"I didn't see him," said John, now looking round a little nervously. "Oh, I know who you mean—the gentleman as come in with Sir Henry. He's some stranger. He wondered what you was waiting about for, that's all."
"He's got a kind face, poor man!" said Lily.
As soon as the child and her companion had disappeared, Colonel Maxwell got up and went to the vestry. Sir Henry Smith was standing there, talking to the old Vicar, and both looked round in surprise when Colonel Maxwell knocked at the door and came in.
"This is my friend Colonel Maxwell, Mr. Sands," said Sir Henry. "My dear fellow, what is it? You look as if you had seen a ghost."
"I have seen a vision," said his friend in a low voice. "I have seen my little girl."
The two friends were looking at each other, or they would have noticed the sudden light of surprise and intelligence which sprang into the old clergyman's face.
"It must have been fancy, Maxwell," said Sir Henry slowly. "I thought you had given up all hope—and she couldn't be here, you know."
"Why not?"
"Why—so near London!"
"It would be strange—and unexpected—but that is what happens," said Colonel Maxwell. "At any rate, if Mr. Sands will kindly tell me—but I must first explain to you that four years ago I had a very terrible misfortune. My youngest child, a little girl of three, disappeared from the garden of a square near our house—the nursemaid left her for a moment—the thing is often done, no doubt, and the consequence is not always fatal. No human means have availed to trace the child. I offered a reward of a thousand pounds. The police have done their best, I believe; and they have now come to the conclusion that she can be no longer living. They are quite sure she was stolen; and they think it would have been the interest of the thieves to restore her with some plausible story; or they could have kept in the dark and demanded what they pleased. Of course that is plain. She cannot be living—unless by some miracle she is no longer in the hands of the thieves."