"Mother, what have you done with it? Who has taken my baby away?"
The voice was sweet, but troubled; the face innocent as an angel's.
"Katharine, oh, Katharine!"
It was all the poor woman could say; but the first gleam of hope shot athwart that gloomy face and thrilled through the voice. From that moment the mother felt that her child was innocent.
"Oh, Katharine, my child! my poor, poor child!"
She held out her arms, while great tears rained down her cheeks.
Katharine tottered around the table, and falling on her knees, leaned heavily on the mother's lap, lifting her face full of wistful tenderness to the troubled countenance bent over her.
"Tell me what you did with it, mother."
Mrs. Allen trembled under the wistful earnestness of those pleading eyes. She had no power of speech in her voice. It was choked up with sorrow for her daughter's inevitable anguish, with thanksgiving that she was innocent. With a tenderness which is the gift of true Christianity, link it with the sternest nature you may, she reached forth her arms and gathered the young thing to her bosom.
"Do tell me, mother, what you have done with my baby?"