“How long is that witch going to be left up in the mountain?” they muttered. “You must write to the Government, Sister. None of our children are safe—”
Sister Joanna did not conceal her impatience with them.
“It is all nonsense and silly superstition,” she said. “The child will be found all right. I’ll find her.” And she pulled Sarah Paton indoors and made her eat the breakfast Mary had prepared, scolding, comforting, and lecturing the poor woman all at once. She herself ate nothing so anxious was she to be off and start the search.
“Lock up, Mary,” she said briskly, “and come along. I’ll find the little schelm, see if I don’t, and give her a good shaking for causing all this trouble.”
However, a thorough search in every nook and corner of the village, and inquiry at every house, elicited no result, and at the end of the morning, Sister began to look as blank as the muttering women and much more weary. There was no question of school; the children were given a holiday and told to join in the search. The Dutch police were then communicated with, and the afternoon was spent going through Brandersberg. Sister Joanna was on her feet all day, but at five o’clock Mary persuaded her to return home, begging her to eat something and go straight to bed. Mary herself stayed some time later in the Location wandering about, questioning, and trying to comfort Sarah Paton with words of hope that had no response in her own breast. It was sundown before she got home tired and dispirited, and it was just as well that she had accepted a cup of tea in the village, for of course Sister had been too tired to prepare a meal and there was not even a fire in the kitchen. Knowing that Sister would be anxious to hear if there was any news, Mary went at once to her bedroom, but there was no one there; only a cloud of flies buzzing and crawling over the sandwich and potato salad which stood untouched by the bedside. That meant that Sister had eaten nothing since mid-day the day before, and Mary was worried. However, in the kitchen she found a cup with the remains of some herbal brew Sister had evidently been making for herself and a moment later Sister herself came out of the Oratory. Fresh hope and courage, gained perhaps in prayer, showed in her face, for though still pale, she looked extraordinarily excited, and her blue eyes gleamed with some inner fire that Mary’s news could not quench.
“We shall find her—we shall find her, never fear,” she prophesied.
But Mary went to bed cold and miserable, and trying to stave off a bout of neuralgia that had its origin in a tooth she could not afford to have stopped. The doleful howling of Fingo throughout the night further depressed her, and drove away all hope of sleep. In the morning, Sister Joanna decreed that Fingo must return to Bloemhof.
“I can quite understand your fondness for him, Mary, he’s a dear little dog, but we can’t be kept awake like this night after night. You must take him back with you to-morrow. By the way, I’ve made all arrangements for Tom Jackson to call for you.”
“But, Sister, I don’t want to go. I feel I can’t, unless Rosalie is found.”
“Nonsense, my dear, what good can you do? If she is to be found I’ll find her. While if you miss Jackson’s cart you miss your holiday, and I’m not going to have that.” There was resolution in the old woman’s voice and Mary made no further remark, only ate her breakfast and hurried off to school, for work had to go on whatever befell. It was the last day before the holidays and should have been a bright and merry one, but gloom hung over everyone. The children spoke in hushed voices, and at tiffin time instead of playing sat whispering in groups. Sister Joanna came in for a few moments in the morning and wished the children pleasant holidays; then went back to where she had been since breakfast time in the village, egging on the search and agitating for a party to be sent into the bush even up the mountain, if necessary.