How was he to appease this craving curiosity? In what way was he to arrive at the truth regarding this girl, whose future had been placed in his hands, by the document still clutched, tightly, there?
Laurence was right. Herman Ross was not a man to falter in a case like this. If the girl had claims, he was resolved to search them out, and maintain them after they were found. But something more exciting than mere determination—an almost frenzied wish to learn the whole truth possessed the man. All the proofs that existed he would have at once. Suspense was more than he could bear.
Ross took his hat, and went out again, walking rapidly toward the Laurence cottage. This time he sought the back entrance, and found Mrs. Laurence alone in her kitchen. Her keen, grey eyes were as hard as steel, when she turned them upon him, with a look that seemed half fear half defiance.
“Well,” she said, sharply, “you know it all now. Is it in you to take her away from us, now that we need her more than ever?”
“I have come to ask some questions. This paper speaks of articles that are in your possession. May I look at them?”
Mrs. Laurence sunk into a chair; the little color natural to her face died out, leaving only a flush around the eyes.
“I—I cannot give them to you just now,” she stammered. “Did the paper speak of them?”
“Yes; and they are important—very important.”
“But how was I to know that you would ever come, or that anyone—a man particularly—would want a lot of baby-clothes?”
“But I do want them, and at any cost must have them,” said Ross, almost fiercely, “Surely they are not destroyed?”