uld go steadily forward. Those who
knew her most intimately could readily testify that she was
unfalteringly keeping her word. In moments of darkest depression she
wondered from whence came the strength that enabled her to go on with
these visits, each in itself a separate agony. She had been plunged for
a moment in one of these painful reveries when Arline asked with an
inflection of wonderment, "How can you be so brave, Grace?"

"I'm not very brave," she answered, her eyes wistful. "Not so brave as I
wish I were. I have to struggle continually to make myself believe that
whatever happens must be for the best. I often feel bitter and resentful
and wonder why this sorrow should have been visited upon me rather than
on some one else. Of course, that is wrong. No one ought to wish their
troubles shifted to other folks' shoulders. Thousands of persons have
greater griefs than I. Take Aunt Rose, for instance, who lost her
husband and daughter so many years ago. Tom was the light of her life;
her greatest pride. Think what she is suffering! We had such high hopes
that David Nesbit would find Tom. Yet, thus far, he hasn't met with even
a clue. Poor little Fairy Godmother says she has only one thing for
which to be thankful. No one in Oakdale knows about Tom, barring a few
trusted friends. She had been in constant fear lest the newspaper
reporters should get hold of it. Of course it would be a severe shock to
her to pick up some day a paper and read, 'Mysterious Disappearance of
Tom Gray,' or 'Young Man Mysteriously Disappears on the Eve of His
Wedding Day,' or some cruel scarehead of the kind. I don't quite know
how I should feel about it."

"But suppose he never came back," cut in Arline, her usual tact
deserting her. "Forgive me, Grace," she added penitently. "I should not
have said that."

"Why not?" Only the sudden tightening of her lips betrayed that Arline's
thoughtless inquiry had struck home. "I faced that long ago. If we
continue to be without news of him, sooner or later his disappearance
_must_ become known. But Aunt Rose prefers to keep it secret as long as
possible. Her constant prayer is that he will return before any such
thing comes to pass. Sometimes I think it would be better if it were
generally known. I hate secrecy."

During the drive to Mrs. Gray's, both girls were unusually silent. After
leaving the roadster in the Gray garage, they went up to the house to
spend an hour with the lonely old lady, who