thoughtful prudence she even satisfied Mrs. Muir's solicitude, for the
young girl realized more fully every day how much depended upon her
plan. It seemed to her that there could be no greater misfortune than
to become so ill again that in helplessness she must await Graydon's
return. Therefore, every faculty of mind, every power of body, was
exerted to accomplish her purpose; and, while her farewell to
her sister and Mr. Muir was tender and full of gratitude, the
consciousness of escape was uppermost in her mind. An elderly friend
of Mr. Muir would be her escort to San Francisco, and in that city Mr.
Wayland was to meet her.

She arrived safely at her far-distant home, greatly worn and exhausted
indeed, but calm in mind from a sense of security. Mrs. Wayland
greeted her with her old-time cordiality, and gave herself heartily to
the task of rallying the frail girl into health.

During the days of absolute rest which followed the journey, Madge's
thoughts were busy. The width of the continent would separate her
from the past and those associated with it. Both the breadth of the
continent and the ocean were between her and him from whom she had
fled; yet he was ever present to her imagination. In this respect the
intervening miles counted for nothing. She had not hoped that they
would. She could conceive of no plan of life that left him out, yet
she felt that she must have some object to look forward to, some
motive for action. The spirit she had recently shown in taking so
decisive a step proved her to possess a latent force of character of
which she herself had not been conscious. She would not sit down to
dream and brood away the future. She could never hope for Graydon
Muir's love. He would soon return to New York, and the idea that
Miss Wildmere or any other girl would remain cold to his suit was