on the brow--chilled him again. At the same moment,
the hopeless absurdity of love and marriage between a girl of seventeen
and a man of thirty-six, occurred to him in all its force. Stupidly
sensitive being that he was, he thought that this icy, intellectual Mr.
Minford would laugh at him.

"I confess, sir, that these wanderings seem 'singular,' as you term
them. But all the habits of old bachelors are regarded as singular, I
believe. Now, it has been my daily habit, since I retired from business,
to lay down my book at two o'clock, and take a little out-door exercise.
Miss Pillbody's school is not far from my house; the street is pretty
clean for New York, and the sidewalks are tolerably dry. Therefore I
select that neighborhood for my daily walk--my--my 'constitutional,' as
they call it. If, in so doing, I should occasionally cast my eyes--in
fits of absent-mindedness, I may say--on Miss Pillbody's school, that
is not strange, considering--considering the interest that I take in
your daughter's education. It strikes me, my dear sir, that this seeming
suspicion is easily cleared up." Marcus smiled to think how adroitly he
had extricated himself.

But there was no smile on the shroud-colored face of the inventor.

"The explanation is _plausible_" (Mr. Minford emphasized the word), "and
I will not attempt to set it aside. God alone knows all the motives of
human action. Now, to the second, and more serious implication of the
letter. I have visited your native village, and inquired into your early
history. Though you moved to the city over fifteen years ago, and have
returned to your birthplace but once since, so far as I could
ascertain--"

"Allow me," said Marcus. "My absence from my old home may seem strange,
but it is occasioned by no shame or disgrace. My father, mother, and
twin brother died and were buried there. By my father's failure, shortly
before his death, the old family mansion passed out of his hands, and
was afterward torn down to make room for a railway depot. This
extinction of my family--for I am now left without a relation in the
world, excepting a half-sister--and this destruction of our old home,
have made my native village horrible to me. When I visited the scene of
desolation, ten years ago, the village seemed to me like a huge
graveyard, in every part of which some happiness of my boyhood was
entombed; and I vowed that I would never go near it again. In the matter
of family recollections, I a