deepened considerably. The iron-grey hair which I remembered so well
had disappeared; its place being supplied with a new and rather
dandified-looking wig. The oldfashioned great-coat which he had worn
ever since I could remember had been supplanted by a modern frock of
spruce cut, with seal-skin collar and cuffs. All this I noticed in the
first hurried greetings that passed between us.

"Never mind your luggage, my boy," he remarked. "Leave it till to-morrow,
when we will send down for it. If you are not tired we'll walk
home instead of taking a cab. I have a good deal to say to you before
we get there."

I had not slept since leaving Boston, but was too much excited to be
conscious of fatigue, and as will readily be believed, I was anxious
enough to hear what he had to say. We passed from the station, and
proceeded up York Street, arm in arm.

"And now, Uncle Richard," I said, as soon as we were well clear of the
crowd,--"keep me no longer in suspense. First and foremost, is Alice
well?"

"Quite well, but for reasons you will soon understand, she is in deep
grief. You must know that--"

"But," I interrupted, "tell me, in the name of all that's wonderful,
how you knew I was coming by this train; and how did you come to write
to me at Boston?"

Just then we came to the corner of Front Street, where was a lamp-post.
As we reached the spot where the light of the lamp was most brilliant,