"Ned," said Morton, "I never used to think myself superstitious; but I begin now to change my mind. Heaven knows why, but I have strange notions running in my brain. My dog howled all last night; and not long ago, an owl yelled over my head, and that, too, at a time---- But you'll think I have lost my wits." Meredith, in truth, was greatly amazed at this betrayal of a weakness of which, long and closely as he had known his companion, he had never suspected him. "Why, colonel, I have seen you set out on a journey as long and fifty times as hazardous as this, as carelessly as if you were going to a dinner party." "I know it; but times are changed with me. I am not quite the child, though, that you may suppose." "If you have such a feeling about going, I would give it up. It's not too late." "No, I haven't sunk yet to that pass." And, as he spoke, the carriage stopped at the pier. CHAPTER XXVIII. I can't but say it is an awkward sight To see one's native land receding through The growing waters.--_Byron_. The day brightened as the steamer bore out to sea, and the sun streamed along the fast-receding shore. Morton stood at the ship's stern, gazing back longingly towards his native rocks. Though far from inclining to echo those set terms of praise which the progeny of the Puritans are fond of lavishing on themselves, he felt himself bound with enduring cords to the woods and hills of New England, the scene of his boyish aspirations, of his pure ambition, and his devoted love; and while the crags of Gloucester faded from his sight, his eyes were dimmed as he turned them towards those rugged shores. "Well, young man, seems to me you look a leetle kind o' streak-ed at the idee of quitting home," said a husky voice at his elbow. Morton turned, and saw a small man, with a meagre, hatchet face, and a huge pair of black whiskers hedging round a countenance so dead and pallid that one could see at a glance that he was in a consumption. He had an eye hard as a flint, one that might have faced a Gorgon without risk. Morton regarded him with an expression which told him, as plainly as words, to go about his business; but he might as well have tried to look an image of brass out of countenance. "Now _I_," pursued the small man, "have some reason to feel bad. It's an even bet if ever I see Boston lighthouse again--about six of one and half a dozen of the other. I consider myself a gone sucker. I've ben going, going, for about two years, and pretty soon I expect I shall be going, going, gone." These words, uttered in a sort of bravado, were interrupted by a violent fit of coughing. "Ever crossed the pond before?" asked the small man, as soon as he could gain breath. "Yes." "Business?" "No." "I thought not. You don't look like a business man. I know a business man, a mile off, by the cut of his jib. I'm a business man myself, and a hard used one at that." Here a fresh fit of coughing began.