But things were going from bad to worse, and after two of the tradesmen whom she owed had visited her, demanding their money when she had none to give them, she decided that something radical must be done. So she dressed herself in deep mourning one day and went to call on the minister. There were dark circles under her eyes and a sad droop to her lips. She carried a black-bordered handkerchief and asked to see Doctor Ballantine privately. Mrs. Ballantine took her into the study, and Nan addressed herself to him with instant tears. “Oh, Doctor Ballantine,” she said, stanching the flood with her handkerchief and sinking into the offered chair, “I’m so miserable and unhappy! I simply had to come and see you!” Doctor Ballantine put up his pen, and slipped a blotter over the sermon he was just finishing for the morrow, and expressed himself sympathetically, wondering anxiously what had happened. Had this woman come to tell him of some great tragedy or to confess her sins? Alarm filled his heart, and instant premonitions of danger to Joyce. Somehow Nan was not the kind of woman that one would ever think of in connection with any religious convictions. It never even entered the good man’s heart that she had come to inquire about her soul. Afterwards he thought of this with some wonder and self-reproach. But Nan recovered from her brief emotion and began to talk. “It’s about my husband’s cousin, Joyce Radway,” she stated, and the good doctor was instant attention. “You see, we haven’t heard from her since she went away.” “Is that so?” said Doctor Ballantine with startled tone. “Where is she? Perhaps you would like to have me write, or telegraph to the minister there to learn of her safety. Are you afraid she is ill?” “Oh, we don’t know--” wailed Nan, breaking down again. “We don’t even know where she is. She hasn’t told us!” “You don’t know? She hasn’t told you? Why,” said the minister, half rising from his seat, “that’s not at all like Joyce to leave you in anxiety. Didn’t she tell you where she was going?” “No,” sobbed Nan. “No, she didn’t tell us. She just walked out of the house without saying a word, and never came back. We thought of course she would come back pretty soon. She always did before when she got upset or angry--” “Upset? Angry?” said the puzzled minister. “What, may I ask, what do you think she was angry at?” “Oh, nothing at all, just a little thing. You know Joyce has a fearful temper. Or perhaps you don’t know it. Those quiet, mild people never do show up what they are till you come to live with them. Of course I don’t blame poor Joyce. She had to be on such a strain all the time poor mother was ill. She wouldn’t let a person but Joyce come near her, and it was almost more than the girl could bear. I sometimes used to be afraid she would go out of her mind before the end came, there were so many demands made upon her. And a young girl like that wants to have a good time, you know--”