asset too late to
cumber the doctor with a bevy of friends to see him off; but his sudden
motions were too well known, and his peculiarities too long
established, to excite much surprise or dismay by any new
manifestations.

The Vulcan lay getting her steam up in that fair June morning, with
very little regard to the amount of high pressure that her passengers
might bring on board. Nothing could be more regardless of their hurry
and bustle, the causes that brought them, the tears they shed, the
friends they left behind, than the ship with her black sides and red
smoke pipe. Tears did indeed trickle down some parts of her machinery,
but they were only condensed steam--which might indeed be true of some
of the tears of her passengers.

Punctual to her time she left her moorings, steaming down the beautiful
bay with all the June light upon her, throwing back little foamy waves
that glittered in the sun, making her farewell with a long train of
blue rollers that came one after another to kiss the shore. What if
tears sprinkled the dusty sidewalks of Canal St.?--what if that same
light shone on white handkerchiefs and bowed heads?--The answering
drops might fall in the state-rooms of the Vulcan, but on deck bustle
and excitement had their way.

So went on the miles and the hours,--then the pilot left the vessel,
taking with him a little handful of letters; and the passengers who had
been down stairs to write were on deck, watching him off. In the city
business rolled on with its closing tide,--far down on the Long Branch
shore people looked northward towards a dim outline, a little waft of
smoke, and said--"There goes the Vulcan." The freshening breeze, the
long rolls of the Atlantic, sent some passengers below, even
now,--others stood gazing back at the faint city indications,--others
still walked up and down--those who had left little, or cared little
for what they had left. Of these was Dr. Harrison, who paced the deck
with very easy external manifestations.

Some change of mind--some freak of fancy, sent him at last to the other
side of the ship--then to the prow. Here sailors were busy,--here one
passenger stood alone: but if there had been twenty more, Dr. Harrison
could have seen but this one. He was standing with arms folded, in a
sort of immoveable position, that yet accommodated itself easily to the
ship's slow courtseying; as regardless of that as of the soft play of
the sea breeze; looking back--but not to t