ter
Mr. Voss had been there. Mrs. Birtwell rang a bell, and ordering the
carriage, made herself ready to go out.

"Mrs. Voss says you must excuse her," said the servant who had taken up
Mrs. Birtwell's card. "She is not seeing any but the family," added the
man, who saw in the visitor's face the pain of a great disappointment.

Slowly retiring, her head bent forward and her body stooping a little
like one pressed down by a burden, Mrs. Birtwell left the house of her
oldest and dearest friend with an aching sense of rejection at her
heart. In the darkest and saddest hour of her life that friend had
turned from the friend who had been to her more than a sister, refusing
the sympathy and tears she had come to offer. There was a bitter cup at
the lips of both; which was the bitterest it would be hard to tell.

"Not now," Mrs. Voss had said, speaking to her husband; "I cannot meet
her now."

"Perhaps you had better see her," returned the latter.

"No, no, no!" Mrs. Voss put up her hands and shivered as she spoke. "I
cannot, I cannot! Oh, my boy! my son! my poor Archie! Where are you?
Why do you not come home? Hark!"

The bell had rung loudly. They listened, and heard men's voices in the
hall below. With face flushing and paling in quick alternations, Mrs.
Voss started up in bed and leaned forward, hearkening eagerly. Mr. Voss
opened the chamber door and went out. Two policemen had come to report
that so far all efforts to find a trace of the young man had been
utterly fruitless. Mrs. Voss heard in silence. Slowly the dark lashes
fell upon her cheeks, that were white as marble. Her lips were rigid
and closely shut, her hands clenched tightly. So she struggled with the
fear and agony that were assaulting her life.

CHAPTER V.

A HANDSOME man of forty-five stood lingering by the bedside of his
wife, whose large tender eyes looked up at him almost wistfully. A
baby's head, dark with beautiful hair that curled in scores of silken
ringlets, lay close against her bosom. The chamber was not large nor
richly furnished, though everything was in good taste and comfortable.
A few articles were out of harmony with the rest and hinted at better
days. One of these was a large secretary of curious workmanship, inlaid
with costly woods and pearl and rich with carvings. Another was a small
mantel clock of exquisite beauty. Two or three small but rare pictures
hung on the walls.

Looking closely into the man's strong intelle