r, went on to speak of Adah.
Where was she, did they suppose, and what were the best means of finding
her.

At this Mrs. Richards demurred, as did Asenath with her.

"Adah was gone, and they had better let her go quietly. She was nothing
to them, nothing whatever, and if they took Willie in, doing their best
with him as one of the Richards' line, it was all that could be required
of them. Had Adah been John's wife, it would of course be different, but
she was not, and his marriage with 'Lina must not now be prevented."

This was Mrs. Richards' reasoning, but Anna's was different.

"John had distinctly said, 'I married Lily and she died.' Adah was
mistaken about the marriage being unlawful. It was a falsehood he told
her. She was his wife, and he must not be permitted to commit bigamy.
She would tell John in private. They need not try to dissuade her, for
she should go."

This was what Anna said, and all in vain were her mother's entreaties to
let matters take their course. Anna only replied by going deliberately
on with the preparations for her sudden journey. She was going to find
Rose, and blessing her for this kindness to one whom they had liked so
much, Dixson and Pamelia helped to get her ready, both promising the
best care to Willie in her absence, both asking where she was going
first and both receiving the same answer, "To Albany."

Mrs. Richards was too much stunned clearly to comprehend what had
happened or what would be the result; and in a kind of apathetic maze
she bade Anna good-by, and then went back to where Willie sat upon the
sofa, examining and occasionally tearing the costly book of foreign
prints which had been given him to keep him still and make him cease his
piteous wail for "mamma." It seemed like a dream to the three ladies
sitting at home that night and talking about Anna, wondering that a
person of her weak nerves and feeble health should suddenly become so
active, so energetic, so decided, and of her own accord start off on a
long journey alone and unprotected.

And Anna wondered at herself when the excitement of leaving was past and
the train was bearing her swiftly along on her mission of duty. She had
written a few lines to Charlie Millbrook, telling him of her unaltered
love and bidding him come to her in three weeks' time, when she would be
ready to see him.

It was very dark and rainy, and the passengers jostled each other
rudely as they passed from the cars in Albany and hurr