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 he knew being in the same heart-broken state as himself, from the same reason. That was too much for him. Like a sensible man, he went straight home to Boston, and took to business energetically, and got back his health and spirits with his friends much sooner than he could have done in the Sahara, I am pretty sure. But I am getting away from this story of Touchtone and Gerald Saxton.

"Youngwood Manor," called out the guard, suddenly, as they steamed into a tiny station. The stop was only for an instant. They had hardly time to put their heads out. Nobody was getting aboard.

"Well, I declare! He couldn't have come up from New York," said Gerald, in disappointment. "I'm sorry. It would be more fun to have him meet us on the train than for us to go and hunt him up in his own street."

"Wait a minute or so," returned Philip. "Mr. Hilliard would have jumped on the car very quickly, knowing what a short stop the train makes. If he did, he is looking through it for us this minute."

The rear door opened. A tall gentleman