And the change was good for them. The past three weeks had worn upon them both, and they needed the association with their old comrades to rouse them from their sorrow. At home, everything had suggested to them their loss; their father’s easy chair, his favorite books, even the very walls of the rooms seemed to speak of him and of his absence. Once back at Hilton, it was different. It was not that either Harry or Leon forgot their father or mourned for him any the less; but the reaction had come, as it naturally would do, and the fresh every-day interests crowded into their lives and, in a measure, replaced the one absorbing thought of their trouble.
Hilton was very beautiful, that year, with the on-coming of the spring; and the seniors watched it lovingly, with a tender regret that, for them, it was the last opportunity to see the buds swell into fresh green leaves, to hear the songs of the birds returning to the Hilton woodlands. A year from that time, they would all be scattered, while the familiar life of the old school would be going on just as usual, only without them.
One Saturday afternoon, early in May, Flemming Hall was quite deserted; not a face appeared at any of the windows, not a cadet was to be seen in any part of the grounds. It was the day of the annual regatta between the junior and senior classes, and the Flemming world had betaken itself to the lake.
Lake Hudson, as the cadets had named it, in honor of the river which rolls below the West Point bluff, lay two or three miles to the north of the village, in a small valley among the surrounding hills. It was a beautiful sheet of water, more than six miles long, and only broken by one little island near the southern end. Learned professors who had visited the spot, had examined it well, surprised at its lack of inlets, and had come to the only possible conclusion, that it was fed from underground sources. This gave an air of mystery to the little lake, which was heightened by a hollow, rumbling echo, to be heard at certain points along the shore, that suggested rocky caverns far below the surface. Lake Hudson had had its tragedy, too, like many another peaceful inland lake. The boys were all familiar with the sad story of the famous young musician who had been caught in a squall one day, while fishing in company with his older brother; how the boat had been overturned, and the older man had clung to its side in safety, only to see his brother struggle and sink before his very eyes.