pse of him any more. After wearing myself out for nine
weeks, I saw your notice in the _Daily Telegraph_, and then I thought
you must have found him. I came here all in a hurry, with my heart full
of hope."

There was nothing more to be extracted from her. It was clear that she
had told all she could tell.

Elsie turned to Andrew with a look of distress more eloquent than words.
As he met the sorrowful gaze of her beautiful dark eyes, a light seemed
suddenly to flash from his, and he spoke out in a resolute tone.

"Don't be afraid that I shall let the grass grow under my feet, Miss
Kilner. I shall go to Scotland Yard at once," he said, rising and
buttoning his coat.

He merely lingered to ask Mrs. Penn a few rapid questions about the
boy's dress and general appearance, and then the door closed behind him,
and he was gone.

There was a moment of silence; then Elsie, rising from her chair, went
over to Mrs. Beaton and kissed her.

"I am going home now," she whispered. "We won't despair yet. I shall try
to be hopeful."

But her attempts at hopefulness were of little avail, and she hurried
out of Wardour Street, holding her head down, crying as she went. She
walked swiftly, never once slackening her speed till she had gained her
own door. And inside the house she seemed to lose all courage and
strength and faith, and fell sobbing into Miss Saxon's arms.

"Oh," she said, "it is all in vain! Jamie is lost, utterly lost, and
only his angel knows where to find him!"

CHAPTER VIII

_LOOKING AT PICTURES_

"A quiet and weary woman,
With all her illusions flown."
--A. A. PROCTOR.

About this time, when there was nothing to do but to stand and wait,
Elsie occupied herself chiefly with books.

One little bit of literary work (which will live, I suppose, as long as
literature endures) particularly engaged her attention in these days. It
was "Dream-Children" in the "Essays of Elia."

She had so accustomed herself to the imaginary companionship of Jamie
that she found it almost impossible to live without him. At nights she
had fallen into a habit of glancing towards that corner of her large
bedroom in which his little bed was to stand. There was the golden head
burying its fluffy curls in the pillow; there was the dimpled hand lying
outside the quilt.

And now the dream was fast fading away into a still fainter dream. Jamie
had vanished; it was most likely, she thought, that