There was little opportunity for thinking, but Gordon made a hasty plan. He decided to get his party all out to the train and then remember his suit-case, which he had left checked in the station. Jefferson would probably insist upon going for it but he would insist more strenuously that the brother and sister would want to have this last minute together. Then he could get away in the crowd and disappear, coming later for his suit-case perhaps, or sending a porter from his own train for it. The only drawback to this arrangement was that it seemed a dishonorable way to leave these people who would in the nature of things be left in a most trying position by his disappearance, especially the sad little bride. But it could not be helped, and his staying would only complicate things still further, for he would have to explain who he was, and that was practically impossible on account of his commission. It would not do to run risks with himself until his mission was accomplished and his message delivered. After that he could confess and make whatever reparation a man in his strange position could render. The plan worked very well. The brother of course eagerly urged that he be allowed to go back for the suit-case, but Gordon, with well-feigned thoughtfulness, said in a low tone: “Your sister will want you for a minute all to herself.” A tender look came into the boy’s eyes, and he turned back smiling to the stateroom where his mother and sister were having a wordless farewell. Gordon jumped from the train and sprinted down the platform, feeling meaner than he ever remembered to have felt in his whole life, and with a strange heaviness about his heart. He forgot for the moment that there was need for him to be on his guard against possible detectives sent by Mr. Holman. Even the importance of the message he carried seemed to weigh less, now that he was free. His feet had a strange unwillingness to hurry, and without a constant pressure of the will would have lagged in spite of him. His heart wanted to let suit-case and commission and everything else go to the winds and take him back to the stateroom where he had left his sorrowful bride of an hour. She was not his, and he might not go, but he knew that he would never be the same hereafter. He would always be wondering where she was, wishing he could have saved her from whatever troubled her; wishing she were his bride, and not another’s. He passed back through the station gate, and a man in evening clothes eyed him sharply. He fancied he saw a resemblance to one of the men at the Holman dinner-table, but he dared not look again lest a glance should cost him recognition. He wondered blindly which way he should take, and if it would be safe to risk going at once to the checking window, or whether he ought to go in hiding until he was sure young Jefferson would no longer look for him. Then a hand touched his shoulder and a voice that was strangely welcome shouted: