said.

"She isn't there," he said, quietly; "but I still think she started for
there, and now we have a direction in which to look."

But what a direction! Marjorie, alone, going to New York, endeavoring to
find Grandma Maynard's house, and not getting there! Where had she been
all night? Where was she now?

There were no answers to these questions. And now Mr. Maynard took the
helm. He cast off the apathy that had seemed to paralyze him, and,
rising, he began to talk quickly.

"Helen," he said, "try to rouse yourself, darling. Keep up a good hope,
and be brave, as you have always been. King, I am going out to find
Marjorie. You cannot go with me, for I want to leave your mother in your
care. You have proved yourself manly in your search for your sister,
continue to do so in caring for your mother. Ethel, I'd be glad if you
would stay here with Helen, and, Jack,--will you come with me?"

"Of course," replied Mr. Bryant.

"And, King," his father went on, "keep within sound of the telephone. I
may call you at any moment. Get your sleep, my boy,--if I should be gone
over night,--but sleep here on the library couch, and then the bell will
waken you."

"Yes, Father, I'll look after Mother, and I'll be right here if you call
me. Where are you going?"

"I don't know, my son. I only know I must hunt for Marjorie with such
help and such advice as I can procure. Come on, Jack."

After affectionate farewells, the two men went away.

"First for that conductor," said Mr. Maynard. "I cannot wait till
afternoon; I shall try to reach him by telephone or go to his home."

At length he learned that the conductor lived in Asbury Park. He was off
duty at that hour, and Mr. Maynard tried to get him by telephone, but
the line was out of order.

"To his house we go, then," and the two men boarded the first possible
train.

At Asbury Park they found his house, but the conductor's wife, Mrs.
Fischer, said her husband was asleep and she never disturbed him at
that hour of the day, as he had a long run before him, and needed his
rest.

But after a few words of explanation of their quest, the good lady
became sympathetic and helpful.

"Of course I'll call him," she cried; "oh, the poor mother! my heart
aches for her!"

Mr. Fischer came downstairs, rubbing his eyes. It was about noon, and he
was accustomed to sleep soundly until two o'clock.

"Why, yes," he said, in answer to their queries. "I remember that girl.
I didn't th