enough to anyone but himself, he thought, even if found. "The bridge,
two, Wednesday." The bridge referred to was one over the Harlem at
Morris Heights. He kept the appointment that day as requested, but by
some necromancy of fate he forgot the letter until he was within his own
door. Then he took it out, tore it up into four or five pieces quickly,
put it in his vest pocket, and went upstairs intending at the first
opportunity to dispose of it.

Meanwhile, Angela, for the first time since they had been living at
Riverwood, had decided to walk over toward the factory about six o'clock
and meet Eugene on his way home. She heard him discourse on the
loveliness of this stream and what a pleasure it was to stroll along its
banks morning and evening. He was so fond of the smooth water and the
overhanging leaves! She had walked with him there already on several
Sundays. When she went this evening she thought what a pleasant surprise
it would be for him, for she had prepared everything on leaving so that
his supper would not be delayed when they reached home. She heard the
whistle blow as she neared the shop, and, standing behind a clump of
bushes on the thither side of the stream, she waited, expecting to
pounce out on Eugene with a loving "Boo!" He did not come.

The forty or fifty men who worked here trickled out like a little stream
of black ants, and then, Eugene not appearing, Angela went over to the
gate which Joseph Mews in the official capacity of gateman, after the
whistle blew, was closing.

"Is Mr. Witla here?" asked Angela, peering through the bars at him.
Eugene had described Joseph so accurately to her that she recognized him
at sight.

"No, ma'am," replied Joseph, quite taken back by this attractive
arrival, for good-looking women were not common at the shop gate of the
factory. "He left four or five hours ago. I think he left at one
o'clock, if I remember right. He wasn't working with us today. He was
working out in the yard."

"You don't know where he went, do you?" asked Angela, who was surprised
at this novel information. Eugene had not said anything about going
anywhere. Where could he have gone?

"No'm, I don't," replied Joseph volubly. "He sometimes goes off this
way--quite frequent, ma'am. His wife calls him up--er--now, maybe you're
his wife."

"I am," said Angela; but she was no longer thinking of what she was
saying, her words on the instant were becoming mechanical. Eugene going
away freque