Grizel's plant
had never been so brave in its little life when suddenly it turned
back.

That was the day on which Elspeth and David were leaving for a
fortnight's holiday with his relatives by the sea; for Elspeth needed
and was getting special devotion just now, and Grizel knew why. She
was glad they were going; it was well that they should not be there to
ask questions if she also must set forth on a journey.

For more than a week she waited, and everything she could do for her
plant she did. She watched it so carefully that she might have
deceived herself into believing that it was standing still only, had
there been no night-time. She thought she had not perhaps been
sufficiently good, and she tried to be more ostentatiously satisfied
with her lot. Never had she forced herself to work quite so hard for
others as in those few days, and then when she came home it had
drooped a little more.

When she was quite sure that it was dying, she told Corp she was going
to London by that night's train. "He is ill, Corp, and I must go to
him."

Ill! But how had he let her know?

"He has found a way," she said, with a tremulous smile. He wanted her
to telegraph; but no, she would place no faith in telegrams.

At least she could telegraph to Elspeth and the doctor. One of them
would go.

"It is I who am going," she said quietly. "I can't wait any longer. It
was a promise, Corp. He loves me." They were the only words she said
which suggest that there was anything strange about Grizel at this
time.

Corp saw how determined she was when she revealed, incidentally, that
she had drawn a sum of money out of the bank a week ago, "to be
ready."

"What will folk say!" he cried.

"You can tell Gavinia the truth when I am gone," she told him. "She
will know better than you what to say to other people." And that was
some comfort to him, for it put the burden of invention upon his wife.
So it was Corp who saw Grizel off. He was in great distress himself
about Tommy, but he kept a courageous face for her, and his last words
flung in at the carriage window were, "Now dinna be down-hearted; I'm
nain down-hearted mysel', for we're very sure he'll find a wy." And
Grizel smiled and nodded, and the train turned the bend that shuts out
the little town of Thrums. The town vanishes quickly, but the quarry
we howked it out of stands grim and red, watching the train for many a
mile.

Of Grizel's journey to London there are no particulars