Dorothy sat with wide eyes and pale cheeks, her slender fingers tightly clasping the arms of the chair. Could the note be from Nancy? Would it tell where she was?
Mrs. Dainty leaned over Aunt Charlotte's chair, and together they read the hastily pencilled note.
“Dear Aunt Charlotte:—I guess you remember Sue, I've forgotten what her other name is, but she's the girl that worked for Uncle Steve, and was so good to me when I was sick. She called to-day, and says my aunt is sick and thinks she must see me, and you needn't think I'm stolen, because Uncle Steve is dead, so he couldn't steal me again.
“My aunt doesn't live in the city. Sue meant to ask you if I could go, but you were away, and she said I ought to go so I did. I'll be right home as soon as my aunt has told me what Sue says she's got to tell.
“Lovingly,
“Nancy.”
“The dear child has not told us where her aunt lives, only that she is not in the city. What are we to do?”
Aunt Charlotte's face was pale as she asked the question, and the hand which held the note shook so that the bit of paper rustled like a leaf as it lay against her silk gown.
“We can do nothing to-night,” Mrs. Dainty replied, “but to-morrow at daybreak the search must commence. I try to find comfort in the fact that the girl, Sue, seemed to be honest, and certainly she was straightforward if she intended to ask us if she might take Nancy to her aunt, and to insist that she write a note explaining her absence.”
“I am sure that the girl's intentions are honest, but I am not so sure of the woman who sent her to get Nancy. Steve Ferris is dead, but while it was he who once stole Nancy, it was his wife who helped him to keep her. I am frightened, and I can not believe that she has sent for her only for the pleasure of seeing her.”