e up yet?"

"I don't know."

Harris rose from the table and went upstairs. He entered his
daughter's room without knocking. The bed had not been slept in, and
a strange apprehension suddenly tightened about his chest. He
returned quickly to the kitchen.

"Mary," he said, "I want to know where Beulah is."

"I can't tell you where she is, John. She left here last night."

"Left here? Do you mean that she has run away?"

"Not just that, perhaps, but she has gone, and I'm not looking for
her back for a while." The mother's voice was dry, and she talked in
the restraint of subdued emotion.

"And you knew she was going?"

"I knew before she left. I didn't--"

"No. You didn't think it was worth mentioning to me. Just a matter we
could talk about any time. I suppose you thought I wouldn't care."

"Well, you didn't seem to care very much, John. You gave your orders
and went to bed. Beulah could obey or get out. You might have known
she had enough of your own spirit to soon settle that question. She
settled it just as you would have settled it if you had been in her
place."

"Oh, of course, I'm to blame for the whole thing," said Harris, and
his throat was thick as he spoke. His daughter was very dear to him,
and that she would leave home had never entered his head. Why should
she? Wasn't he a good father? Didn't he give her a good home, with
plenty to eat and wear, and a little money to spend from time to
time, and no questions asked? What more could a man do than that?
Already his heart was crying out for his daughter--the cry of broken
strings which never knew their strength until they broke. But to show
any emotion, or to express regret for anything he had done, meant
surrender, and if there was one thing John Harris could not do it was
surrender. Not that he felt he had done anything wrong, or even
imprudent; he was sincerely sorry for what had happened, but not for
his part in it. And, lest gentleness should be mistaken for weakness,
he clothed his real feelings in sharp words to his wife.

"Of course, you must take her part. I suppose you advised her to go.
It was an awful thing for me to tell her she must do her work, but a
small thing for her to run away. Well, I hope she likes it. If she
thinks I'm going to hitch up a buggy and go chasing around the
neighbourhood, begging her to come back, she's mistaken. She's gone
of her own free will, and she can come back of the same, or not at
all."

"I wouldn't l