t."

Aunt Kate laughed. Mrs. Crawford studied her husband intently.

"Oh, go on with your work. I shall feel more composed." He turned his
chair a little, ostensibly for the light, but so that his wife might not
watch his face.

He began with Mrs. Boyd's list of misfortunes after her few years of
happiness and her resolve to go out to her brother's. At times he
stumbled over the poor penmanship and halted.

"Why, it must have been the train I was on," interrupted Mrs. Crawford.
"I remember there was a woman with a delicate looking child. I believe
ours were the only two babies. Oh, if I had not taken my little darling!
But she was so well and strong, such a fine happy baby, and nurse Jane
was so good."

Mrs. Boyd had hurried briefly over the terrible collision.

"Everett," interrupted his sister with an indignant emphasis, "why
recall that awful happening. It can do us no good now."

Mrs. Crawford leaned her head on her hand and balanced her elbow on the
broad arm of the chair.

The Major's voice shook slightly. Mrs. Boyd had been quite graphic about
her calling for the baby, her care of it from midnight to the next
morning and settling her mind to what the woman had said; her resolve to
keep the child when she heard the other mother had been killed. She
sprang up suddenly.

"Oh, it was nurse Jane who was killed. And she took my baby, my darling.
Oh, who was she? Can we ever find her?"

Then she fainted and her husband caught her in his arms.

"Oh, you have killed her!" cried Miss Crawford. "How could you recount
that awful time of suffering, and that the woman should steal the baby!
Oh, that was just it, there's no use mincing matters!"

It was some minutes before Mrs. Crawford regained consciousness, then
she gazed imploringly in her husband's face.

"Oh, tell me--where is my darling? Is she really alive. Can we find
her?"

"She has been found. She is well and in good hands. Oh, my dear wife, I
felt vengeful at first, but I have come to pity the poor thing.
Marguerite pleaded for her. And we must be thankful that she had the
courage to confess the matter."

"Then--you have seen her?"

The voice was shaken with emotion.

"She is at Mrs. Barrington's."

"Oh, can't we go to her? My dear baby, my darling Marguerite! Why, it is
almost as if she had been sent from heaven."

"My dear--" her husband caught her in his arms or she would have fallen
in her eagerness. "Oh, it will all come right, but you