Then the task before him might well have dismayed a braver man. He had to find her. The whole world lay before him, and he had to search all over it. Was she in Italy, Spain, or France? or had she even gone further away? He thought of the proud lady's words—"love has keen instincts; you will find her because you love her." He would certainly do his best, nor would he delay—that day should see the commencement of his labor. Then he began to think. Surely an ignorant, inexperienced girl could not have left home—have found herself a situation as governess without some one to help her. Who would that some one be? One of her old school-fellows? She had made no more recent acquaintances. He bethought himself of Mattie, always so quick, so bright, so intelligent, so ready to solve all difficulties. He would go to her.
He went, and Mattie wondered at the unusual gravity of his face.
"I have been thinking of Doris," he said, in answer to her mute, reproachful glance.
"I wonder, Earle," she said, "when you will think of anything else?"
"I want to ask you something, Mattie. Sit down here; spare me two or three minutes. Tell me, has it ever seemed to you that some one must have helped Doris, or she could not have found a situation as she did?"
For one moment the kindly brown eyes rested with a troubled glance on his face.
"It has occurred to me often," she replied, "but I cannot imagine who would do it."
"Did she ever talk to you about any of her school-fellows?" he asked.
"No, none in particular. Why, Earle, tell me what you are thinking about?"
"I should have some clew to her whereabouts, I am convinced, if I could but discover that."