"Looking aloft!" whispered Roland, with a full heart, "I know now my mother's meaning; O, what a legacy she left her son on that death-bed! From what depths of poverty have I been raised! To what a post of honor and prosperity! To God alone be all the glory! When she bade me trust Him, I did not know the noble friend that was then awaiting for me among my native hills, I did not then know Malcolm Graham; but God knew where he was, and led me to him. May he give me grace to be a faithful steward of His many gifts." Aunt Matilda was still very haughty to Roland, and distant to Mrs. Douglass; for she could not brook the companionship of the "common class," as she styled these, after the society of nobles; she was rather more condescending to Edmund Norris, for she had learned that he belonged to the upper circles of New York. Madeline was much alone, and, in her deep mourning dress, forbade any approach to light or trifling intercourse. One evening, having sought a secluded part of the vessel, Roland followed her, and found her looking down into the deep and solemn ocean. "May I intrude, Madeline?" for they had both agreed to drop the formal titles of ceremony. "You are welcome, Roland, welcome always; for I spend many sad hours in this lonely vessel, and can never forget the sacred relics that are with us." "That is a solemn thought, Madeline, but do not let us think of the silent dust; let us look upward to the blessed rest of the immortal part." "How grandly sublime, Roland, is this rolling ocean! so deep! so vast! so boundless! It reminds one of eternity. I never look down upon its dark waters without hearing from its dashing waves the murmurs of another world; how many have sunk in this deep abyss, and passed hence to their eternity!" "Do you remember, Madeline, how we used to listen to its music at Woodcliff, when we were boy and girl? What fancies we used to have!" "Yes, truly! we were singular children, Roland; I was a giddy little kitten; but no one knows what deep and solemn thoughts used to visit me even then;" and turning a bright glance upon Roland's face, "I think the first that I ever remember was from words uttered by you, the boy-sage, as I think now that you always were." Roland felt his heart throb with emotions of delight at these tender reminiscences, and replied, "Then you still remember, Madeline, the intercourse of those childish days." "Remember, Roland! Yes; they will be remembered in the world to come; for your words, your mother's, and dear Effie's are the only ones whose impressions have ever influenced my life." "What a blessed thought, Madeline! that dear Effie should have so impressed your dear father." "Yes, Roland, it was a call of mercy; but I knew nothing of it then."