The three bearers of the news, which they had reason to believe would prove so disturbing to Mrs. Gray, were doomed to disappointment.  They reached her home on Chapel Hill only to find that she had been summoned early that afternoon to the bedside of an old friend who was very ill, and would not return until late in the evening.

Grace was relieved at being thus able to postpone the detailing of the disagreeable news.  She was in a quandary regarding loyalty to Arline and loyalty to her Fairy Godmother.  She was of the opinion, however, that it was the latter’s right to know all, even at the expense of breaking the confidence Arline had reposed in her.  She had little doubt that Arline would not object to such an action on her part, yet such was her nature that she found it difficult to accept this view of the subject.

After Hippy and Nora had gone home that evening she wrote a long letter to Arline, setting the matter frankly before her.  She knew that before the letter reached her friend, she would have already told all to Mrs. Gray.  Still she reflected that she had at least behaved fairly.

But the following morning brought with it the knowledge that Arline had already taken the initiative.  Special delivery was responsible for a letter from an incensed Daffydowndilly, which fairly sputtered with indignation.  Grace was obliged to smile as seeking its contents she saw: 

     “DEAREST GRACE: 

“That horrible, hateful old Stanley Forde is the most despicable person in the whole world.  I was simply furious when I read that article about your fiance, Tom Gray.  I called Stanley on the telephone and accused him of giving the story to the newspapers.  Of course I knew in a minute it was he.  I remembered all I had said in that letter to you which I sent him by mistake.  He actually laughed and said that he did it to pay you for meddling.  I told him he would be held responsible for giving the story to that newspaper, but he said that as long as it was true, as he could prove by my letter, that the editor of the newspaper had a perfect right to use it if he wished.  He pointed out that it was nothing against Mr. Gray’s character and therefore legitimate news.

“Then he had the unspeakable temerity to ask me if he might call on me.  You can imagine what I said.  Thank goodness and you that I found him out in time.  I would be happier with a blind, deaf and dumb man who couldn’t walk than to be married to such a person.  I am so angry.  I have written another letter to dear Mrs. Gray explaining the whole thing.  She was so sweet to me when in Oakdale that I felt it my duty to tell her everything.  Will you go to her and explain even more fully?  You can fill in any gaps which my letter to her may contain.  Tell her every single thing about me.  I wish her to know it.  I am sending her letter by special delivery also.  Must hurry and post both letters, so I will close.  Write to me soon.

     “Faithfully,

     “DAFFYDOWNDILLY THAYER

     ("To the end of the chapter.”)

Grace laid down this energetic communication with a faintly glad sigh.  This snarl at least had righted itself.  Suppose it were an omen?  “The beginning of the end,” she had said.  It was a little thing, but in some indefinable fashion her heart grew lighter.  As Arline’s letter had come to her in time of need, perhaps out of the vast unknown would come some sign of or from the lost one.

Her straight brows arched themselves in surprise as she devoted herself to the reading of a letter from Miriam Nesbit.

     “BELOVED LOYALHEART: 

“Can you, your father and mother come to New York City at once?  Everett and I are to be married on Friday evening at eight o’clock, then take a night train for California.  So my well-laid plans for a grand wedding the last of October will have to end in mere announcement cards.  But I’ll explain.  You know I told you of those wonderful open-air performances of Greek plays that have been going on at a spot not far from Ravenwood, the motion picture studio where Everett and Anne filmed Hamlet and Macbeth.  To go back to the Greek plays ­they will end next week.  They have proved so successful that the management wishes to follow them with a series of Shakesperian performances, as they have had requests for them from all sides.  To come directly to the point, the stellar honors have been offered Everett, therefore I am about to sacrifice pomp and ceremony on the altar of true love.

“We are to be married in the Little Church Around the Corner where so many professionals have taken their sacred vows.  Only my nearest and dearest are to be there.  There will be neither a best man nor a bridesmaid and I shall be married in a traveling gown and turn my cherished trousseau into prosaic wardrobe.  Even my wedding gown will have to be used afterward, minus the veil, of course, as an evening frock.  I have telegraphed David and hope he can come.  If he does, he will go back to his search the day after my marriage.  Poor Loyalheart, I cannot write you all I feel for you.  I’ll try to tell you when I see you.  Don’t disappoint me.  I cannot bear to think of going on this new pilgrimage without your being present to wish me godspeed.  With my dearest love and sympathy,

     “MIRIAM.”

     “P.  S. I hope Fairy Godmother will come, too.  I have written her.”

