his face broke out into a smile.

"I am going away, too. I realize that there is too much human nature
in me for the Church. Why not let us go together? I don't mind where
it is, anywhere will do for me. What do you say? Egypt, Japan,
India, or America, it's all the same."

Helmar paused in his walk, and looked hard at his young friend.

"Do you mean that, or is it the outcome of what I said?"

"I mean every word. My mind is as fully made up as yours, and, if
you will let me, I will throw in my lot with yours. There is but one
thing I ask; Mark Arden, my old work companion, wants to go with me,
and I have agreed. May he accompany us?"

"Certainly, the more the merrier," replied Helmar, his face lighting
up as the prospect of getting away grew brighter. "But we must
discuss ways and means. I intend to start to-morrow morning. Money
with me is a little flush just now, and to-night I intend to
realize on all my books and instruments, which will add a bit more.
You and Mark can do the same, and we'll leave for Vienna by the
first train in the morning, and then down the Danube on to
Constantinople, at which place we can decide our ultimate
destination. How does that suit you?"

"Admirably," said Charlie. "I will go and tell Mark." And he turned
to leave the room.

"Meet me here at ten to-night, and, in the meantime, sell all your
superfluous property, and tell Mark to do the same."

All the final arrangements were settled that night. One pawnshop, at
least, did a good trade, and when the three adventurers at last
turned into their beds, it was with the knowledge that all the world
was before them, with a totally inadequate capital to see them on
their way. Health, strength, and inexperience is a grand stimulant
to hope, and the three young men only looked on the bright side of
the future.

Helmar knew very little of Mark Arden; he had met him a few times
with Osterberg, but he had no idea of the man's character. This,
however, did not trouble him. In his open-hearted, manly way he
trusted to his friend's judgment. In this he was wrong. Osterberg
was a simple fellow, believing good of every one, and Mark, with a
tact born of a scheming mind, had fostered this trust in him,
carefully keeping hidden any of his doings which might open his
friend's eyes. His object, so far, was not quite clear even to
himself, but when it was settled that they were to journey together,
he realized the benefit of what he had done.