amed
from her eyes was far more eloquent than words. Upon the broad
piazza 'Lena stood until the last faint sound of the carriage wheels
died away; then, weary and worn, she sought her room, locking 'Anna's
door as she passed it, and placing the key in her pocket. Softly she
crept to bed by the side of her slumbering grandmother, and with a
fervent prayer for the safety of the fugitives, fell asleep.

CHAPTER XXX.

THE RESULT.

The loud ringing of the breakfast-bell aroused 'Lena from her heavy
slumber, and with a vague consciousness of what had transpired the
night previous, she at first turned wearily upon her pillow, wishing
it were not morning; but soon remembering all, she sprang up, and
after a hasty toilet, descended to the breakfast-room, where another
chair was vacant, another face was missing. Without any suspicion of
the truth, Mrs. Livingstone spoke of Anna's absence, saying she
presumed the poor girl was tired and sleepy, and this was admitted as
an excuse for her tardiness. But when breakfast was over and she
still did not appear, Corinda was sent to call her, returning soon
with the information that "she'd knocked and knocked, but Miss Anna
would not answer, and when she tried the door she found it locked."

Involuntarily Mr. Livingstone glanced at 'Lena; whose face wore a
scarlet hue as she hastily quitted the table. With a presentiment of
something, he himself started for Anna's room; followed by his wife
and Carrie, while 'Lena, half-way up the stairs, listened
breathlessly for the result. It was useless knocking for admittance,
for there was no one within to bid them enter, and with a powerful
effort Mr. Livingstone burst the lock. The window was open, the lamp
was still burning, emitting a faint, sickly odor; the bed was
undisturbed, the room in confusion, and Anna was gone. Mrs.
Livingstone's eye took in all this at a glance, but her husband saw
only the latter, and ere he was aware of what he did, a fervent
"Thank heaven," escaped him.

"She's gone--run away--dead, maybe," exclaimed Mrs. Livingstone,
wringing her hands in unfeigned distress, and instinctively drawing
nearer to her husband for comfort.

By this time 'Lena had ventured into the room, and turning toward
her, Mr. Livingstone said, very gently, "'Lena, where is our child?"

"In Ohio, I dare say, by this time, as she took the night train at
Midway for Cincinnati," said 'Lena, thinking she might as well tell
the wh