Mrs. Dainty turned quickly to see if Dorothy had heard what Aunt Charlotte had said, but Dorothy was questioning the maid to learn when she had last seen Nancy. Aunt Charlotte's words, which surely would have frightened her, had passed unnoticed.
It was late before any member of the household could think of sleeping, and when at last Dorothy lay dreaming of Nancy, her long lashes were wet with tears.
Mrs. Dainty had tried to comfort and cheer her by telling her that this time they knew with whom Nancy was staying, and that Sue, who had once before helped them to find her, would, doubtless, bring her back.
Dorothy had listened patiently, but when Mrs. Dainty kissed her and said “good night,” Dorothy threw her arms about her neck.
“Oh, mamma, I know we have Nancy's note,” she said, “and Sue was good to her once, but how do we know what her aunt will do? What if she means to make her dance at a theatre, just as her Uncle Steve did?”
And Mrs. Dainty could find no words with which to comfort her, because her own heart was filled with that very thought which made Dorothy so unhappy.
And when the bright sunlight streamed in through the windows of the stone house it found every one wide awake and full of excitement, eager to be doing something towards finding Nancy, but in doubt as to what to do first.
It was Mrs. Dainty's calmness that stilled their excitement, her cool head that directed their efforts, her firm will which chose to guide, rather than command.
And while every effort was being made to find Nancy, and to learn if she were safe, Nancy lay upon an old bed in the little house in the country lane, and slept soundly, after having cried herself to sleep the night before.
She awoke with a start when a stray sunbeam came in through the tiny window and touched her cheek.