The world was wide, and the West was still open to
her. She could flee back to the wilderness that gave her breath.
The old horse stopped gravely and disappointedly before the tall,
aristocratic house in Rittenhouse Square. He had hoped that city life was
now to end, and that he and his dear mistress were to travel back to their
beloved prairies. No amount of oats could ever make up to him for his
freedom, and the quiet, and the hills. He had a feeling that he should
like to go back home and die. He had seen enough of the world.
She fastened the halter to a ring in the sidewalk, which surprised him.
The grocer's boy never fastened him. He looked up questioningly at the
house, but saw no reason why his mistress should go in there. It was not
familiar ground. Koffee and Sons never came up this way.
Elizabeth, as she crossed the sidewalk and mounted the steps before the
formidable carved doors, felt that here was the last hope of finding an
earthly habitation. If this failed her, then there was the desert, and
starvation, and a long, long sleep. But while the echo of the cell still
sounded through the high-ceiled hall there came to her the words: "Let not
your heart be troubled.... In my Father's house are many mansions; if it
were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.... I
will come again and receive you." How sweet that was! Then, even if she
died on the desert, there was a home prepared for her.
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