re in the
wedding-party or not. Her days of mourning for her grandmother would of
course protect her from this public facing. It was the thought she could
not bear. She must get away from it all forever.

Her lawyers should arrange the business. They would purchase the house
that Grandmother Brady desired, and then give her her money to build a
church. She would go back, and teach among the lonely wastes of mountain
and prairie what Jesus Christ longed to be to the people made in His
image. She would go back and place above the graves of her father and
mother and brothers stones that should bear the words of life to all who
should pass by in that desolate region. And that should be her excuse to
the world for going, if she needed any excuse--she had gone to see about
placing a monument over her father's grave. But the monument should be a
church somewhere where it was most needed. She was resolved upon that.

That was a busy night. Marie was called upon to pack a few things for a
hurried journey. The telephone rang, and the sleepy night-operator
answered crossly. But Elizabeth found out all she wanted to know about the
early Chicago trains, and then lay down to rest.

Early the next morning George Benedict telephoned for some flowers from
the florist; and, when they arrived, he pleased himself by taking them to
Elizabeth's door.

He did not expect to find her up, but it would be a pleasure to have them
reach her by his own hand. They would be sent up to her room, and she
would know in her first waking thought that he remembered her. He smiled
as he touched the bell and stood waiting.

The old butler opened the door. He looked as if he had not fully finished
his night's sleep. He listened mechanically to the message, "For Miss
Bailey with Mr. Benedict's good-morning," and then his face took on a
deprecatory expression.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Benedict," he said, as if in the matter he were personally
to blame; "but she's just gone. Miss Elizabeth's mighty quick in her ways,
and last night after she come home she decided to go to Chicago on the
early train. She's just gone to the station not ten minutes ago. They was
late, and had to hurry. I'm expecting the footman back every minute."

"Gone?" said George Benedict, standing blankly on the door-step and
looking down the street as if that should bring her. "Gone? To Chicago,
did you say?"

"Yes, sir, she's gone to Chicago. That is, she's going further, but she
took the C