It was afternoon when he finally started. He was anxious and weary from long waiting; and after three stations were passed, he began to ask questions.
"How long before we get to Harrowtown?" he inquired, stopping the busy conductor.
"We get there at half past eight."
Another question was upon Mr. Randal's lips, but the conductor had hurried on. He looked around as if to appeal to some one else, but turned back, talking to himself. "Not get there till into the evening," he said, "and pitch dark, for there's no moon now. I shan't know where to go." The poor old man was sorely troubled.
Presently the conductor came back, and as he passed his seat, he stopped him again.
"Mr. Conductor, how shall I know when to get out? I've never been to Harrowtown, and I don't want to get out at the wrong place."
"Give yourself no concern," was the polite reply. "I'll tell you when we come to Harrowtown. I won't forget you."
Soothed by this assurance, Mr. Randal's mind grew tranquil, and he finally went to sleep.
In the seat behind him sat a tall, handsome boy. His name was Albert Gregory. He was bright and intelligent, but his well-featured face was spoiled by a wicked-looking eye and a hard, cruel mouth.
He saw the aged passenger fall asleep, and nudged his seat-fellow.