I COULD not exactly understand how Mr. Loraine, being in Baltimore, or on the way to New York, had sent a carriage for his niece. It was possible that Kate's uncle had returned sooner than he had been expected, or that Mr. McKim had seen his partner's family, and they had sent for Kate. It did not occur to me that there was anything wrong; but I desired to see Mr. Loraine, and tell him her story before his niece went to his house.

"Who sent you for Miss Loraine?" I asked of the hackman.

"How should I know who sint me?" replied the driver, an ill-favored Irishman, and a rough specimen even of New York hackmen, who are not reputed to be saints. "A gintleman gave me this paper, and told me to come here."

I took the paper, and read what was written upon it: "Call at the ---- Hotel for Miss Kate Loraine, and drive her to No. -- Madison Place.

Bring the young man who is with her also."

"Who gave you this?" I asked.

"I don't know who he was. It was a gintleman that came over to the hack-stand by the Park."

"Was he an old man, or a young man?"

"Middling ould--not very ould, either; he wasn't what you'd call a young man," replied the driver.

"Was he fifty?"

"He might be; and then again he might not be," answered the man.

This was very definite, and it was plain to me that I could not find out from such a stupid fellow whether or not it was Mr. McKim who had sent him. I decided that Kate should not go to Madison Place that day. It would be much better for me to see her uncle first, for such a course would save her from an unpleasant scene, if he decided not to receive her. I told the hackman we should not go; and the fellow growled about his fare, but finally drove off, declaring that the people in Madison Place should pay him for his trouble.

I was annoyed by the incident, and was afraid it would prejudice Kate's uncle--if he had returned--against her, or if he had not, that his wife would be vexed. Before the hack was out of sight, I was sorry I had not permitted Kate to go. I talked the matter over with her, and with her kind friends, who thought I had been over-nice about the matter.

About seven o'clock, the same hackman came again. I was sent for, and met him in the office. He was as surly and cross as before, though his face wore something like an expression of triumph this time.

"It's a dale of throuble you're makin for your friends," said he, handing me a note.

"You shall be paid for all the trouble I give you," I replied, offended at the fellow's impudence.

I glanced at the note, and found it was directed to Kate. I carried it up to her, and after she had read it, she handed it to me.

"My uncle has returned," said she. "He seems to be real good and kind--don't he?"

I read the note, which was as follows:--

"MY DEAR NIECE: I learned from Mr. McKim, since I returned from Baltimore this afternoon, that you were in the city. I should call upon you myself, but I am quite ill, and do not feel able to do so.

I desire to see you very much, and the bearer of this note will drive you to my house. I think Mr.

McKim spoke of a young man with you, who called upon him. Let him come with you, if you please.

FREEMAN LORAINE."

"Your uncle is good and kind, and I am sorry I gave him the trouble to send twice," I added, when I had finished reading the note. "We will go with the hackman as soon as you are ready."

"How far is it?" asked Mrs. Macombe.

"Mr. Loraine lives in Madison Place; but I haven't the least idea where that is," I replied.

"Shall we see you again?" asked our kind friend.

"Why, yes, I hope so. I will come down and see you. But I don't know yet whether I am to stay with my uncle or not," said Kate, as she put on her shawl and bonnet. "I must see you again, and I shall tell my uncle all about you."

"I shall depend upon seeing you again, and I hope you will find a good and pleasant home," added the worthy old lady.

I escorted Kate down to the street, and handed her into the carriage.

The driver closed the door when I had taken my seat, mounted his box, and drove off.

"I am quite sure, Kate, that you will remain with your uncle," said I, as the hack rattled up Broadway.

"You can't be sure," replied she, somewhat excited by the prospect that was opening before her.

"Not exactly sure; but the interest he manifests in you, and the trouble he takes to have you come to his house, convince me that he is a man worthy to be your father's brother."

"Perhaps he will scold me for running away from Mrs. Loraine," suggested she, timidly.

"I think not. He will not be willing that you should be shut up for a whole week for taking long st.i.tches, or for treading on a flower. There may be some difficulty in the way, as your step-mother is legally your guardian; but your uncle will find a way to release you from such odious bondage. But we won't antic.i.p.ate anything. If your uncle won't take care of you, I will, for I like you, Kate, and I mean to stand by you just as long as you need any help. Mrs. Macombe will be very glad to take you home with her."

"I seem to have plenty of friends now. But, however many friends I may have, Ernest Thornton, I shall always be grateful to you for what you have done for me. I shall always consider you my first and best friend on earth. But you are going off, over the ocean; and I shall not see you again."

"I shall return soon."

"When shall you go?"

"I shall not go till I am sure you are safe and well provided for. If, as I expect, your uncle takes you to his home, I shall start day after to-morrow."

"So soon?"

"Yes; I cannot needlessly waste a single day. My poor mother, for aught I know, is still in sorrow and suffering."

"How glad she will be to see you, if you find her!"

"I shall find her; I shall not give up the search until I do find her, if it takes me all the rest of my lifetime. But I expect to be successful without much trouble."

We were silent then for half an hour, I judged, in which I was thinking of the great mission that was before me; and I have no doubt Kate was antic.i.p.ating the scene that awaited her at the house of her uncle. The carriage still rattled along, and it was beginning to be dark, for we had been riding nearly an hour. I thought it was about time for us to reach Madison Place. We must have gone at least six miles, and I came deliberately to the conclusion that New York was a bigger city than I had ever supposed.

"Haven't you got almost to Madison Place?" I shouted to the driver, when my patience began to be sorely tried.

"It's a good piece yet," replied the driver, in the same surly tones.

"I think we must be almost up to Albany," I said to Kate, as I glanced out at the window.

"Not quite so far as that," laughed Kate.

"This don't look like a very aristocratic part of the city," I added.

"The houses are all of wood, and poor ones at that."

"You must be patient, Ernest Thornton. We must soon reach my uncle's house."