"Silly!" she said, blushing and looking away.
When they got back to Mackinac that night Bess found a room bearing evidence of hasty packing and a letter from her grandmother.
"My dear child," it said, "I am going to leave you for a little while. Margaret needs me now far more than you do, and I cannot be with both. Of course you got her letter and know what she did and why. When she came in last night you could have knocked me down with a feather. I certainly hope the Lord will reward that girl according to her works—and Smeltzer too. Of course we will have to go away at once. We shall be starting somewhere within an hour—where I do not know. We will go where the Lord directs, and stop when he tells us to. As soon as I know anything further I will let you know it. In the meantime you must stay just where you are until you hear. Have everything packed and ready to go at a moment's notice, though I think I shall write instead of telegraphing.
"Say good-by to Mr. Harcourt for me and tell him I sincerely hope that we may meet again some time. Ask him to go over to Mackinaw City with you when I write for you to come, and see about your trunks. By the way, we leave ours for you to bring. It would be easier to track us if we had to check."
"Look here," said Harcourt, when he had got this far in the letter—she had brought it directly down to him, and they were reading it in the parlor—"do you suppose she expects to shake me like this?"
"Well, anyway," said Bess, "I am glad I am not entirely alone."
The letter ended, "May God bless you my child, and keep you safe from all harm, is the prayer of your devoted grandmother."
There was a yearning note in the closing sentence that was at variance with the confident tone of the earlier part. In truth, Mrs. Pennybacker had been torn between loyalty to Margaret and love for Bess.