"Wenn ich in Wien war--" He was telling her of his home and his people in the language of his childhood. I glanced across. She sat listening with kindling eyes. Mama slumbered sweetly; her worn old hands clutched unconsciously the umbrellas in her lap. The two Irishmen, having settled the campaign, had dropped to sleep, too. In the crowded car the two were alone. His hand sought hers and met it half-way. "Forty-seventh!" There was a clatter of tin cans below. The contingent of milkmen scrambled out of their seats and off for the depot. In the lull that followed their going, the tenor rose from the last seat: Those first sweet violets of early spring, Which come in whispers, thrill us both, and sing Of love unspeakable that is to be, Oh, promise me! Oh, promise me! The two young people faced each other. He had thrown his hat upon the seat beside him and held her hand fast, gesticulating with his free hand as he spoke rapidly, eloquently, eagerly of his prospects and his hopes. Her own toyed nervously with his coat-lapel, twisting and twirling a button as he went on. What he said might have been heard to the other end of the car, had there been anybody to listen. He was to live here always; his uncle would open a business in New York, of which he was to have charge, when he had learned to know the country and its people. It would not be long now, and then--and then-- "Twenty-third street!" There was a long stop after the levy for the ferries had left. The conductor went out on the platform and consulted with the ticket-chopper. He was scrutinizing his watch for the second time, when the faint jingle of an east-bound car was heard. "Here she comes!" said the ticket-chopper. A shout, and a man bounded up the steps, three at a time. It was an engineer who, to make connection with his locomotive at Chatham Square, must catch that train. "Hullo, Conrad! Nearly missed you," he said as he jumped on the car, breathless. "All right, Jack." And the conductor jerked the bell-rope. "You made it, though." The train sped on. Two lives, heretofore running apart, were hastening to a union. The lovers had seen nothing, heard nothing but each other. His eyes burned as hers met his and fell before them. His head bent lower until his face almost touched hers. His dark hair lay against her blond curls. The ostrich feather on her hat swept his shoulder. "Mögtest Du mich haben?" he entreated. Above the grinding of the wheels as the train slowed up for the station a block ahead, pleaded the tenor: Oh, promise me that you will take my hand, The most unworthy in this lonely land-- Did she speak? Her face was hidden, but the blond curls moved with a nod so slight that only a lover's eye could see it. He seized her disengaged hand. The conductor stuck his head into the car. "Fourteenth street!" A squad of stout, florid men with butchers' aprons started for the door. The girl arose hastily.