e we can be alone and faith renew--

The clatter of the train as it flew over a switch drowned the rest.
When the last wheel had banged upon the frog, I heard the young
student's voice, in the soft accents of southern Europe:--

"Wenn ich in Wien war--" He was telling her of his home and his people
in the language of his childhood. I glanced across. She sat listening
with kindling eyes. Mamma slumbered sweetly; her worn old hands
clutched unconsciously the umbrellas in her lap. The two Irishmen,
having settled the campaign, had dropped to sleep, too. In the crowded
car the two were alone. His hand sought hers and met it halfway.

"Forty-seventh!" There was a clatter of tin cans below. The contingent
of milkmen scrambled out of their seats and off for the depot. In the
lull that followed their going, the tenor rose from the last seat:--

Those first sweet violets of early spring,
Which come in whispers, thrill us both, and sing
Of love unspeakable that is to be,
Oh, promise me! Oh, promise me!

The two young people faced each other. He had thrown his hat upon the
seat beside him and held her hand fast, gesticulating with his free
hand as he spoke rapidly, eloquently, eagerly of his prospects and his
hopes. Her own toyed nervously with his coat-lapel, twisting and
twirling a button as he went on. What he said might have been heard to
the other end of the car, had there been anybody to listen. He was to
live here always; his uncle would open a business in New York, of
which he was to have charge, when he had learned to know the country
and its people. It would not be long now, and then--and then--

"Twenty-third Street!"

There was a long stop after the levy for the ferries had left. The
conductor went out on the platform and consulted with the
ticket-chopper. He was scrutinizing his watch for the second time,
when the faint jingle of an east-bound car was heard.

"Here she comes!" said the ticket-chopper. A shout, and a man bounded
up the steps, three at a time. It was an engineer who, to make
connection with his locomotive at Chatham Square, must catch that
train.

"Hullo, Conrad! Nearly missed you," he said as he jumped on the car,
breathless.

"All right, Jack." And the conductor jerked the bell-rope. "You made
it, though." The train sped on.

Two lives, heretofore running apart, were hastening to a union. The
lovers had seen nothing, heard nothing but each other. His eyes burned
as hers met his