"It is well we cannot see What the end will be." CHAPTER XVII. "And all that fills the heart of friends When first they feel, with secret pain, Their lives henceforth have separate ends, And never can be one again." LONGFELLOW. Thomas being at once the most determined and the most imposing of attendants, he speedily succeeded in clearing a way for us through the crowd of hackmen, carmen, and newsboys, and in selecting the most promising of the array of vehicles offered for our accommodation; installing us and our luggage therein and thereon; and bestowing his own long limbs _à côté du cocher_, we were soon rattling over pavements, rough and jarring to a miserable degree. Mr. Rutledge perceived how frightened and nervous I was, and first tried to laugh away, then to coax away, my foolish dread of meeting my aunt. It was in vain; for once, his kindness and eloquence were lost upon me. I could think of nothing but the approaching interview; and looking out of the window, counted eagerly the blocks we passed. "How much further is it?" I asked, despairingly, as we rumbled through bewildering labyrinths of dark and narrow streets. "Aren't we nearly there?" "My dear little rustic, we are not quarter of the way. We have a long drive before us yet, and if you will renounce the pleasure of looking out at those crazy lamp-posts, and turn your face this way, I will promise to tell you long enough before we reach Gramercy Square, for you to get up a very pretty speech to rush into your aunt's arms withal. In the meantime, think about me, and not about her." I tried to obey, while my companion amused and humored me like the spoilt child I was fast becoming under his indulgence. It was impossible not to feel reassured by his manner, and soothed by it, half teasing and half tender; but all the terror returned, when, looking at his watch, and then out into the street, he said: "I promised to tell you; we are now in Fourth Avenue; in about three minutes and a quarter, we shall turn into Gramercy Square, and in about one minute and three quarters from that time, we shall stop at the door of your new home. You have just five minutes to smooth your hair, pinch some color into your white cheeks, say good bye, and tell me how good and faithful a friend you are going to be." "Oh," I cried, in great alarm, "surely you will go in! I shall _die_ if I have to go alone. Dear Mr. Rutledge! You would not be so unkind. Just think how little I know my aunt, and how I shall feel to be all alone without one soul I know. You surely will not leave me."