In the gray dawn of the Christmas morning they reached the city. They had just entered the depot, and Mr. Lynde was inquiring of Marian how he could serve her as to checks and tickets, when a stout, gray-haired gentleman bustled up with, "Ah, Marian, here you are!" bent and kissed her cheek, saying in the same breath, "So glad you came this morning, my dear. We are not going on to-day, however. My old friend, Col. Winslow, wishes me to spend Christmas with him, and I have accepted the invitation for you, too." Marian's face put in a protest. "Oh! you will enjoy it, my dear; the house is filled with young people; you will have a gay time. Come, let us hasten, the carriage is waiting." As soon as she had opportunity to speak, Marian presented Mr. Lynde, as one who had been kind to her. Accordingly the uncle bestowed on him a hurried bow, and a penetrating glance, from keen, gray eyes under shaggy brows. Then he tucked Marian's hand under his arm and was moving off. One moment she lingered. There was a brief hand clasp, some murmured thanks, and she was gone. To say that Mr. Lynde was astonished, would but feebly express it. Who was this man, and where had he taken her? She evidently went most reluctantly. He felt as if he ought to pursue them and recover her. He remembered now that she had said something about an uncle who, perhaps, would join her on the way. He discovered that he had been looking forward to a day's travel in her company with keenest pleasure. Now it had all changed; travelling was the depth of drudgery.