safety. He had saved her much more than she had saved him.

She put the papers all back in safety, and after having prepared her few
belongings for taking up the journey, she knelt down. She would say the
prayer before she went on. It might be that would keep the terrible
pursuers away.

She said it once, and then with eyes still closed she waited a moment.
Might she say it for him, who was gone away from her? Perhaps it would
help him, and keep him from falling from that terrible machine he was
riding on. Hitherto in her mind prayers had been only for the dead, but
now they seemed also to belong to all who were in danger or trouble. She
said the prayer over once more, slowly, then paused a moment, and added:
"Our Father, hide him from trouble. Hide George Trescott Benedict. And
hide me, please, too."

Then she mounted her horse, and went on her way.

It was a long and weary way. It reached over mountains and through
valleys, across winding, turbulent streams and broad rivers that had few
bridges. The rivers twice led her further south than she meant to go, in
her ignorance. She had always felt that Philadelphia was straight ahead
east, as straight as one could go to the heart of the sun.

Night after night she lay down in strange homes, some poorer and more
forlorn than others; and day after day she took up her lonely travel
again.

Gradually, as the days lengthened, and mountains piled themselves behind
her, and rivers stretched like barriers between, she grew less and less to
dread her pursuers, and more and more to look forward to the future. It
seemed so long a way! Would it never end?

Once she asked a man whether he knew where Philadelphia was. She had been
travelling then for weeks, and thought she must be almost there. But he
said "Philadelphia? O, Philadelphia is in the East. That's a long way off.
I saw a man once who came from there."

She set her firm little chin then, and travelled on. Her clothes were much
worn, and her skin was brown as a berry. The horse plodded on with a
dejected air. He would have liked to stop at a number of places they
passed, and remain for life, what there was left of it; but he obediently
walked on over any kind of an old road that came in his way, and solaced
himself with whatever kind of a bite the roadside afforded. He was
becoming a much-travelled horse. He knew a threshing-machine by sight now,
and considered it no more than a prairie bob-cat.

At one stopping-plac