and manner were changed. Lucy knew it, and it exasperated
her to say something more, but she was prevented by St. Leon's rising
to go. As Lucy accompanied him to the door she asked how long he
intended to remain in S----.

"I leave this evening, in the cars for New Haven," said he.

"This evening?" repeated Lucy in a disappointed tone, "and will you
not return?"

"Yes, if the business on which I go is successful," answered St. Leon.

"A lady in question, perchance," remarked Lucy playfully.

"You interpret the truth accurately," said St. Leon, and with a cold,
polite bow he was gone.

"Why was he going to New Haven?" This was the thought which now
tortured Lucy. He had confessed that a lady was concerned in his
going, but who was she, and what was she to him? Anyway, there was a
comfort in knowing that Ada Harcourt had nothing to do with it!

Mistaken Lucy! Ada Harcourt had everything to do with it!

CHAPTER V.

UNCLE ISRAEL.

The lamps were lighted in the cars, and on through the valley of the
Connecticut the New Haven train was speeding its way. In one corner of
the car sat St. Leon, closely wrapped in cloak and thoughts, the
latter of which occasionally suggested to him the possibility that his
was a "Tomfool's" errand; "but then," thought he, "no one will know it
if I fail, and if I do not, it is worth the trouble."

When the train reached Hartford a number of passengers entered, all
bound for New Haven. Among them was a comical-looking, middle-aged
man, whom St. Leon instantly recognized as a person whom he had known
when in college in New Haven, and whom the students familiarly called
"Uncle Israel." The recognition was mutual, for Uncle Israel prided
himself on never forgetting a person he had once seen. In a few
moments St. Leon was overwhelming him with scores of questions, but
Uncle Israel was a genuine Yankee, and never felt happier than when
engaged in giving or guessing information.

At length St. Leon asked, "Does Ada Linwood fulfil the promise of
beauty which she gave as a child?"

"Ada who?" said Uncle Israel.

"Linwood," repeated St. Leon, arguing from the jog in Uncle Israel's
memory that all was not right.

"Do you mean the daughter of Harcourt Linwood, he that was said to be
so rich?"

"The same," returned St. Leon. "Where are they?"

Uncle Israel settled himself with the air of a man who has a long
story on hand, and intends to tell it at his leisure. Filling his
mouth