He left Samona suddenly, with no word of explanation as to where he was going or when he should return. At Chicago he stopped for a day to rest and get a present as a peace offering for Clarice. He wanted to stand well with her, if possible, and meant to do his best. The present was bought,—a lovely silver vase with Clarice’s name upon it and the date of her marriage. All might have ended well but for his falling in at the hotel with two of his old comrades in dissipation. To resist their persuasions and keep from drinking was impossible. He forgot his pledge,—forgot Elithe and everything else but the pleasure of the moment, and when the train which he intended taking for Boston left the station, he was lying like a log in the bed to which his friends had taken him, and in his pockets were two bottles of brandy, which they had put there as souvenirs of their spree. Mortified beyond measure and weak from the effects of his debauch, Jack shook himself together and started again for the East, drinking occasionally from the brandy to steady his nerves, until the boat was reached at New Bedford. It was packed, but he managed to find a seat and sat with his back to the passengers. Behind and close to him were two or three young men bound for Oak City and talking of the wedding. Nothing like it had ever been seen in that vicinity, they said, discussing the fireworks and the lanterns and the bands and the tent and the flowers and the twenty waiters, and wondering how Mrs. Percy could afford it, as they had never supposed her wealthy. “Poor, but proud as Lucifer, and her daughter is prouder,” one said, adding that possibly Paul Ralston furnished some of the wherewithal. “I don’t think so,” another replied. “Miss Percy would not allow that. More likely it’s the brother. She has one, I believe. Where is he, anyway?” “Oh!” and the first speaker laughed, derisively. “You mean Jack.” A shiver like ice ran through Jack’s body as he heard his name spoken in the way it was and by one whose voice he recognized as belonging to an old friend. But he sat perfectly still and listened while the talk went on. “I used to know him some seasons ago; pretty wild chap; nothing really bad about him, if he’d let whisky alone. He is only Clarice’s half brother, and cuts no figure whatever. If he can take care of himself he does well. Used to drink like a fish and howl like a hyena when he had too much down him. He’s West somewhere, and I’ve heard that they want him to stay there; but there are so many lies told you can’t tell what’s true and what isn’t. I know Ralston don’t want him, for I heard some one ask him if he were coming and Paul said ‘It is to be hoped he will not.’”