“John had distinctly said, ‘I married Lily and she died.’  Adah was mistaken about the marriage being unlawful.  It was a falsehood he told her.  She was his wife, and he must not be permitted to commit bigamy.  She would tell John in private.  They need not try to dissuade her, for she should go.”

This was what Anna said, and all in vain were her mother’s entreaties to let matters take their course.  Anna only replied by going deliberately on with the preparations for her sudden journey.  She was going to find Rose, and blessing her for this kindness to one whom they had liked so much, Dixson and Pamelia helped to get her ready, both promising the best care to Willie in her absence, both asking where she was going first and both receiving the same answer, “To Albany.”

Mrs. Richards was too much stunned clearly to comprehend what had happened or what would be the result; and in a kind of apathetic maze she bade Anna good-by, and then went back to where Willie sat upon the sofa, examining and occasionally tearing the costly book of foreign prints which had been given him to keep him still and make him cease his piteous wail for “mamma.”  It seemed like a dream to the three ladies sitting at home that night and talking about Anna, wondering that a person of her weak nerves and feeble health should suddenly become so active, so energetic, so decided, and of her own accord start off on a long journey alone and unprotected.

And Anna wondered at herself when the excitement of leaving was past and the train was bearing her swiftly along on her mission of duty.  She had written a few lines to Charlie Millbrook, telling him of her unaltered love and bidding him come to her in three weeks’ time, when she would be ready to see him.

It was very dark and rainy, and the passengers jostled each other rudely as they passed from the cars in Albany and hurried to the boat.  It was new business to Anna, traveling alone and in the night, and a feeling akin to fear was creeping over her as she wondered where she should find the eastern train.

“Follow the crowd,” seemed yelled out for her benefit, though it was really intended for a timid, deaf old lady, who had anxiously asked what to do of one whose laconic reply was:  “Follow the crowd.”  And Anna did follow the crowd which led her safely to the waiting cars.  Snugly ensconced in a seat all to herself, she vainly imagined there was no more trouble until Cleveland or Buffalo at least was reached.  How, then, was she disappointed when, alighting for a moment at Rochester, she found herself in a worse babel, if possible, than had existed at Albany.  Where were all these folks going, and which was the train?  “I ought not to have alighted at all,” she thought; “I might have known I never could find my way back.”  Never, sure, was poor, little woman so confused and bewildered as Anna, and it is not strange that she stood directly upon the track, unmindful of the increasing