"You must leave this house instantly. If it were not for the publicity I would hand you over to the police." She went to a cheap, but respectable hotel, and the next morning, Whitley, who had not lost sight of her, managed to force an interview. "Will you come to me now?" he asked. "You see what you may expect from the world." Her only reply was, "I will take my own life before I would trust it in your hands." And he, knowing that she spoke the truth, left her to return to Boyd City. A few days later, when Dick Falkner stepped from the cars at Buffalo, and hurried through the depot toward the hack that bore the name of the hotel where Whitley had left Amy, he did not notice that the girl he had come so far to find, was standing at the window of the ticket office, and while the proprietor of the hotel was explaining why Miss Wheeler had left his house, the west-bound train was carrying Amy toward Cleveland. Whitley had written a letter to the landlord, explaining the character of the woman calling herself Miss Wheeler, and had just dropped it in the box, when Dick met him in the post office on the day of Jim's arrival home. With the aid of the Buffalo police, Dick searched long and carefully for the missing girl, but with no results, and at last, his small savings nearly exhausted, he was forced to return to Boyd City, where he arrived just in time to take an active part in the new movement inaugurated by Rev. Cameron and the Young People's Union. In Cleveland, Amy sought out a cheap lodging house, for she realized that her means were limited, and began a weary search for employment. Day after day she went from place to place answering advertisements for positions which she thought she could fill. Walking all she could she took a car only when her strength failed, but always met with the same result; a cold dismissal because she could give no references; not a kind look; not an encouraging word; not a helpful smile. As the days went by, her face grew hard and her eyes had a hopeless, defiant look, that still lessened her chances of success, and gave some cause for the suspicious glances she encountered on every hand, though her features showed that under better circumstances she would be beautiful. One evening as she stood on the street corner, tired out, shivering in the sharp wind, confused by the rush and roar of the city, and in doubt as to the car she should take, a tall, beautifully dressed woman stopped by her side, waiting also for a car. Amy, trembling, asked if she would direct her. The lady looked at her keenly as she gave the needed information, and then added kindly, "You are evidently not acquainted in Cleveland." Amy admitted that she was a stranger. "And where is your home?" "I have none," was the sad reply. "You are stopping with friends, I suppose?" Amy shook her head and faltered, "No, I know no one in the city."