The same bold spirit that influenced Hobson and Blue and Wainwright in their desperate ventures grew rampant in Roderic Owen's breast--a strong desire to strike a blow for his beloved flag, to cripple the power of the proud Spaniard and hasten the day of his final departure from the Western Hemisphere. Captain Beven had anchored his craft and now came to announce the boat in readiness that was to take him ashore. Roderic took his cousin's hand in both his own. "Your pure heart will pray for me I know. It is a greater satisfaction to me than words can tell. Remember what I promised of San Juan. We will, God willing, soon meet again. As your cousin, your brother, dear Cleo, allow me a brother's loving privilege." He kissed her farewell. Nor as he turned hastily to follow Beven to the waiting boat, did he see the glowing flush that instantly suffused her face, to as rapidly vanish, leaving her deathly pale and trembling like an aspen leaf. The ride ashore was exhilarating to say the least. Great waves rolled on the beach, and none but practical, experienced seamen could have managed so light a yawl without disaster. But Roderic had no fear--he knew what these trained muscles could do. Several times they seemed threatened with dire disaster, but on each occasion the second officer's judgment in manipulating the boat averted destruction. Thus the cockle shell craft entered the white crested breakers, where they surged upon the shore with a roar like unto that of thunder. This was the most interesting moment of all, as riding one of the rollers they rushed in like a race horse on the home stretch. Then Roderic saw the palm trees against the sky line almost overhead, and he knew they were almost ashore. A grating sound under their keel announced the receding of the billow. Instantly every sailor leaped overboard, up to his knees in salt water, and the boat thus lightened was run ashore. And in this manner Roderic Owen once again found himself on Spanish soil--two years had passed since in anger he had kicked the dust of Porto Rico from his shoes, and registered a solemn vow never to tread its shores again while his good sense remained. This occurred to him now as a very grim joke, for here he was once more landed on that same fated soil; and what was even more singular as fully bent as ever upon his chase after beauty. Time alters many cases, resolutions fade with age, and circumstances govern our actions to a remarkable degree. Of course it was absolutely necessary that the second officer and his men should return to the yacht without delay. Roderic squeezed the bold fellows by the hand and watched them launch their boat through the surf. Twice they were driven back. It was a ticklish job. Such men could not be daunted by difficulties, even when out of the common, so they made a still more resolute attempt.