rom New York
that I had been suddenly called abroad on important business. Would she
care? Of course she would care, and I was willing to wager a sixpence
with myself that she would cry bitterly, too, on receiving the letter.
Ah, what a punishment that would be for her coldness and indifference!

Yes, I would go. I began picking up my things and packing them into my
box.

"I conclude that you have decided to go," he said.

"Yes, sir. I shall be ready in a moment," I replied.

We were soon rattling over the pavements in a cab that had been waiting
at the door.

On arriving at the Northwestern Hotel we were informed that a steamer
would leave for New York at five in the morning. We drove at once to
the dock and having succeeded in making comfortable arrangements for my
passage Mr. Earl went aboard the steamer with me. In a retired corner
of the great cabin I confessed to him that there was a girl in Liverpool
for whom I had a feeling of extraordinary tenderness.

He laughed heartily and insisted that I should tell him all the
particulars.

"You are rather young yet to entertain so serious a passion," said he,
as he held my hand for a moment before going ashore. "You will get over
it as easily as you got into it."

I sat down, unable to reply or to restrain the tears that came to my
eyes as he left me alone. I went to my stateroom at once and to bed.
What thoughts came to me as I lay there inviting sleep to turn them
into dreams, while the great ship waited for the tide! I tossed about
my berth; I prayed; I listened. At length I thought I heard my father's
voice mingled with others, and a sound of casting off--but I heard no
more.

CHAPTER III

One morning in early October, nearly two years after I left Liverpool
that memorable night, I found myself in the little city of Ogdensburg,
N. Y., past which the majestic St. Lawrence flows with a sleepy movement
quite in harmony with the spirit of the old town on its southern shore.
All this time I had been vainly beating about the Western Hemisphere in
quest of my uncle. He had left Detroit many years before, but I chanced
to meet a number of men there who had known him well. Although he had
enjoyed a very large practice and a wide reputation for skill, he had
made no friends that I could find. He was a man of few words, they told
me, and was never seen about the city except in the discharge of his
professional duties. Various and conflicting opinions were expr