His native land! Home!
The ship glided slowly up the Narrows; and from its deck Daren Lane saw the noble black outline of the Statue of Liberty lined against the clear gold of sunset. A familiar old pang in his breast–longing and homesickness and agony, together with the physical burn of gassed lungs–seemed to swell into a profound overwhelming emotion.
“My own–my native land!” he whispered, striving to wipe the dimness from his eyes. Was it only two years or twenty since he had left his country to go to war? A sense of strangeness dawned upon him. His home-coming, so ceaselessly dreamed of by night and longed for by day, was not going to be what his hopes had created. But at that moment his joy was too great to harbor strange misgivings. How impossible for any one to understand his feelings then, except perhaps the comrades who had survived the same ordeal!
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