"Never mind about her. Just take me to her now, if you will, and we'll settle about that later."
Virginie still lay on the bed, no longer sobbing or weeping, but with her head buried in the pillow, quiet, hopeless, and inert. She did not even look up as they entered the room. Patricia gently roused her, and she sat up to greet Mrs. Quale in a timid, half-frightened manner. But Mrs. Quale had long since settled in her own mind her plan of action. She sat down on the side of the bed and put one arm protectingly around Virginie.
"Dear," she said softly, "I know your story now, all that you have suffered, all the brave sacrifices you made to save the life, as you supposed, of the father who was no longer living. All that is ended. And now, dear, I am a very lonely woman. I have no children and very few relatives left, and I have always felt a warm interest in you since first I saw you with that unscrupulous woman. I knew that you were not happy. Will you come and make your home with me and be my daughter? I will bring you up as my own. We are two lonely people. I have no daughter, you have no mother. Why should we not be happy together?"
The girl stared at her for a moment almost uncomprehendingly. Then, suddenly, she grasped the meaning and it seemed too wonderful to be true.
"Oh, you—you are too good—too—" Her head went down on the motherly shoulder, and her arms crept around Mrs. Quale's neck. And so Patricia, tears of happiness standing in her own eyes, stole out of the room and left them together.
It was ten o'clock that night before Captain Meade himself arrived, tired, dusty, discouraged, and decidedly bewildered by the change his daughter had made so unexpectedly in her place of residence. Chet had encountered him in the lobby of the hotel and steered him at once to Mrs. Quale's house without any special explanations, as he felt that Patricia was the one best fitted to offer these. And it was not till after he had bathed and had some supper that Patricia, alone with him in the library, ventured to ask what success he had had in his search.
"None at all. Absolutely nothing to show for it!" he replied wearily. "We have raked New York from end to end without success. When we went there originally we were on a good scent—actually had the fellow spotted who we knew without fail must have had the sketch in his possession; but when we finally ran him down, he had nothing of the kind about him nor had he had any opportunity to dispose of it anywhere, so we had to give up that clue. I confess, I'm terribly discouraged."
Patricia smiled cheerfully. "Well, never mind, Daddy. You've had a hard time, but perhaps things aren't as bad as they seem!"
He looked at her wonderingly. "I don't know how they could be much worse!" he exclaimed a little impatiently. "One of the most valuable of the Government's secrets is in the hands of the enemy at this minute."