“Oh, Floy, Floy, I would give my right hand never to have spoken those cruel words! inhuman wretch that I was!” Waiting a moment to recover himself, he then hastened home. His father had eaten his breakfast and gone to his office; his mother still lingered over the table. “Oh, Espy,” she said as he came in, “I’m glad to see you. I’ve been keeping the coffee hot; beefsteak too; and Rachel shall bake some fresh cakes. Come and sit down. How dreadfully pale you look! You’ve had too long a walk on an empty stomach.” He seemed scarcely to hear her; but leaning his back against the wall as if for support, “Mother,” he said hoarsely, “what has become of her? Where is she?” “Who?” she asked in surprise. He simply pointed through the window in the direction of the next house. She looked out. “Well, I declare! they’re not up yet! I never knew them to lie abed till this hour before.” “They’re not there; nobody’s there unless--” he gasped and shuddered, a new and terrible thought striking him. “Unless what?” “Burglars--murderers--such things have been; we--we must break open the door or window--” His mother’s face suddenly reflected the paleness and agitation of his. But Mr. Alden came hurrying in. “The house next door is all shut up!” he exclaimed pantingly. “Oh, Espy, so there you are! Come, come, don’t look so terribly frightened! I met Crosby, and he tells me Floy has left town--went off in the midnight train, nobody knows where, after, like a fool, telling him the whole story I so wanted her, for her own good, to keep to herself. And he’s to have the settling of everything; so there, we’re done with her!” His son’s countenance had undergone several changes while he was speaking--terror, despair, relief, indignation, swept over it by turns. “Done with her!” he repeated, drawing himself up to his full height and gazing at his father with flashing eyes; “done with her! No, sir, not _I_, if I can ever find her again and persuade her to be friends with me once more!” CHAPTER XIII. FLOY’S QUEST. “Hope, of all passions, most befriends us here; Passions of prouder name befriend us less.”--YOUNG. Very lonely and desolate felt poor Floy as the train sped onward, bearing her every moment farther away from childhood’s home and friends out into the wide, wide, unknown world. What sad, unforeseen changes the past few days had wrought in her young life! What a little while since she had been moving thus swiftly toward her home, instead of away from it, and under loving, protecting care; whereas now she was utterly alone so far as earthly companionship was concerned! Alone and screened from human eyes behind the closely-drawn curtains of her berth, she poured out her tears and prayers to her one ever-living, ever-present Friend. “Do not fear, my poor dear child! do not fear to trust Him!” Miss Wells had said in parting. “He will help you and raise up friends for you wherever you go.”