Then there suddenly seemed to encircle Harry for a moment the atmosphere of a very different place. Grey hills rose around him, the stars took a cold, yet a kinder sparkle; the blue depths of the sea faded away into a misty valley full of vapours. “When I was a child,” he said, “they called me Harry.” He did not make any further explanations, nor did he feel that any were necessary. For a moment he seemed to see his mother, with her two thin hands clasped together, and to hear her voice calling him: but this was but a phantom, a pale vision, a thing that had passed away for ever. Next moment he was back again in the warm Italian night, with the cicala chirping, and Rita, in a little burst of enthusiasm and pleasure, calling him by that familiar unrelinquished name. END OF THE SECOND VOLUME. London: Printed by A. Schulze, 13 Poland Street. End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Harry Joscelyn; vol. 2 of 3, by Mrs. Margaret Oliphant