“Herbert Carr!” he exclaimed. “How came you here?” Mingled with his surprise there was a certain nervousness of manner, as Herbert thought. “I came to Boston with Mr. Melville,” said Herbert, coldly. “Oh!” ejaculated Eben, with an air of perceptible relief. “Where is Mr. Melville?” “He has gone to the office of his physician, on Tremont Street.” “Leaving you to your own devices, eh?” “Yes.” “Look out you don't get lost!” said Eben, with affected gayety. “I am here on a little business for the old man.” Herbert did not believe this, in view of what he had seen, but he did not think it necessary to say so. “Good-morning!” said Herbert, in a tone polite but not cordial. “Good-morning! Oh, by the way, I have just been inquiring the cost of a ticket to St. Louis,” said Eben, carelessly. “Indeed! Do you think of going out there?” “Yes, if the old man will let me,” said Eben. “Do you prefer St. Louis to Chicago?” asked Herbert, watching the face of Eben attentively. Eben's face changed, and he looked searchingly at our hero, but could read nothing in his face. “Oh, decidedly!” he answered, after a slight pause. “I don't think I would care for Chicago.” “And all the while you have a ticket for Chicago in your pocket!” thought Herbert, suspiciously, “Well, that's your own affair entirely, not mine.” “What train do you take back to Wayneboro?” asked Eben, not without anxiety. “We shall not go before four o'clock.” “I may be on the train with you,” said Eben, “though possibly I shall get through in time to take an earlier one.” “He is trying to deceive me,” thought Herbert. “Good-morning,” he said, formally, and walked away. “I wish I hadn't met him,” muttered Eben to himself. “He may give the old man a clew. However, I shall be safe out of the way before anything can be done.” Herbert kept on his way, and found the bank without difficulty. He entered and looked about him. Though unaccustomed to banks, he watched to see where others went to get checks cashed, and presented himself in turn. “How will you have it?” asked the paying teller. “Fives and tens, and a few small bills,” answered Herbert, promptly. The teller selected the requisite number of bank bills quickly, and passed them out to Herbert. Our hero counted them, to make sure that they were correct, and then put them away in his inside pocket. It gave him a feeling of responsibility to be carrying about so much money, and he felt that it was incumbent on him to be very careful. “Where shall I go now?” he asked himself. He would have liked to go to Charlestown, and ascend Bunker Hill Monument, but did not know how to go. Besides, he feared he would not get back to the Parker House at the time fixed by Mr. Melville. Still, he might be able to do it. He addressed himself to a rather sprucely dressed man of thirty-five whom he met at the door of the bank. “I beg your pardon, sir, but can you tell me how far it is to Bunker Hill Monument?”