"Go up and knock at Miss Blanche's door," said Mrs. Birtwell to the
waiter. "She may have fallen asleep."
The man left the room.
"I feel a little nervous," said Mr. Birtwell, setting down his cup,
the moment they were alone. Has Blanche been out since dinner?"
"No."
"All right, then. It was only a fancy, as I knew it to be at the
time. But it gave me a start."
"What gave you a start?" asked Mrs. Birtwell.
"A face in a carriage. I saw it for an instant only."
"Whose face?"
"I thought for the moment it was that of Blanche."
Mrs. Birtwell grew very pale, leaned back in her chair and turned
her head listening for the waiter. Neither of them spoke until he
returned.
"Miss Blanche is not there."
Both started from the table and left the room, the waiter looking
after them in surprise. They were not long in suspense. A letter
from Blanche, addressed to her mother, which was found lying on her
bureau, told the sad story of her perilous life-venture, and
overwhelmed her parents with sorrow and dismay. It read:
"MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER: When you receive this, I shall be
married to Ellis Whitford. There is nothing that I can say to break
for you the pain of this intelligence. If there was, oh how gladly
would I say it! My destiny is on me, and I must walk in the way it
leads. It is not that I love you less that I go away from you, but
because I feel the voice of duty which is calling to me to be the
voice of God.
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