out of the street. Not often was she so overcome of weariness,--not
often so annoyed by heat and dust. Jacqueline, without remonstrance,
followed her. But they were two,--not one.

Once safe in their upper room, Elsie appeared to be, after all, not so
devoid of interest in what was passing in the street as her hurried
walk would seem to betoken. She had not quite yet lost her taste for
excitement and display. For immediately she seated herself by the
window, and was all eye and ear to what went on outside.

Jacqueline's demonstrations also were quite other than might have been
anticipated. Each step she took in her chamber gave an indication that
she had a purpose,--and that she would perform it.

She removed from her dress the dust and stain of toil, arranged her
hair, made herself clean and decent, to meet the sober gaze of others.
Then she placed upon the table the remains of their breakfast,--but she
ate nothing.


VIII.


It was nearly dark when Jacqueline said to Elsie,--

"I am now going to see John and his mother. I must see with my own eyes,
and hear with my own ears. I may be able to help them,--and I know they
will be able to help me. John's word will be worth hearing,--and I want
to hear it. He must have learned in these days more than we shall ever
be able to learn for ourselves. Will you go with me?"