On the third day Robert reached the Ohio river, and was fortunate enough to intercept a steamer bound East. He went to the office, and found that his money would suffice to pay his fare to Wheeling, but would leave him nothing. This did not trouble him much. He had the sanguine and elastic temperament of youth, and he did not doubt that something would turn up.

"If I can't do any better," he resolved, "I will obtain work of some kind till I have laid by enough money to pay my passage for the remainder of the way. Or I can write to my guardian, and ask him to send me money enough to bring me to New York."

He had no idea how unwelcome this communication would be to his guardian, nor that by this time that guardian, having received James Cromwell's letter, supposed him dead.

On board the steamer he looked about him with a boy's curiosity, and as the boat proceeded he surveyed with interest the towns on either shore, at most of which the boat stopped.

Among the passengers his attention was drawn to a tall gentleman of bronzed complexion who had as a companion a young girl of about thirteen, whom he addressed as Edith. The young lady had a very sweet face, and Robert caught himself more than once wishing he had such a sister. Had he been older that is perhaps the last thing he would have desired. But he was only a boy of fourteen, and was of course too young to experience the sensation of being in love.

The gentleman's name he learned was Major Woodley, and the young lady's, of course, Edith Woodley.

Robert wished that he might have an opportunity of making the acquaintance of Major Woodley and his daughter, but while on their trip up the river chance did not favor him. The opportunity, however, was only deferred. It came at the end of the voyage.

At length they reached Wheeling, and the passengers generally disembarked. Major Woodley and his daughter were among these.

Arrived on the pier, while Major Woodley was looking out for his baggage, a horse, maddened by a blow from his brutal driver, started suddenly forward, and in an instant would have trampled Edith Woodley under his feet, had not Robert sprung forward, and clasping her round the waist, drawn her quickly out of danger.

Her father was at some distance. He happened to look up just in time to see his child's danger, but not in time to rescue her.

To his great relief he saw Robert's prompt action, and he realized that but for this, his daughter would probably have lost her life.

Filled with gratitude he hurriedly advanced, and seized Robert by the hand.

"Well done, my brave boy! You have probably saved my daughter's life. From my heart, I thank you."

"I am glad it was in my power to do her a service," said Robert, modestly.

"You exposed your own life to danger," said the Major.

"I did not think of that," said Robert, simply. "I only thought of the young lady's danger."

"That shows you are a brave boy. If you had not been so cool and prompt, it would have been too late. If you had hesitated a moment, I shudder to think what would have been the result."

"I am very glad, indeed, that I was standing by," said Robert, "but I think anyone would have done the same."

Major Woodley shook his head.

"I know men better than you, my lad," he said, "and I know that coolness and self-possession in the hour of danger are not so common as they might be. Let me know the name of my daughter's preserver."

"Robert Raymond."

"Are you going further East?"

"Yes, sir, as soon as I can. I am bound for New York."

"So am I. But I shall stop at the hotel till to-morrow. Why won't you stop over also and go on with us?"

This was an embarrassing question for Robert. The fact is, that his entire worldly wealth, so far as he carried it with him, consisted of twenty-five cents, and this, so far from enabling him from going on to New York, would not even pay for his breakfast, unless he confined himself to a very frugal one. He felt a little shame at confessing this to Major Woodley, who had the air of a man of large means, yet he could not help confessing to himself that it would be very agreeable for him to pursue his journey in company with the Major and his daughter to New York. Of course he would become very well acquainted with the daughter, and this he thought he should like very much.

He had never had a sister, and he felt that she would be one to him.

So he hesitated, and did not immediately answer the question asked.

"If this would interfere with any of your arrangements, or if you have other friends to travel with," proceeded Major Woodley, observing his hesitation, "don't hesitate to say so."

"It is not that," said Robert, "I am traveling alone."

"So I supposed, as I saw no one with you on the boat. Why then will you not join us?"

"I will tell you," said Robert, making up his mind to tell the truth. "I find myself out of money, and I shall be obliged to wait here until I can receive money enough from my guardian to pay my fare to New York."

"Does your guardian, then, live in New York?" asked the major.

"Yes, sir."

"May I ask his name? I have some considerable acquaintance in New York, and perhaps I may know him."

"His name is Paul Morton. He is a merchant, I believe."

"Paul Morton!" repeated Major Woodley, in surprise. "Is he your guardian?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long has he been?"

"Only a few weeks. My father was an early friend of his, and he died in his house. He left me to the charge of Mr. Morton."

"What was your father's name?" asked Major Woodley, quickly.

"Ralph Raymond."

"Was he an India merchant?"

"Yes, sir. Did you know him?" asked Robert, eagerly.

"Intimately. I passed some time in India, and there I made your father's acquaintance. I valued him for his high honor, and excellent qualities, and I am truly glad to have met his son. I did not know of his death. But of that and other things you must inform me at the hotel. You need not trouble yourself about want of money. Go with me, and I will see you safely in New York."

Major Woodley ordered a carriage, and the party at once proceeded to the best hotel in the place. Breakfast was ordered, for the boat had arrived in the morning. After this meal was over, Major Woodley said: "Now, my young friend, tell me about your father's death."

Robert recounted the circumstances which are already familiar to the reader, except as to the wicked means by which his father's life was shortened. Of this he was himself ignorant, as we know.

"Now," said the Major, "how does it happen that you are traveling alone, and almost friendless in this region? I confess it surprises me. I cannot understand why your guardian should allow it."

"It is a strange story," said Robert. "I do not understand it myself."

Therefore he gave an account of the manner in which he had been consigned to the care of James Cromwell, and the events that followed, his auditor listening with strong interest.

"So he intrusted you to the charge of a druggist! That is certainly strange. He removed you from your school, and sent you to an inferior school in a Western village. There is something remarkable about this."

When Robert gave an account of James Cromwell's attempt to put him out of the way, Major Woodley's eyes flashed, and Edith, placing her hand on Robert's arm, said, "What a horrid, wicked man he must have been!"

"I sometimes think he is not in his right mind," said Robert. "What do you think, sir?" he continued, appealing to the Major.

"I am not so charitable," said the Major. "I think he was quite aware of what he was doing and that he had a motive in what he did."

"What motive could he have had, sir?"

"I will keep that to myself at present. I have my suspicions, but they may be groundless."

In fact Major Woodley suspected that Cromwell was acting under instructions from Paul Morton, of whom he had a bad opinion, and he determined to satisfy himself on this point when they reached New York. But he felt that it would not be of any service to impart this to Robert until he should have ascertained definitely.