The contralto solo had begun. It was a sweet and tender thing, with low, deep tones like a ’cello; but they beat upon the tired girl’s heart, and threatened to break down her studied composure. A hymn followed, and the reading of another Bible selection. “All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.” She felt as if all the iniquity of her brother Carey were laid upon her heart, and a dim wonder came to her whether the Lord was bearing a like burden for her. She had never felt much sense of personal sin herself before. The thought lingered through the pain, and wound in and out through her tired brain during the offertory and prayer that followed; and at last came the anthem. The opening chords were sounding. The choir was rising. She stumbled to her feet, and for the first time saw the audience before her, this congregation that was to have heard Carey sing his tenor solo. It was a goodly audience, for Mr. Kendall touched the popular heart, and drew people out at night as well as in the morning; and she felt anew the pang of disappointment. She glanced swiftly over the lifted faces and saw little Louise, white and shrinking, sitting by herself, and saw beyond her, at the open door, two figures just entering, Maxwell and Harry, looking a trifle white and hurried, and glancing anxiously around the audience. Then she opened her mouth and tried to sing, to do her little part among the sopranos in the chorus; but no sound seemed to come. All she could think of now was, “Carey is not here!” beating over and over like a refrain in her brain: “Carey has not come! Carey has not come!” CHAPTER XXVIII Carey had lost no time when he read that note of appeal signed “Grace.” It was not his way to wait for a hat in any emergency, but he did not leave sagacity behind him when he swung himself into the already moving car that had come for him. He could think on the way, and he was taking no chances.