“I thank you very much—more than I can express. But it is not in my power to accept your kind invitation. Urgent business compels me immediately to go to New York. I know that a train leaves in an hour from this. And I must drive to the station instantly.” Miss Conyers embraced Erminie, who was bathed in tears, and then turned to shake hands with Mr. Justin Rosenthal. But, raising his hat with a grave bow, Justin said: “I will see you to the station. Eastworth and my father are a sufficient bodyguard to Erminie.” And before the beautiful man-hater could object, he had taken her hand and was leading her from the boat. He placed her in a carriage, entered and took a seat by her side, and gave the order to drive to the Baltimore railway station. All this was done in spite of Britomarte’s tacit protest. He did not, however, obtrude his conversation upon her. The drive was finished in silence. On their arrival at the station, he procured her ticket, checked her baggage, and then placed her in one of the most comfortable seats in the ladies’ car. Even then he did not leave her, but remained stationed by her until the shrill, unearthly whistle of the engine warned him to leave. Then, bending over her, he took her hand and whispered low: “Miss Conyers, I never utter vain or hasty words. What I speak now, I speak earnestly from the depths of my heart. In me you have a friend through good report and evil report, through life and death, through time and eternity. I have never spoken these words to any human being before this; I never shall speak them to any other after this. Good-by; we shall meet again in a happier hour.” CHAPTER IV. THE WITCH OF WITCH ELMS. After seeing Britomarte well on her way, Justin walked thoughtfully home to the parsonage. Days passed; but no news came of Miss Conyers. Eastworth remained at the parsonage, wooing the minister’s daughter—never with compromising words, but with glances more eloquent and tones more expressive than words could ever be. For if his words were only, “The day is beautiful,” his tone said, “I love you!” his glance said, “For you are more beautiful than the summer’s day.” And Erminie! how entirely she believed in him; how devotedly she loved him; how disinterestedly she worshiped him. “If I could in any way add to his fame, or honor, or happiness, how blessed I should be! And oh! if he should go away without ever telling me what I could do to please him, how wretched I should become! Ah! he may meet more beautiful, more accomplished and more distinguished women in the great world than ever I can hope to be; but he will never meet with one who could love him more than I do!” Such reveries as these, scarcely taking the form of words, even in her thoughts, engaged the young girl constantly.