I will stay a few days in Edinburgh, and then it must be Whitby and home." It was Sunday afternoon when the yacht was snug in Leith harbor, and the streets of Edinburgh were full of congregations returning home from the different churches.

He went to an hotel on Prince Street and ordered a good dinner spread in his sitting-room.

It was a large outlooking apartment, showing him in the glorious sunset the Old Town piled as by a dreamer, story over story, and at the top of this dream-like hill, the gray ancient castle with bugles and the roll of drums sounding behind its ramparts.

Bridges leaped across a valley edged with gardens connecting the Old Town with the New Town.

Wherever his eyes fell, all was romance and memories of romance, a magically Towered, templed Metropolitan, Waited upon by hills, River, and wide-spread ocean; tinged By April light, or draped and fringed As April vapor wills.
Hanging like some vast Cyclops' dream High in the shifting weather gleam.
After dinner he sat at the open window, thinking of many things, until he finally fell asleep to dream of that illuminated vault in the castle, in which glitters mysteriously the crown and scepter of the ancient kings and queens of Scotland.
Into the glamour of this vision there came suddenly a dream of his mother, and his home, and he awakened from it with an intense conviction that his mother needed his presence, and that he must make all haste to reach his home.