On a chair near her, lay, on this afternoon, a map which for many days she had been studying; and opening it once more, she ran a finger along the dotted lines, mentally debating whether it would be best to go by rail to Ottawa, by water to Sault St. Marie, whence the new railway could be easily reached, or whether the most direct route would be via St. Paul to Winnepeg.  When she left the “Anchorage”, her destination must remain a secret; hence she could ask no counsel.  In view of approaching cold weather, economy of time seemed imperative; and she resolved to buy a railway ticket to Fargo, where she could elude suspicion, should the threatened invisible detective “shadow” her; and whence another Pacific highway offered egress to western wilds.  With this definite conclusion she closed the map, and a moment later, some one knocked at her door.

“Come in.”

She went forward, and met Sister Katrina, a robust dame of forty years, blond as Gerda; with the “light of the glowworm’s tails” in her golden-lashed violet eyes, and the “ruby spots of the cowslip’s leaves” on her full, frank lips.

“Will you sit a while with me?  There is still a half hour, before your evening work begins in the carving shop.  Come in.”

“I am sorry I have not time now, to indulge myself in such luxury as a chat with you always proves.  I came to beg the loan of your India ink copy of the marble screens at Agra; which I have an idea would be very effective done in cherry, for the panels under the new bookcases we are designing for the library.”

“The copy is up stairs in the studio; but I shall be glad to get it for you.”

“No; with your permission I can help myself, and I am going up there now, for some red chalk.  I know exactly where to find the picture, because I was examining it two days ago.  What think you of my idea?”

“I am afraid you will find cherry too dark.  A lighter wood, I think, would be better adapted to the exceeding delicacy of the design.”

“Wait till I cut out a sample scroll, and we will talk it over.  Sister Ruth asked me to hand to you this paper, which contains a very complimentary notice of your lovely picture.  I read it as I came up, and congratulate you on all the fine things said.  You scarcely know how proud we feel of our Sister’s work.  Thanks for the use of the drawing.”

She smiled, nodded and closed the door; and when her bright cheery countenance vanished, it seemed as though a film of cloud had drifted across the sun.

Beryl went back to a low chair in front of the window, and opened the paper, which chanced to be the New York “Herald.”  Unfolding it to hunt the designated article, her glance fell accidentally upon the personal column.  Her heart leaped, then almost ceased beating, as she read: 

“Important.  Bertie will meet Gigina in the Museum at Niagara Falls, Canada side, any day during the last week in October.”