"Yes,—to-morrow. And I think, that, when we find her, we may find a clue to your Alice."
Greenleaf started up as if he had been galvanized.
"You have seen her, then! You old fox! Where is she? To-morrow, indeed! Tell me, and I will fly."
"You can't; for, as Brother Chadband observed, you haven't any wings."
"Don't trifle with me. I know your fondness for surprises; but if you love me, don't put me off with your nonsense."
Greenleaf was thoroughly in earnest, and Easelmann took a more soothing tone. At another time the temptation to tease would have been irresistible.
"Be calm, you man of gunpowder, steel, whalebone, and gutta-percha! I positively have nothing but guesses to give you. Besides, do you think you have nothing to do but rush into Alice's arms when you find her? Take some valerian to quiet your nerves, and go to bed. In the morning, try to smooth over those sharp features of yours. Use rouge, if you can't get up your natural color. When you are presentable, come over here again, and we'll stroll out in search of adventure. But mind, I promise nothing,—I only guess."
While he spoke, Greenleaf looked into the mirror, and was surprised to see how anxiety had worn upon him. His face was thin and bloodless, and his eyes sunken, but glowing. The quiet influence of his friend calmed him, and his impatience subsided. He took his leave silently, wringing Easelmann's hand, and walked home with a lighter heart.
"He is a good fellow," mused Easelmann, "and has suffered enough for his folly. The lesson will do him good."