the proper time came.  Not so easy was Fletcher.  Several times he attempted to pay the claim, so that he could once more hold his head erect as a free man.  But Sandford smiled blandly; “he was in no hurry,” he said; “Mr. Fletcher evidently had money, and was good for the amount.”  Poor Fletcher!—­walking about with a rope around his neck,—­a long rope now, and slack,—­but held by a man who knows not what pity means!

CHAPTER XXV.

Greenleaf pursued his search for Alice with all the ardor of his nature.  One glimpse only he had of her;—­at a clothing-store, where he inquired, the clerk seemed to recognize the description given, and was quite sure that such a girl had taken out work, but he knew nothing of her whereabouts, and he believed she was now employed by another establishment.  It was something to know that she was in the city, and, probably, not destitute; still better to know what path of life she had chosen, so that his time need not be wasted in fruitless inquiries.  On his return, after the second day’s search, he sought his friend Easelmann, whose counsel and sympathy he particularly desired.

“Any tidings of the fugitive?” was the first question.

“No,” replied Greenleaf,—­“nothing satisfactory.  I have heard of her once; but it was like a trail in the woods, which the hunter comes upon, then loses utterly.”

“But the hunter who measures a track once will be likely to find it again.”

“Yes, I have that consolation.  But, Easelmann, though this mishap of losing Alice has cost me many sleepless nights, and will continue to engross my time until I find her, I cannot rid myself of other troubles and apprehensions.  I have done nothing for a long time.  I have no orders; and, as I have no fortune to fall back upon, I see nothing but starvation before me.”

“Then, my dear fellow, look the other way.  It isn’t wise to distress yourself by looking ahead, so long as you have the chance of turning round.”

“I feel lonely, too,—­isolated.  People that I meet are civil enough; but I don’t know a man, except in my profession, that I can consider a friend.”

“Very likely.  Caste isn’t confined to India.”

“I had supposed that intellect and culture were enough to secure for a man a recognition in good society; but I am made to feel, a hundred times a day, that I have no more status than a clever colored man, an itinerant actor, or any other anomaly.  To-day I met Travis; you know he comes here and makes himself free and easy with us, and has always put himself on a footing of equality.”

“Wherein you made a mistake.  He has no right, but by courtesy, to any equality.  A little taste, perhaps, and money enough to gratify it,—­that’s all.  He never had an idea in his life.”

“That is the reason I felt the slight.  He was walking with a lady whose manner and dress were unmistakable,—­a lady of undoubted position.  I bowed, and received in return one of those hardly-perceptible nods, with a forced smile that covered only the side of his face from the lady.  It was a recognition that one might throw to his boot-black.  I am a mild-mannered man, as you know; but I could have murdered him on the spot.”