captain Brown on the bridge as they exchanged their morning greetings.  The day was bright and warm, the sea smooth.  Chester stood looking at the vanishing hills, glancing now and then at the companionway, for Lucy.  As he stood there, he thought of the time, only a few days since, when he had caught his first sight of those same green hills.  What a lot had happened to him between those two points of time!  A journey begun without distinct purpose had brought to him father and sweetheart.  Outward bound he had been alone, empty and void in his life; and now he was going home with heart full of love and life rich with noble purpose.

Chester’s father appeared before Lucy.  The son met him and took his arm as they paced the deck slowly.  The father declared to Chester that he was feeling fine; and, in fact, he looked remarkably well.

“I am sorry we did not hear from Gilbert before we sailed,” said the father; “but I suppose the fault was ours in not writing to him sooner.”

“He barely had time to get the letter,” said Chester.

“I suppose so.  But it doesn’t matter.  We should only have just stopped off at Kildare Villa to say goodbye, any way.”

“It’s a pity we don’t stop at Queenstown.  He could have come out on the tender.”

“Perhaps he would, and then perhaps he wouldn’t.  It would depend on just how he felt—­halloo, Lucy—­you up already?”

“I couldn’t lay abed longer this beautiful morning,” exclaimed Lucy as she came up to them.  “Isn’t this glorious!  Is Wales below the sea yet?”

“No; there’s a tip left.  See, there, just above the water.”

“Goodbye, dear old Europe,” said Lucy, as she waved her handkerchief.  “I’ve always loved you—­I love you now more than ever.”

Father and son looked and smiled knowingly at her.  Then they all went down to breakfast.

Just about that same time of day, Thomas Strong’s delayed letter reached his brother in Cork.  Uncle Gilbert read the letter while he ate his breakfast, and Aunt Sarah wondered what could be so disturbing in its contents; for he would not finish his meal.

“What is it, Gilbert?” she asked.

“Thomas, Lucy, and that young fellow, Chester Lawrence are going to—­yes, have already sailed from Liverpool with Captain Brown.”

“And they’re not coming to see us before they leave?”

“Didn’t I say, they’re already on the water—­or should be—­off to New York with Captain Brown—­and he doesn’t touch at Queenstown, and in that boat—­”

Uncle Gilbert wiped his forehead.