and I will pass to the second perturbation."

"A sum of money was suddenly left me. Then for the first time I understood
why I had during my boyhood been so periodically sent to see a cross old
brother of my mother's, who lived near Cold Spring on the Hudson, and
whom we called Uncle Snaggletooth when no one could hear us. Uncle
Godfrey (for I have called him by his right name ever since) died and left
me what in those old days six years ago was still a large amount. To-day
we understand what true riches mean. But in those bygone times six years
ago, a million dollars was a sum considerable enough to be still seen, as
it were, with the naked eye. That was my bequest from Uncle Godfrey, and
I felt myself to be the possessor of a fortune."

At this point in Richard's narrative, a sigh escaped from Ethel.

"I know," he immediately said, "that money is always welcome. But it is
certainly some consolation to reflect how slight a loss a million dollars
is counted to-day in New York. And I did not lose all of it."

"I met Ethel at the train on her return from Florida, and crossed with
her on the ferry from Jersey City to Desbrosses Street. There I was
obliged to see her drive away in the carriage with her father."

"Mr. Field," said Mrs. Davenport, "what hour did that train arrive at
Jersey City?"

Richard looked surprised. "Why, seven-fifteen P. M.," he replied. "The
tenth of March."

"Dark!" Mrs. Davenport exclaimed. "Mr. Field, you and Ethel were engaged