There was reassurance in the tone of the voice, and reassurance in the expression of the frank, open face of the young man, who, as Magdalen rose from her seat, came quickly to her side, and doffing his hat, said: “Miss Lennox, I presume? I am Guy Seymour, Aunt Pen’s nephew, or as she would tell you, her husband’s nephew, and she has kept me in a constant state of worry the entire day on your account. I was at the depot at least an hour before there was any possible hope of the train, and as you are an hour behind, that makes two hours I have waited, so you see I have done my duty. Allow me to take your satchel and umbrella. You haven’t a bandbox, have you?” The comical look in the saucy brown eyes, which turned upon Magdalen, betrayed the fact that he was quizzing her a little. But Magdalen did not mind it. She felt a kind of security with him, and liked him at once in spite of the bandbox thrust. “This way, please; perhaps you’d better take my arm,” he said, as he made his way through the crowd to a carriage, which was waiting for him. When once fairly seated, Magdalen had leisure to study her _vis-à-vis_ more closely. He was apparently twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, a young man who had seen a great deal of fashion and society, and who still retained about him a certain air of frankness and candor and simplicity, which opened a way for him at once to every stranger’s heart. There was something in the wave of his hair and the cast of his head which reminded Magdalen of Roger, and made her feel as if she had found a friend. He was inclined to be quite sociable, and after exhausting the weather, he said to her, “You are from Belvidere, I believe? Do you know a Mr. Irving there, the one who has so recently come into a fortune?” Magdalen looked quickly up, and her face was scarlet as she replied, “I know him, yes. Is he an acquaintance of yours?” “I was two years behind him in college, but sophs and seniors are as widely apart as the poles. I wonder if he is greatly improved. I used to think him a kind of a prig.” “I may as well start with a right understanding at once,” Magdalen thought, and she answered a little haughtily. “Mr. Frank Irving is a friend of mine. I have known him ever since I can remember. Millbank is the only home I have ever had.” Magdalen thought her companion came near whistling in his surprise, and she felt sure that he was regarding her more curiously than he had done before, while for some reason he seemed more attentive and polite, and by the time the St. Denis was reached, she felt as if she had known him months instead of a brief half hour. “You must not mind if you find Aunt Pen a little stiff at first. She has a great deal of starch in her composition,” he said as he ran up the stairs and down the hall in the direction of No.——.