In his half-dazed, disappointed state, he nearly forgot the imperative need of haste on account of business, etc., and barely escaped being left as he sprang on the train at the last moment. He realized presently that a certain volume of essays was no longer in his possession. He did not regret it, though, much as he valued it, inasmuch as he had in its stead two tiny books he should greatly prize. He brought them out now, and looked at them, brought, too, from his side pocket, a sprig of evergreen that he had surreptitiously broken from the bunch fastened to the basket he had carried, partly because he enjoyed the fragrance, and partly—he knew not why. He laid it with the books. And that was every trace there was left of the bright presence that, he was obliged to confess to himself, he missed intolerably. Soon he tossed them all into his satchel almost fiercely, and called himself a fool for allowing any influence to take possession of him in that manner. He brought out his law papers again, and sternly set himself a task. But a face, that two days before he had not known, came between him and the cumbersome phrases, so that, instead of defining and arranging the strong points of the case, he went to puzzling his brain to determine whether or no there was just the least shadow of regret in her eyes as she took leave of him. Then he went over all their conversation, treasured up words and tones of hers, and pictured again her attitude and look of sweet gravity, like some veritable angel when she came to minister to his necessities. "Not one in a hundred would have done that so simply and gracefully, if they would have done it at all, indeed," he told himself. The thing that tried him most was his own stupidity that he had not obtained her address; "Massachusetts," that was all he knew. He took out the books again. Possibly there was a clue. Her name was there: "Marian Chester." What a fair name it was; how it just suited her. That was all, though. No tell-tale sign of where she lived, or where Aunt Ruth lived. He read the line below: "The Lord bless thee and keep thee." It was long since Stuart Lynde had prayed, but he found his heart re-echoing that prayer. As for Marian, she found the last half of her journey dull in comparison with the first, and she was dimly conscious why. The thought sent bright flushes into her cheeks, but she did not sit down and analyze and define it, or recall looks and tones and words. She shut the door on that corner of her heart and locked it. She told herself that it was a matter of perfect indifference to her who or what he was, and yet when her uncle asked, "Who was the young man you introduced to me, my dear?" and she produced his card, she was more than pleased to hear Col. Winslow declare that he knew him well by reputation; that he was one of the most brilliant young lawyers in the State, and, morally, was without blemish.