each a terrible question began to dawn.
Where was she?

Madam Schuyler recovered her senses first. With her sharp practical system
she endeavored to find out the exact situation.

"Who saw her last?" she asked sharply looking from one to the other. "Who
saw her last? Has she been down stairs this morning?" she looked straight
at Marcia this time, but the girl shook her head.

"I went to bed last night before they came in," she said, looking
questioningly at David, but a sudden remembrance and fear seized her
heart. She turned away to the window to face it where they could not look
at her.

"We came in early," said David, trying to keep the anxiety out of his
voice, as he remembered his well-beloved's good-night. Surely, surely,
nothing very dreadful could have happened just over night, and in her
father's own house. He looked about again to see the natural, every-day,
little things that would help him drive away the thoughts of possible
tragedy.

"Kate was tired. She said she was going to get up very early this morning
and wash her face in the dew on the grass." He braved a smile and looked
about on the troubled group. "She must be out somewhere upon the place,"
he continued, gathering courage with the thought; "she told me it was an
old superstition. She has maybe wandered further than she intended, and
perhaps got into some trouble. I'd better go and search for her. Is there
any place near here where she would be likely to be?" He turned to Marcia
for help.

"But Kate would never delay so long I'm sure," said the stepmother
severely. "She's not such a fool as to go traipsing through the wet grass
before daylight for any nonsense. If it were Marcia now, you might expect
anything, but Kate would be satisfied with the dew on the grass by the
kitchen pump. I know Kate."

Marcia's face crimsoned at her stepmother's words, but she turned her
troubled eyes to David and tried to answer him.

"There are plenty of places, but Kate has never cared to go to them. I
could go out and look everywhere." She started to go down, but as she
passed the wide mahogany bureau she saw a bit of folded paper lying under
the corner of the pincushion. With a smothered exclamation she went over
and picked it up. It was addressed to David in Kate's handwriting, fine
and even like copperplate. Without a word Marcia handed it to him, and
then stood back where the wide draperies of the window would shadow her.

Madam Schuyler, with sudden