n
his wife, the ice would at least have been broken before his arrival at
home.

"By Jove!" he exclaimed suddenly, striking his knee with his hand, "why
shouldn't I run up to Patesville while Rena's gone? I can leave here
at five o'clock, and get there some time to-morrow morning. I can
transact my business during the day, and get back the day after
to-morrow; for Rena might return ahead of time, just as we did, and I
shall want to be here when she comes; I'd rather wait a year for a
legal opinion on a doubtful old note than to lose one day with my love.
The train goes in twenty minutes. My bag is already packed. I'll just
drop a line to George and tell him where I've gone."

He put Rena's letter into his breast pocket, and turning to his trunk,
took from it a handful of papers relating to the claim in reference to
which he was going to Patesville. These he thrust into the same pocket
with Rena's letter; he wished to read both letter and papers while on
the train. It would be a pleasure merely to hold the letter before his
eyes and look at the lines traced by her hand. The papers he wished to
study, for the more practical purpose of examining into the merits of
his claim against the estate of Duncan McSwayne.

When Warwick reached home, he inquired if Mr. Tryon had called.

"No, suh," answered the nurse, to whom he had put the question; "he
ain't be'n here yet, suh."

Warwick was surprised and much disturbed.

"De baby 's be'n cryin' for Miss Rena," suggested the nurse, "an' I
s'pec' he'd like to see you, suh. Shall I fetch 'im?"

"Yes, bring him to me."

He took the child in his arms and went out upon the piazza. Several
porch pillows lay invitingly near. He pushed them toward the steps
with his foot, sat down upon one, and placed little Albert upon
another. He was scarcely seated when a messenger from the hotel came
up the walk from the gate and handed him a note. At the same moment he
heard the long shriek of the afternoon train leaving the station on the
opposite side of the town.

He tore the envelope open anxiously, read the note, smiled a sickly
smile, and clenched the paper in his hand unconsciously. There was
nothing he could do. The train had gone; there was no telegraph to
Patesville, and no letter could leave Clarence for twenty-four hours.
The best laid schemes go wrong at times--the stanchest ships are
sometimes wrecked, or skirt the breakers perilously. Life is a sea,
full of str