"I'm sorry, Mr. Benedict," he said, as if in the matter he were personally
to blame; "but she's just gone. Miss Elizabeth's mighty quick in her ways,
and last night after she come home she decided to go to Chicago on the
early train. She's just gone to the station not ten minutes ago. They was
late, and had to hurry. I'm expecting the footman back every minute."
"Gone?" said George Benedict, standing blankly on the door-step and
looking down the street as if that should bring her. "Gone? To Chicago,
did you say?"
"Yes, sir, she's gone to Chicago. That is, she's going further, but she
took the Chicago Limited. She's gone to see about a monument for Madam's
son John, Miss 'Lizabuth's father. She said she must go at once, and she
went."
"What time does that train leave?" asked the young man. It was a thread of
hope. He was stung into a superhuman effort as he had been on the prairie
when he had caught the flying vision of the girl and horse, and he had
shouted, and she would not stop for him.
"Nine-fifty, sir," said the butler. He wished this excited young man would
go after her. She needed some one. His heart had often stirred against
fate that this pearl among young mistresses should have no intimate friend
or lover now in her loneliness.
"Nine-fifty!" He looked at his watch. No chance! "Broad Street?" he asked
sharply.
"Yes, sir."
Would there be a chance if he had his automobile? Possibly, but hardly
unless the train was late.
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