her to my breast, taking care
as I did so to turn her quite away from the man whom Mrs. Carew was
about leaving.

"Come!" I shouted back, "we shall be late!"--and made a dash for the
gate.

Mrs. Carew joined me, and none of us said anything till we reached the
station platform. Then as I set the child down, I gave her one look. She
was beaming with gratitude.

"That saved us, together with the few words I could edge in between his
loud regrets at my going and his exclamations of grief over Gwendolen's
loss. On the train I shall fear nothing. If you will lift him up I will
wrap him in this shawl as if he were ill. Once in New York--are you not
going to permit me?"

"To go to New York, yes; but not to the steamer."

She showed anger, but also an admirable self-control. Far off we could
catch the sounding thrill of the approaching train.

"I yield," she announced suddenly. And opening the bag at her side, she
fumbled in it for a card which she presently put in my hand. "I was
going there for lunch," she explained. "Now I will take a room and
remain until I hear from you." Here she gave me a quick look. "You do
not appear satisfied."

"Yes, yes," I stammered, as I looked at the card and saw her name over
that of an inconspicuous hotel in the down-town portion of New York
City. "I merely--"

The nearing of the train gave me the opportunity of cutting short the
sentence I should have found it difficult to finish.

"Here is the child," I exclaimed, lifting the little one, whom she
immediately enveloped in the light but ample wrap she had chosen as a
disguise.

"Good-by--Harry."

"Good-by! I like you. Your arms are strong and you don't shake me when
you run."

Mrs. Carew smiled. There was deep emotion in her face. "_Au revoir!_"
she murmured in a tone implying promise. Happily I understood the French
phrase.

I bowed and drew back. Was I wrong in letting her slip from my
surveillance? The agitation I probably showed must have caused her some
thought. But she would have been more than a diviner of mysteries to
have understood its cause. Her bag, when she had opened it before my
eyes, had revealed among its contents a string of remarkable corals. A
bead similar in shape, color and marking rested at that very moment over
my own heart. Was that necklace one bead short? With a start of
conviction I began to believe so and that I was the man who could
complete it. If that was so--why, then--then--

It isn't ofte