As Grace read the signature, the letter fluttered to the floor unheeded.  Her generous soul rejoiced at Miriam’s happiness, yet never before had the gloom of her own situation struck her so sharply.  One by one her trusted comrades were placing their lives in the care of the chosen men of their hearts.  Only a little while before she had been of them all perhaps the most buoyant.  Her engagement to Tom, after months of harrowing indecision, had always been a matter of reverent wonder to her.  She had looked eagerly forward to attending Miriam’s wedding.  Now she dreaded the thought.  She felt that she could have better borne with attending an elaborate and formal wedding than to mingle with the intimate few who would be present at the Little Church Around the Corner.  Yet she had no choice in the matter.

Seeking her mother, Grace gave her Miriam’s letter.  A short consultation in which it was decided that Grace must represent her family at Miriam’s wedding, and she was speeding upstairs to pack a steamer trunk.  The mere glance at a huge cedar chest in which reposed her own wedding gown sent a chill to her heart.  Listlessly she made her preparations for the flitting.  She would take the noon train which would reach New York at nine o’clock that evening, provided her Fairy Godmother should decide not to go to the wedding.  Should she do so, then they would probably wait until the following morning.  At all events she would be ready.

Her labor of packing accomplished, Grace set off for her interview with Mrs. Gray.  She found the lonely old lady raised to the nth power of indignation over the deplorable newspaper notice.  Anger at that “detestable Forde person” had electrified her into a semblance of her formerly vivacious self.  Grace was delighted at the change, but had considerable difficulty in reconciling her wrathful Fairy Godmother to her own point of view.

“I dare say you may be right, child,” she reluctantly conceded, after Grace had held forth at length.  “That villainous young man may possibly have done us a good turn, unawares.  It was sweet in little Arline to write me so beautifully.  What a narrow escape she has had, to be sure!  If Tom were anything like this miserable man, Forde, I should not care whether or not he ever came back.  The publicity of this has upset my nerves completely.  We shall have to weather it, I suppose, now that the mischief is done.”

“I am glad you can look at it in that light,” was Grace’s earnest response.  “Are you going to New York to see Miriam married, dear?”

“Bless me, I had quite forgotten Miriam’s wedding.  When is it to be?”

“Then you haven’t received her letter!” Grace cried out in dismay.

“I haven’t looked at any of my mail, except this letter from Arline.  It was first on the pile.  Jane gave me the newspaper when I returned last night.  She had already seen the article about Tom.  Would you mind sorting the mail?  Miriam’s letter is probably among the others.  I have tried to pay special attention to my mail since my poor boy vanished, for fear of missing something I ought to know.  But this morning my mind was on Arline’s letter and that newspaper.  I think I shall have to engage a secretary.  You know I’ve never had one since Anne gave up the position.”

Grace, whose fingers and eyes had been busy while Mrs. Gray talked, held up a square white envelope.  “Here is Miriam’s letter.”

“I think we had better go to-day,” decided Mrs. Gray, when at her request Grace had read her Miriam’s letter.  “This is Wednesday.  That will give us two days with the Nesbits.  As it is only half-past ten we can catch that 12.30 train, provided you are ready.  Ring for Jane.  She can quickly pack whatever I need to take with me.  It is lucky that I bought Miriam’s wedding gift some time ago.  I really think this little trip will benefit me, though the very idea of attending a wedding gives me the horrors.  Still Miriam is one of my adopted children.  I hope David can come.  I am anxious to talk with him.  Strange that he can find out nothing about Tom.”

Roused from the listless apathy which had so persistently preyed upon her, Mrs. Gray rattled on with a new and surprising cheerfulness which delighted Grace.  Perhaps this was another link in the invisible chain.  The sudden upheaval of Miriam’s plans for a magnificent wedding had at least benefited one person.  Then, too, they would perhaps see David and learn more definitely of the territory which Tom had invaded to his sorrow.

Waiting only long enough to see Mrs. Gray deep in her preparations for the coming journey, Grace hurried home to don a traveling gown, say a fond farewell to her mother and leave a loving good-bye message for her father.  A telephone call left with her mother for her during her absence informed her that Nora had heard from Miriam, too.  She and Hippy would take the evening train for New York.

“We are rallying to Miriam’s standard,” Grace declared with a flash of her former enthusiasm, when her mother had repeated Nora’s message.  “If Jessica and Reddy can manage the trip, then ­” She stopped, the smile faded from her face.  She had been about to say that the Eight Originals would all be there.  Turning abruptly she walked from the living-room, the sentence unfinished.  For a brief instant she had forgotten that unless the unknown suddenly yielded up its prey, one loved face would be missing from the Eight Originals.