her watch in her watch case.
But now to her horror, she saw the little box wide open, upside down and yawning among clothes and stockings and hairpins and strings of beads. The hinges were bent back, and one was broken away, hanging free and loose. She felt as if someone had struck her with a sharp knife. With a little cry like the sound of a hurt bird, she dropped to her knees in the tumult of clothes and collars and dainty fineries, and took it up gently, as if it were human and could be hurt. And now she saw that the box had been forcibly opened, perhaps by flinging it to the floor, or striking it with a hairbrush or a heavy bottle. That was it! Her witch hazel bottle! It was standing on the bureau where she never left it. It belonged in her little bathroom on the shelf. And the bottle was cracked. The witch hazel was seeping out. Yes, the box had been first flung on the floor and then pounded with the bottle. She could just see the face of the determined, angry girl as she did it. She had forced the box open, and there it lay ruined, broken. But where was the money? It was gone!
Astra searched wildly, then carefully, through everything in the room, but there was not even a single dollar left! Yes, Clytie had her revenge.
As she searched through the wreckage with the tears drenching her face, Astra could see in memory the angry look on Clytie's face as she cried out, "You'll be good and sorry!"
At last, after a long, careful search through her entire room, hoping that perhaps Clytie had only played a trick and might have repented at the last and left her at least a little of her money, Astra dropped upon her knees and buried her hot, tear-wet face in the cool length of sheet that had been flung across the head of the mattress and trailed down upon the floor. She knelt there and sobbed softly to herself, for even now in her despair she was aware that she was not alone in the house. The old housekeeper was still there, and the maid, and they must not hear her weep and perhaps report on it to her relatives.
After softly sobbing for some minutes, she at last got quiet enough to bring her heart to a little pitiful prayer, remembering her father's words during those last days when he knew he was going to leave her.
"Don't ever forget," he had said, "that nothing is too small to bring to God in prayer. No trouble is too small for Him to notice and to give you comfort when you are distressed. Just get in the habit of bringing everything to Him. Say, ‘Lord, here's something I can't do anything about. I'm afraid of what it is going to be, so won't You please take it, manage it, and bring it out the way You want it to be!"
She had remembered that many times in lesser situations than this, and it had comforted her to pray. It seemed to take out of her that burning desire to rush at those who had caused her trouble and demolish them, tear them limb from limb. It seemed to bring calm in the midst of the tempest in her heart.
So, after a little, she was able to lay the whole matter before her Lord and ask guidance.
When she arose from her knees and went patiently about clearing up the room and putting it in perfect order once more, she seemed to be waiting for God to tell her what to do.
Before the bell rang for her solitary meal, she had so far recovered her equilibrium that she had washed away the signs of tears and smoothed her hair, and peace was upon her brow.
For more and more the conviction had been growing within her as she worked that this was not the place for her to be living any longer. This trouble was not something she could bring out in the open and have cleared up. There would always be bitterness between herself and Clytie, for Clytie resented her presence in their home and would always be jealous of everything that was done for her, every favor granted. It was hopeless to try to do anything about it. She must go away. And surely her father, if he were here now, would agree with her.
And of course this would be the time to go, while they were all away and there could be no discussion about it. Just write a nice note to Cousin Miriam and thank her and Cousin Duke for their kindness in opening their home to her when she was first left alone, tell them that now she felt it was time to relieve them of the burden of her continual presence, that it would be better for Clytie, too, and then just go. By the time they got back and realized that she had really meant it, and they got around to protest, she would have found a place for herself where she was comfortable and wanted to stay, and they would finally subside. She felt sure she knew those cousins well enough to be sure that none of them would mourn very much for her absence, or have pains in their conscience for allowing her to stay away, and she would be on her own and could make a new and tolerable life for herself.
But there was one almost insurmountable objection to her going now. Her money was gone! Absolutely! All of it! Her careful search through her room had revealed only a fifty-cent piece, five dimes, and two quarters. How was she to go away anywhere with only a dollar and a half?
As she idly ate the unattractive lunch that the two maids had provided for her, she was puzzling her brains as to how she could get money to go away, and if she had the money, where she would go. When she finished her lunch, she hurried upstairs to look over what she owned and see if there was anything she could sell that would bring her enough to pay her for parting with it.
It was the memory of all this, and the anguish of the few hours before she started on this journey, that came flashing into Astra's mind when she awoke in her berth two days later. It was like a picture of a former life that seemed very long ago. It was hard for a moment or two to struggle back into the present and remember. Why had she ever started on this journey, and what was there for her to do this morning that would start in a few minutes now, in this new life she had come into?
CHAPTER IV
Cameron had asked Astra to wait for word from him in the morning, and she was scarcely dressed and ready for the day before the elderly porter from the night before came ambling down to her section.
"De gemmen say he 'bliged ta he'p wid de 'rangements, an' take de ole missus out ta her car when we 'rive, an' he say would yoh let me ordah yoh breakfus sent to yoh right hyeah? He says that will be least trouble ta yoh."
"Oh, why yes of course. Thank you. Just orange juice, buttered toast, and coffee. That's all."
And presently she was sitting there eating the pleasant, simple breakfast and looking at the thick patterns of frosty ferns and mountains that now decorated the windows. The snow had come in good earnest, and she was glad. It was nice to have a real winter and to feel free from the constant espionage and bickering of her cousin's home. She wondered what her father would have thought about it if he had known just what she was to go through. Surely he would have tried to make some other arrangement for her than to stay with Miriam.
But the sun had come out and was lighting up a glorious white world. It was almost Christmas, and there was snow! She remembered her childish delight at snow for Christmas, which had lasted through the years. That was something to be glad for, anyway, even if she was alone.
Then her thoughts went back to her hectic preparations and her wild search for something to turn into money.
There had been answers to prayer all along the way, and a sure indication that she was right in going away. She had begun her search by asking the Lord to please provide the money if He wanted her to go. And then she had started that systematic search.
She had got out a box of old trinkets, scarcely hoping that any of them would be profitable. But first of all she came upon a heavy gold chain and a pair of bracelets to match that had been given to her by an odd old lady who had an apartment near theirs one winter while they were staying in New
