gs as right as if I had never helped them to go
wrong. I was so young, I didn't know how to manage. I shall never be
that kind of young again. I grew up last night, Aunt Margaret.

"You know the other reason why I am going. Please do not let any one
else know. If the others could think I had met with some accident,
don't you think that would be the wisest way? I would like to arrange
it so they wouldn't try to find me at all, but would just mourn for me
naturally for a little while. I thought of sticking my old cap in the
river, but I was afraid that would be too hard for you. There won't be
any use in trying to find me. I am going where you can not. I couldn't
ever bear seeing one of your faces again. I have done too much harm.
Don't let Uncle Peter _know_, please, Aunt Margaret. I don't want him
to know,--I don't want to hurt him, and I don't want him to know.

"Oh! I have loved you all so much. Good-by, my dears, my dearests. I
have taken all of my allowance money. Please forgive me.

"Eleanor."

CHAPTER XXII

THE SEARCH

Eleanor had not bought a ticket at the station, Margaret ascertained,
but the ticket agent had tried to persuade her to. She had thanked him
and told him that she preferred to buy it of the conductor. He was a
lank, saturnine individual and had been seriously smitten with
Eleanor's charms, it appeared, and the extreme solicitousness of his
attitude at the suggestion of any mystery connected with her departure
made Margaret realize the caution with which it would be politic to
proceed. She had very little hope of finding Eleanor back at the
school, but it was still rather a shock when she telephoned the school
office and found that there was no news of her there. She concocted a
somewhat lame story to account for Eleanor's absence and promised the
authorities that she would be sent back to them within the week,--a
promise she was subsequently obliged to acknowledge that she could not
keep. Then she fled to New York to break the disastrous news to the
others.

She told Gertrude the truth and showed her the pitiful letter Eleanor
had left behind her, and together they wept over it. Also together,
they faced David and Jimmie.

"She went away," Margaret told them, "both because she felt she was
hurting those that she loved and because she herself was hurt."

"What do you mean?" David asked.

"I mean--that she belonged body and soul to Peter and to nobody else,"
Margaret answered deli