The next two weeks were those of delightful experience to all our friends, to Annis in particular, spent in visits to that beautiful Court of Honor, and to various interesting exhibits to be found in other parts of the Fair, with an occasional change of scene and occupation by a shopping excursion to Chicago in search of wedding finery.

She would not allow herself to anticipate the pain of the partings from the dear brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, that lay before her, but gave herself up to the enjoyment of the present; in especial of the intercourse with him who was the chosen companion of her future life on earth.

The yacht could not furnish night accommodations for all, but usually all the relatives and friends gathered about its supper table and afterward spent an hour or more upon its deck in rest that was particularly enjoyable after the day’s exertion, and in cheerful chat over their varied experiences since separating in the morning; for they were now much too large a company to keep together in their wanderings in and about the White City.

But the time approached when they must separate.  The trousseau—­with the exception of such articles as it was considered more desirable to purchase in New York or Philadelphia—­was ready, all the arrangements for the wedding feast had been made, and but a day or two intervened between that and the one which was to see Annis become a bride and set out upon her wedding tour.

The evening meal was over, and leaving the table they assembled upon the deck.

“Has anyone seen the evening paper or the morning one either?” asked Mr. Dinsmore, addressing his query to the company in general.

“Yes, sir; I have,” answered Harold.  “There has been an awful railroad collision, one section of the train running into another; a good many killed; one lady meeting with a most terrible fate,” he added with emotion, “but she was an earnest, active Christian worker, and no doubt is now rejoicing before the throne of God.”

“But oh, couldn’t they have saved her?” asked his mother, in tones tremulous with feeling.  “How was it? what was the difficulty?”

“The car was crushed and broken, her limbs caught between broken timbers in such a way that it was impossible to free her in season to prevent the flames—­for the car was on fire—­from burning her to death.  The upper part of her body was free, and she close to a window, so that she could speak to the gathered crowd who, though greatly distressed by the sight of her agony, were powerless to help her.  She sent messages to her dear ones and her Sunday-school class and died like a martyr.”

“Poor dear woman!” said Violet, in low, tender tones.  “Oh, how well that her peace was made with God before the accident, for she could do little thinking in such an agony of pain.”

“Yes; and such sudden calls should make us all careful to be ready at any moment for the coming of the Master,” said Mr. Dinsmore.