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 Chicago Limited.  She’s gone to see about a monument for Madam’s son John, Miss ’Lizabuth’s father.  She said she must go at once, and she went.”

“What time does that train leave?” asked the young man.  It was a thread of hope.  He was stung into a superhuman effort as he had been on the prairie when he had caught the flying vision of the girl and horse, and he had shouted, and she would not stop for him.

“Nine-fifty, sir,” said the butler.  He wished this excited young man would go after her.  She needed some one.  His heart had often stirred against fate that this pearl among young mistresses should have no intimate friend or lover now in her loneliness.

“Nine-fifty!” He looked at his watch.  No chance!  “Broad Street?” he asked sharply.

“Yes, sir.”

Would there be a chance if he had his automobile?  Possibly, but hardly unless the train was late.  There would be a trifle more chance of catching the train at West Philadelphia.  O for his automobile!  He turned to the butler in despair.

“Telephone her!” he said.  “Stop her if you possibly can on board the train, and I will try to get there.  I must see her.  It is important.”  He started down the steps, his mind in a whirl of trouble.  How should he go?  The trolley would be the only available way, and yet the trolley would be useless; it would take too long.  Nevertheless, he sped down toward Chestnut Street blindly, and now in his despair his new habit came to him.  “O my Father, help me!  Help me!  Save her for me!”