Betty stretched out her arms, but Edith slowly shook her head,—still smiling, she pointed to her own picture on the mantle, and then to George's.
"You will?" she whispered softly.
"I don't understand," answered Betty gently.
"You will, dear," came the reply, and before Betty could again speak, Edith vanished from her sight.
It was the first vision Betty had ever had, and for awhile she lay trembling and weak. Finally she grew calm, but knowing it was impossible to rest, she arose and went downstairs to her mother.
"Betty, dear," Mrs. Emmit said, brightly, "Your father just brought you a letter from Chicago."
With a sudden, almost painful joy, she recognized Dr. Cadman's handwriting. Opening the letter, she read aloud.
"Dear Betty: I am wondering if your folks could take in a tired Easterner for a month? I'm just longing for the hills of Ephraim and the wonderful rest that only your peaceful home could give me in my present state of mind.
"Will tell you all when I see you. If I would inconvenience any of you, don't hesitate to say so.
"Kindest regards to all, your old friend,