and putting fresh books on the table. The maid had long ago gone to
bed, and there was coffee to be made for him--he might get hungry in the
night. When he came in at last, he brought all the brightness and
courage of hope with him. He had wired to William; he had phoned to a
dozen different places in Chicago.

"Oh, what should we do without you?" breathed Lois, her foot on the
stairway.

"It doesn't seem to me I've helped you very much so far. Our one clue
has been from Mrs. Snow. I want you to go to bed now, and to sleep, Mrs.
Alexander; take all the rest you can. I'm here to do the watching. If
there's anything really to tell, I'll call you. I promise faithfully.
What is it, Miss Linden? Did you want to speak to me?"

"There was a message for you while you were gone," said Dosia in a low
tone.

His eyes assented. "Yes, I know. I went there--to the place that
they--but it wasn't Alexander, I'm glad to say, though I was afraid when
I went in----"

"I know," said Dosia.

Another strange night had begun, with the master of the house away. Lois
went to her room to lie down clothed, jumping up to come to the head of
the stairs whenever the telephone-bell rang, and then going back again
when she found that those who were consulting were asking for
information instead of giving it; but by and by the messages ceased.

Suppose Justin never came back! She began to feel that he had been gone
for years, and tried confusedly to plan out the future. There were the
children--how should she support them? She must support them. It was
hard to get work when you had a baby. If she hadn't the baby--no one
should take the baby from her! She clasped him to her for a moment in
terror, as if she were being hunted, before she grew calm and began
planning again. There was only a little money left. To-morrow they must
still eat. She must make the money last.

Dosia, on the bed by Redge's crib, went softly after a while into the
other room, and saw that Lois at last slept, though she herself could
not. Each time that she saw Girard he seemed more and more a stranger,
so far removed was he from her dream of him. Through all his softness,
his gentleness, she felt the streak of hardness, if nobody else did
(though Mr. Cater, she remembered now, had spoken of it too), that the
fires of adversity had molded. Perhaps no man could have worked up from
the cruel circumstances of his early days without that hardening streak
to uphold him. She d