Finally, the last one--a woman hove in sight.

With renewed hope he scanned her approach.

It was not Grace! His brain was in a whirl.

What could have happened?
Where was she?
Again he jerked out the telegram.
"Meet me Forty-second Street, New York, at three," he read half-aloud.
"Nothing could be plainer," he mused in perplexity.

"No train at three; another at--she must be on a later one." "What time is the next Chicago train due ?" he inquired anxiously at the Information Bureau.
"Five-thirty, sir," politely answered the official.
"Five-thirty!" he repeated disgustedly.
Again the telegram was brought out and this time shown.
"On what road did you expect the lady ?" was the question put with well-simulated interest that every few minutes was practised on different individuals.
"Road ?" Hugh stared blankly at his questioner.