A tall, handsome man, who had been a silent listener, spoke, and at the sound of his voice every one turned. “Let us not give up hope,” he said. “I know we cannot think of anything more to do just now; still, let us think of her alive. We will accomplish more.”
“That is Mr. Stanley,” said the judge to a friend at his side; “built the big house on the Point, you know; only reached here last night.”
It was Christmas eve. Stockings were filled and Christmas trees were trimmed, for little children slept in expectation of a joyous to-morrow.
No cheering news had come to the waiting hearts in Dorothy’s home. Mr. Douglas paced back and forth in his library, while outside of the closed door the doctor kept time with the weary walker.
Timothy spoke softly to the doctor: “There is a Mr. Stanley here.”
Mr. Douglas was with them instantly. “Bring him to the library, Timothy—come in doctor—perhaps——”
Mr. Stanley came forward with outstretched hand. “Mr. Douglas, understanding your sorrow as I do, though a stranger to you, let me try to comfort you. Let me beg of you to keep up your courage. So many things could have happened that none of us even suspect. I know it is better for all concerned that you believe that the child is safe. Why take it for granted that evil has befallen her? Is not God our very present help in trouble?
“The storm is over,” he assured them; “I think before morning much of the damage will be repaired and we will be in touch with the outside world again.”
Mr. Douglas resumed his restless walk. “Dorothy is by nature a timid child; I cannot think of her, alone.”