"--Elizabeth?!" The shrill cry of the First Lady had been bouncing off of the walls of Comstock House for a good five minutes now, rising in pitch and intensity every time she opened her mouth to call for her daughter. She had not been to breakfast, and the overbearing mother had instantly been filled with grave premonitions of her precious lamb running off, or worse. At least her sire was not in the house. She did not trust him near her daughter. "Elizabeth?! Where are you?"














