as to be inflicted upon her after what she had already
endured. White faced, her whole being shaken by emotion, she read and
re-read her aunt's letter, telling of the child's mysterious
disappearance, and when at last she could read it no more because of
the tears that blinded her, she threw herself limp and broken hearted
into Ray's arms. Hysterically she cried:

"What have I done that I should be made to suffer in this way? My God!
Where is my child? This maddening suspense will kill me."

Ray tried to soothe her. Reassuringly, she said:

"Don't worry, dear. Everything will be all right. A general alarm has
been sent out. The police all over the country are searching high and
low. It's only a question of a few hours and you'll have good news."

But the hours passed and no news came to cheer the distracted,
broken-hearted mother. Dorothy had disappeared completely, leaving no
trace, no clue behind.

There was neither rest nor peace for the Traynor household that day.
Helen, almost out of her mind from grief and worry, refused to eat or
sleep until news of the missing child was received. In her agony she
went down on her knees and prayed as she had never prayed before that
her child be restored to her.

Her little daughter was, she felt, the one link that still bound her to
life. To her husband she felt she could not turn for sympathy. The
romance of their early married life had been shattered forever by the
extraordinary change that had come over him. He had long since ceased
to be to her any more than a name. In her heart, she had come to
despise and detest him as much as before she had worshiped the very
ground he trod. It was an astonishing revulsion of feeling which she
was powerless to explain; she only knew that the old love, the old
passion he had awakened was now quite dead. He inspired in her no more
affection or feeling than the merest stranger. Ever since his return
from South Africa they had lived apart. Ever since that first night of
his return when their tete-a-tete in the library was interrupted by the
bogus telegram, he had quite ceased his amorous advances. He seemed
anxious to avoid her. Only on rare occasions, and then it was by
accident, did they find themselves in each other's company.

In fact, he was practically never home, living almost exclusively at
the club, where he went the pace with associates of his choosing,
mostly gamblers and men about town. He had begun to