And the worst of it all lay before him. He was succeeding well in his plan for getting her to the ferry, but after that, how was he to manage? CHAPTER XXVI. TOO LATE! TOO LATE. "'What is life?' A battle, child, Where the strongest lance may fail, Where the weariest eye may be beguiled, And the stoutest heart may quail, Where foes are gathered on every hand, And rest not day or night But the angels of heaven are on thy side, And God is over all." When Robert returned from the engine-house, he was in doubt whether he ought to follow Hawthorne or not. "If he has gone to Miss Harding's house, everything must be all right between them. It must be some other lady in the same house that Standish is going to take away. It's a lodging-house, and he may be acquainted with a dozen ladies there, for all I know." But still, in spite of these thoughts, he kept on driving to the house. "I'll go past it anyway, and see if the fellow is there yet with his grand sleigh." He threw himself back with an air of importance, for he was certainly enjoying his little outing. The road was gay with vehicles, and the air musical with the ring of sleigh-bells. New York was enjoying its Christmas. Almost before he realized it, he found himself on the obscure street, and in front of the shabby house where Geraldine lived, a pure pearl in an uncouth setting. He reined up in front of the house and cogitated: "The sleigh isn't here. Mr. Standish must have got his girl and gone. Maybe I ought to go, too. I don't see that I have any business going in!" Smiling to himself at his humorous play on the verb to go, he waited a minute, glancing curiously at the front of the four-story house that looked dark and still as though most of the people had gone out or retired. He pictured to himself the handsome fireman within that tenement, sitting by the side of his sweet young love, Geraldine, perhaps holding her dainty hand and looking love into eyes that answered love again. "No, I mustn't go in. I might interrupt a charming _tete-a-tete_," he decided, and was about to turn back to the livery stable, when the door before him opened suddenly, and a man appeared, reeling down the steps like one under the influence of liquor or some heart-breaking emotion. Robert stared at the handsome figure a moment, then called, questioningly: "Mr. Hawthorne?" Hawthorne stopped, looked up, and asked, hoarsely: "Who is that? Oh, Robert, is it you? What are you doing here?" "I came to see you, Mr. Hawthorne." "What can I do for you? Speak quickly, for I'm going--oh, God! where--for I know not where to turn!" The words were a cry of agony, and as he came up to the side of the sleigh, the youth saw that his face was deathly pale, as if from terrible trouble. His first fear that Hawthorne was intoxicated gave way to the conviction that something was wrong about Geraldine, and he said, quickly: