Dr. Everett was driving rapidly through the city; at least, as rapidly as the crowded character of the street would permit. He was out on professional duty, and had just been congratulating himself that his regular calls were now made for the day, and unless something special intervened he should have a couple of hours free for the alleys.

That meant professional duty, too, and of the very hardest character, one would suppose, as it brought him in contact not only with sickness in some of its most repulsive forms, but with abject poverty as well, and too often with loathsome forms of sin; yet he went about this work with a zest that his regular practice did not furnish. This was something done solely for Jesus' sake, and with an eye that was manifestly single to His glory.

He had already selected his alley, and was planning how, when his horses were safely stabled, he could make a cross-cut to it, when his eyes were held by two persons who were ascending together the stairway that led to one of the public halls. His face darkened as he watched them. Apparently they were engrossed with each other, and took no notice of him; but there were reasons why he specially desired to keep them in view. A network of carriages and wagons such as is common to crowded thoroughfares blocked his path just then, and prolonged his opportunity to watch the two.

They made their way in a very leisurely manner up the long staircase, letting others, more in haste, pass them continually; yet presently they joined the group who were passing up tickets of entrance.

The doctor signalled a policeman, and entered into conversation:—

“What is going on in Seltzer Hall?”

“Well, sir, there's a kind of a concert, I guess. They play on goblets, they say—just common glass goblets—and make fine music.”

“An afternoon entertainment?”

“Yes, sir, as a kind of introduction, you know; they expect to get a crowd for evening by the means.”

“Do you know where tickets are to be had?”

The policeman indicated a bookstore at his left by a gesture from his thumb, and said, “Right here,” and offered to secure some at once. He knew Dr. Everett; many of the policemen did.

His offer was accepted with thanks, and the doctor presently wound his way out from the network with two green tickets in his pocket. His plans for the afternoon had been suddenly changed. Instead of spending the time in Sewell alley, he had decided to attend a musical exhibition, the instruments being goblets!

He must make all speed now, so he left the crowded street and dodged through several byways to the stables.

No use to keep his horses. “She would be afraid to drive through such crowds,” he explained to himself, “and I should be afraid to leave the carriage standing.”

Rushing out from the stables he caught just the right street-car, and in a short space of time was ringing at Mr. Roberts' door.

Gracie Dennis was in the hall, dressed for the street.

“Ah,” said the doctor, “I am either fortunate or unfortunate, I wonder which? I had set my heart on having you for a companion to what I fancy may be a unique entertainment. Is there another engagement in the way? I know this is a most unconventional method, but a doctor is never sure of his time.”

But Gracie Dennis felt too well acquainted with Dr. Everett, and was too young and ready for enjoyment to be disturbed about conventionality. She merrily declared her willingness to be taken to whatever entertainment the doctor had to propose. Mrs. Roberts was out with her husband on business connected with church matters, and she had only intended to walk a square or two for her health.

On the way the doctor was distrait, Gracie having most of the talking to do herself. The truth was, he was trying to recall the faces of the people he had seen crowding into the hall, to make sure that he was not taking Gracie among people whom he would not care to have her meet. Apparently the couple whose movements had changed all his afternoon plans were not a sufficient guarantee of respectability. However, his face cleared as he recalled one and another, as being in the crowd seeking admission; they might not be of the class with whom Gracie was accustomed to mingle, but they were respectable people.

Gracie was in a merry mood. She understood enough of the doctor's busy life to feel sure that this sudden resolve to be entertained was quite out of his ordinary line, and that of itself served to mark the hour as exceptional.

“He feels the need of a little every-day fun,” she told herself, “and I'll help him to have it if I can. Poor man! it must be doleful to go among sick and dying people all the time.”

They were late at the hall; the concert was well under way; but there were plenty of vacant seats. Dr. Everett swept his eye over the room; then indicated to the usher just which seat he would have. It was one which commanded a view of the young man and woman who seemed to have such a mysterious influence over his plans.

He was relieved to find quite early in the entertainment that it really was unique, and, in its way, well worth hearing. Had the surroundings been agreeable he could easily have given himself up to enjoyment. However, they had been seated but a few moments, when he saw by Gracie's startled eyes that she had seen and recognized at least one of the couple at their left. Professor Ellis, in his usual faultless attire, lounged gracefully on the seat in such a manner that his side-face was distinct; he rested a well-shaped arm on the back of the seat next him, and his delicately gloved hand almost, if not quite, touched the shoulder of his companion.

Both he and the lady at his side gave extremely little attention to the entertainment in progress. Apparently they had come thither for purposes of conversation. They kept up a continuous murmur of talk, interspersed at intervals with rippling laughter, and really seemed so entirely absorbed in each other as to have at times forgotten that the hall was public, and that the attention of many was being turned toward them. The girl was pretty, extremely so, with an entirely different style of beauty from Gracie Dennis; and a certain indescribable something in her face and manner would have told even the most casual observer that she moved in a different circle. It was not her dress, unless that was a little too pronounced for the place and hour; but quite young ladies in good society sometimes make a similar mistake.

Neither was her manner objectionable to the degree that you could have pointed to any one thing as offensive; yet you would have been sure, had you watched her, that she was without the pale of what we call society.

Gracie Dennis watched her with a kind of fascination;—becoming at last so absorbed with the watching, and the apparently troubled thoughts which grew out of it, that she gave but slight attention to Dr. Everett's occasional remarks, nor seemed to observe that at last he lapsed into total silence.

Once, during the hour, the young woman glanced casually in their direction, and the careless nod, and free and easy smile with she acknowledged Dr. Everett's presence, drew a startled glance from Gracie to rest on him for a moment.

“Now I wish I had my horses,” the doctor said, as at last they made their way down the aisle. “I have a mile's drive up town to take, and I think the exercise might be good for you.”

Gracie caught at the suggestion, and begged to be allowed to remain in the bookstore below while he went for the horses.

“I want a ride, and I want to talk with you,” she said, simply.

As this was precisely what he wanted, he went for the horses without more delay.

Meantime, Gracie, in one of the windows of the bookstore, was supposed to be employed in examining a late book, but in reality gave much attention to the couple who were crossing the street, or rather waiting for an opportunity to do so.

They seemed in no haste, but were conspicuous, even in the crowded street, for their interest in each other. More than one policeman regarded them narrowly, as Professor Ellis stood with head bent toward the lady, engaged in eager and animated conversation. It was just the attitude of absorbed interest with which he had so often listened to Gracie; not on the street, it is true, but in some crowded parlor, and it had flattered her. It made her frown to-day. They were starting now to make the disagreeable crossing. He had taken his companion's hand, preparatory to a leap over a muddy curbing; but Gracie could see that there was a pressure of it that was unnecessary, and, for the street, peculiar; his face, too, was distinctly visible, and the expression on it was what Gracie had seen before, but certainly she supposed no other person had.

Altogether it was probably well for Professor Ellis' peace of mind that he did not turn at that moment, and get a glimpse of the young lady in the bookstore. Instead he took his lady away, and they were lost in the crowd.

Dr. Everett, making all haste with his horses, had still time for anxious thought. Had his experiment been too severe on Gracie? Was it possible that her interest in the man was such that the afternoon's experience had been mixed with pain as well as with disgust? He could not believe it possible that the pure-hearted young girl cared for such a man as Professor Ellis! Yet there had been a look on her face when she saw those two which startled and hurt him.

When fairly seated in his carriage he did not speak until they had threaded the maze of wagons and reached clear ground. Even then he only said, “Now for speed,” and gave the horses their desire, until crowds and business were left behind, and they were driving down a broad avenue, lined on either side with stately yet quiet-looking homes. Then he drew rein, and obliged the horses to walk; he had by this time resolved on probing the wound, if there was one.

“I wish I knew just how much of a villain that man is.” These were the somewhat startling words which broke his silence.

“What man?” Yet the very tones of Gracie's voice indicated that she knew of whom he was speaking.

“That man, Ellis! Professor, I think he is called. I have reason to be very suspicious of him. By the way, Miss Gracie, I think he is an acquaintance of yours. Have you confidence in him?”

How promptly and indignantly such a question would have received an affirmative answer two months before! What should she say now?

“In what respect?” she faltered, more for the purpose of gaining time than because she did not understand the question.

“Well, in any respect I am almost prepared to say. I have not the honor of the man's acquaintance; but whatever I hear about him, or see in him, I dislike and distrust. Just at present his ways are specially disturbing. You noticed him this afternoon, I think! The young girl in his company belongs to my Sabbath-school. I have a deep interest in her, partly because she is the sort of girl who is always more or less in danger in this wicked world, and partly because she is capable of strongly influencing another, who is a special protÉgÉ of mine.”

“Who is the girl?” Gracie's manner was abrupt, and her voice constrained. It was evident that she was making great effort to control herself, and appear indifferent to all parties.

The doctor took no notice of her constraint.

“Her name is Mason. Hester Mason. She attends the Packard Place Sabbath-school, which you know I superintend. She is motherless, and worse than fatherless; is a clerk in one of the Fourth Avenue stores, and is, or was, inclined to be what is called gay. I do not know that that term conveys any special meaning to you; in young men I think they call the same line of conduct 'fast.' I hope and believe that you would not well understand either term; yet, I think, possibly, that watching her this afternoon in a public hall will give you some conception of the stretch that there is between yourself and her.”