“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 with an enormous quid of tobacco, he commenced:  “Better than four years ago Linwood smashed up, smack and clean; lost everything he had, and the rest had to be sold at vandue.  But what was worse than all, seein’ he was a fine feller in the main, and I guess didn’t mean to fail, he took sick, and in about a month died.”

“And what became of his widow and orphan?” asked St. Leon eagerly.

“Why, it wasn’t nateral,” said Uncle Israel, “that they should keep the same company they did before, and they’s too plaguy stuck up to keep any other; so they moved out of town and supported themselves by takin’ in sewin’ or ironin’, I forgot which.”