Bad Hugh

And Anna wondered at herself when the excitement of leaving was past and

the train was bearing her swiftly along on her mission of duty. She had

written a few lines to Charlie Millbrook, telling him of her unaltered

love and bidding him come to her in three weeks' time, when she would be

ready to see him.

It was very dark and rainy, and the passengers jostled each other

rudely as they passed from the cars in Albany and hurried to the boat.

It was new business to Anna, traveling alone and in the night, and a

feeling akin to fear was creeping over her as she wondered where she

should find the eastern train.

"Follow the crowd," seemed yelled out for her benefit, though it was

really intended for a timid, deaf old lady, who had anxiously asked what

to do of one whose laconic reply was: "Follow the crowd." And Anna did

follow the crowd which led her safely to the waiting cars. Snugly

ensconced in a seat all to herself, she vainly imagined there was no

more trouble until Cleveland or Buffalo at least was reached. How, then,

was she disappointed when, alighting for a moment at Rochester, she

found herself in a worse babel, if possible, than had existed at Albany.

Where were all these folks going, and which was the train? "I ought not

to have alighted at all," she thought; "I might have known I never could

find my way back." Never, sure, was poor, little woman so confused and

bewildered as Anna, and it is not strange that she stood directly upon

the track, unmindful of the increasing din and roar as the train from

Niagara Falls came thundering into the depot. It was in vain that the

cabman nearest to her helloed to warn her of the impending danger. She

never dreamed that they meant her, or suspected her great peril, until

from out of the group waiting to take that very train, a tall figure

sprang, and grasping her light form around the waist, bore her to a

place of safety--not because he guessed that it was Annie, but because

it was a human being whom he would save from a fearful death.

"Excuse me, madam," he began, but whatever she might have said was lost

in the low, thrilling scream of joy with which Anna recognized him.

"Charlie, Charlie! oh, Charlie!" she cried, burying her face in his

bosom and sobbing like a child.

There was no time to waste in explanations; scarcely time, indeed, for

Charlie to ask where she was going, and if the necessity to go on were

imperative.

"You won't leave me," Anna whispered.

"Leave you, darling? No," and pressing the little fingers twining so

lovingly about his own, Charlie replied: "Whither thou goest I will go.

I shall not leave you again."