He had looked forward to the opening of the term in September as the time when he should go to the man whom he had wronged, arraign himself, plead guilty, and ask to be forgiven. He could not postpone that duty for a year, perhaps for two years longer; he felt that he could not bear the burden of his shame for all that time, nor rest in the uncertainty of only a possible reconciliation. He _must_ see Professor Lee and Charley before they sailed. He threw a few things into a satchel, and took the next train for the East. He traveled a night and a day, and the next afternoon he found himself hurrying up Concord Street to College Hill. Certainly there was no time to lose. “All gone away to New York this morning,” said the servant at Professor Lee’s house, when Parmenter rang the bell. “They’ve started for Europe!” Parmenter was almost speechless with dismay; but he had enough presence of mind to ascertain that they were not to sail until the next morning, and that they were to go on the steamship _City of Paris_. Away he went to the railroad station, just in time to swing himself upon the train for New York. At Albany he went into a sleeping-car, but did not have his berth made up. He knew he could not sleep. His whole being had turned toward the accomplishment of one object--to find the two men he had so deeply wronged, and beg their forgiveness. At five o’clock in the morning the train rolled into the Grand Central Station in New York City. Parmenter rushed out hotly and hailed a cab. “Drive me to the Inman pier!” he called to the cabman. “Don’t waste a second. There’s money in it for you.” The vehicle rattled swiftly over rough places and smooth. Parmenter fretted nervously within. At last the cab pulled up at the entrance to a pier. Parmenter leaped out, handed the cabman a sum of money that surprised and delighted him, and plunged at once into the shadows of the long buildings. He hurried down, between rows of bales and boxes, toward the landing-place. Some people were coming leisurely up; a family group stood not far away, the persons in it weeping quietly; the edge of the pier was lined with men and women, and at the farther corner of it were many who were waving handkerchiefs. An officer with a gold band around his cap stood looking out upon the water. “Where is the _City of Paris_?” inquired Parmenter of him. “There she is,” replied the officer, pointing to a majestic steamer in midstream, gay with flying colors, and heading down the river. “Has she gone?” gasped Parmenter. “It looks as if she had,” replied the officer, smiling. In sudden weakness and despair Parmenter staggered to an empty truck, sat down on it, and buried his face in his hands. CHAPTER VII. THE WELCOME HOME.