churches that my memory
suggested to me were among the probabilities for that day. They were
either not in the city or most securely hid.

And all this time there was a letter in the New York post-office
waiting for me. I found it at my room when I went back to it on Monday
noon.

It ran as follows:

"WESTMINSTER HOTEL.

"Very sorry not to see you--Aunt
Sloman especially sorry; but she has
set her heart on going to Philadelphia
to-night. We shall stay at a private
house, a quiet boarding-house; for aunt
goes to consult Dr. R---- there, and
wishes to be very retired. I shall not
give you our address: as you sail so
soon, it would not be worth while to
come over. I will write you on the
other side.

B.S."

Where's a Philadelphia directory? Where is this Dr. R----? I find him,
sure enough--such a number Walnut street. Time is precious--Monday
noon!

"I'll transfer my berth to the Saturday steamer: that will do as well.
Can't help it if they do scold at the office."

To drive to the Cunard company's office and make the transfer took
some little time, but was not this my wedding holiday? I sighed as I
again took my seat in the car at Jersey City. On this golden Monday
afternoon I should have been slowly coming down the Housatonic Valley,
with my dear little wife beside me. Instead, the unfamiliar train, and
the fat man at my side reading a campaign newspaper, and shaking his
huge sides over some broad burlesque.

The celebrated surgeon, Dr. R----, was not at home in answer to my
ring on Monday evening.

"How soon will he be in? I will wait."

"He can see no patients to-night sir," said the man; "and he may not
be home until midnight."

"But I am an _im_patient," I might have urged, when a carriage dashed
up to the door. A slight little man descended, and came slowly up the
steps.

"Dr. R----?" I said inquiringly.

"Yes, sir."

"Just one minute, doctor, if you please. I only want to get an address
from you."

He scanned me from head to foot: "Walk into my office, young man."

I might have wondered at the brusqueness of his manner had I not
caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the mantelshelf.
Dusty and worn, and with a keen look of anxiety showing out of every
feature, I should scarcely have recognized myself.

I explained as collectedly as possible that I wanted the address of
one of his patients, a dear old friend of mine, whom I had missed
as she passed th