as he glanced over the top of the sheet. Ah, Florian, with one
girl's love-letter in your hands, and the face of another held in that
avid gaze, can you be the bashful banker-bachelor who could not discuss
the new style of ladies' figures with Mrs. Hunter! And as we thus
moralize, the train sweeps on and on, and into Bellevale, where Judge
Blodgett waits upon the platform for our arrival.

The judge stood by the steps to seize upon Amidon as he alighted. That
gentleman and Madame le Claire, however, perversely got off at the
other end of the car. As they walked down the platform, Florian met
his first test, in the salutation of a young woman in a tailor-made
gown, who nodded and smiled to him from a smart trap at a short
distance from the station, where she seemed to be waiting for some one.

"Any baggage, Mr. Brassfield?" said a drayman.

"Yes," said Amidon; "take the checks."

"Do these go to the hotel, or----" The man waited for directions.

"I don't--that is," said the poor fellow, "I really---- Just wait a
minute! Judge," this in a whisper to his friend, who had reached his
side, "this is terrible! Where do I want to go?--and for the love of
Heaven, where does this hound take my luggage?"

"Your lodgings at the Bellevale House!" returned the judge.

"To my lodgings at the Bellevale House," announced Amidon.

"And say," said the judge, "don't look that way; but the young woman in
the one-horse trap across the way is your intended."

"No!" said Amidon. "I lifted my hat to her--she nodded to me, you
know!"

"The devil!" said the judge; "I'll bet you didn't put any more warmth
than a clam into your manner. Well, you'll have to go over, and she'll
take you up-town, I suppose. Don't stay with her long, if you can help
it, and come to me at the hotel as soon as you can. She's been driving
over to see who got off every New York train ever since I came. Go to
her, and may the Lord be merciful to you! Here are these notes, if you
think they'll help you any--I've added some to 'em since I got down
here."

Amidon waved a contemptuous rejection of the notes, and, casting a
despairing glance at Madame le Claire, walked over toward his fate. He
could have envied the lot of the bull-fighter advancing into the
fearful radius of action of a pair of gory horns. He would gladly have
changed places with the gladiator who hears the gnashing of bared teeth
behind the slowly-opening cage doors. To walk up to