“I will go,” said he; “and I hope he who is gone will forgive my want of courage.”
“He who is gone took my promise never to marry again.”
“Dying men see clearer. I am sure he wished—no matter; it is too delicate.” He kissed her hand and went out, a picture of dejection.
Mrs. Staines shed a tear for him.
Nothing was heard of him for several days; and Rosa pitied him more and more, and felt a certain discontent with herself, and doubt whether she had done right.
Matters were in this state, when one morning Emily came screaming in from the garden, “The child!—Master Christie!—Where is he?—Where is he?”
The house was alarmed. The garden searched, the adjoining paddock. The child was gone.
Emily was examined, and owned, with many sobs and hysterical cries, that she had put him down in the summer-house for a minute, while she went to ask the gardener for some balm, balm tea being a favorite drink of hers. “But there was nobody near that I saw,” she sobbed.
Further inquiry proved, however, that a tall gypsy woman had been seen prowling about that morning; and suspicion instantly fastened on her. Servants were sent out right and left; but nothing discovered; and the agonized mother, terrified out of her wits, had Falcon telegraphed to immediately.
He came galloping down that very evening, and heard the story. He galloped into Gravesend, and after seeing the police, sent word out he should advertise. He placarded Gravesend with bills, offering a reward of a thousand pounds, the child to be brought to him, and no questions asked.