It took but an instant to wrench the bridle from its fastening and mount her horse; then she rode forward through the city at a pace that only millionaires and automobiles are allowed to take.  She met and passed her first automobile without a quiver.  Her eyes were dilated, her lips set; angry, frightened tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she urged her poor horse forward until a policeman here and there thought it his duty to make a feeble effort to detain her.  But nothing impeded her way.  She fled through a maze of wagons, carriages, automobiles, and trolley-cars, until she passed the whirl of the great city, and at last was free again and out in the open country.

She came toward evening to a little cottage on the edge of a pretty suburb.  The cottage was covered with roses, and the front yard was full of great old-fashioned flowers.  On the porch sat a plain little old lady in a rocking-chair, knitting.  There was a little gate with a path leading up to the door, and at the side another open gate with a road leading around to the back of the cottage.

Elizabeth saw, and murmuring, “O ‘our Father,’ please hide me!” she dashed into the driveway, and tore up to the side of the piazza at a full gallop.  She jumped from the horse; and, leaving him standing panting with his nose to the fence, and a tempting strip of clover in front of him where he could graze when he should get his breath, she ran up the steps, and flung herself in a miserable little heap at the feet of the astonished old lady.

“O, please, please, won’t you let me stay here a few minutes, and tell me what to do?  I am so tired, and I have had such a dreadful, awful time!”

“Why, dearie me!” said the old lady.  “Of course I will.  Poor child; sit right down in this rocking-chair, and have a good cry.  I’ll get you a glass of water and something to eat, and then you shall tell me all about it.”

She brought the water, and a tray with nice broad slices of brown bread and butter, a generous piece of apple pie, some cheese, and a glass pitcher of creamy milk.

Elizabeth drank the water, but before she could eat she told the terrible tale of her last adventure.  It seemed awful for her to believe, and she felt she must have help somewhere.  She had heard there were bad people in the world.  In fact, she had seen men who were bad, and once a woman had passed their ranch whose character was said to be questionable.  She wore a hard face, and could drink and swear like the men.  But that sin should be in this form, with pretty girls and pleasant, wheedling women for agents, she had never dreamed; and this in the great, civilized East!  Almost better would it have been to remain in the desert alone, and risk the pursuit of that awful man, than to come all this way to find the world gone wrong.