“I know you will wish to dissuade me; so will Anna, and Jane, and what you will say will be prompted only by kindness; but it will be of no use, Mr. Benson. Don't you understand I shall never be satisfied unless this is done? I must hear again—even if the message is from the dead.” Her voice faltered, but she went bravely on after an instant's silence. “It is quite useless to reason with me; for this is not a matter that can be reached by reason.” There was a long pause. Benson saw that while she was in her present mood there was nothing he could say in opposition to this plan of hers that would have any weight with her. “I know Anna and Jane will think it foolish, so I came here to win you to my purpose first.” “I fear you can't do that, Mrs. Landray,” and he smiled doubtfully. “It will be possible to find the money, will it not?” And Benson regretted that Anna's extravagance had made it necessary for him to exaggerate the difficulties of raising money. He felt a sudden guilty pang that he had imposed this further burden on Virginia; he hastened to reassure her. “I did not mean in that way,” he said. “How, then, Mr. Benson? No—I want you to say just what you think. If you are to help me with the others you must think and believe with me.” “But you cannot go alone, Mrs. Landray.” She smiled superior. She was already prepared for this objection. “No, of course not. I shall join some party. Other women have gone. In the spring other women will be going again; I will join some such party.” He seated himself in a chair at her side. “I know you will listen to me, even if you had rather not hear what I am going to say; but have you really considered the difficulties, the hardships, the actual dangers?” he asked. “They are nothing, compared with what I am suffering now,” she said simply. He hurried on. “If you will only wait, you may hear from him. Indeed you must make up your mind to wait until the river opens; you cannot start until then. I beg of you wait just a little longer; pray don't misunderstand me, I am not going to oppose any project you may have set your heart upon; that would be quite without my province.” “Then you really think I should go—” “No, Mrs. Landray, I can scarcely conceive—you will pardon me for saying it—a more ill-advised undertaking; but I think you will see it this way, too, when I have pointed out some of the difficulties.” Virginia's face fell. “I will do anything to help you,” he went on warmly. “But how can your quest prove conclusive? You will be a member of some party whose whole interest will be to cross the plains as quickly as possible. They will not want to stop to prosecute such a search; and do you realize the magnitude of such a task? You will have to cross hundreds of miles of desert, and explore a region that will some day be divided into seven or eight States larger than Ohio.”