Seen by the subdued light of the lamp in the centre of the table, the little girl's face wore a look of great contentment. For the time, she had forgotten how troublous was her life, as her soul rose on the wings of faith to an altitude which set her far above the trials of this world. She sang the hymn from beginning to end in a soft undertone, with the wailing wind for an accompanyment; then, opening the window, she thrust out her head and listened. She heard hurrying footsteps passing the cottage, and men's hoarse voices shouting.
"Who goes there?" Salome cried. "Is anything amiss?"
"I hope nothing is wrong," she thought, as she received no answer; "but I suppose they are obliged to shout to make themselves heard."
She tried in vain to pierce the darkness.
"If a vessel had been in distress, the crew would fire guns, or send up rockets," she reflected.
The rain beat against her face, so she drew back from the window, which she shut, and turned her attention to the fire, remembering that her father would certainly return drenched to the skin. Suddenly the cottage door was flung open, and Margaret Fowler, hatless, and with her fair hair hanging around her face, stood before her.
"Oh, Salome!" she gasped breathlessly. "Is he here? Have you seen Gerald?"
"No, miss. What is wrong?"
"We've lost Gerald, and I thought he might have come here. All the servants are looking for him, and Miss Conway too. Oh, what shall we do? He went to bed as usual, and was fast asleep at ten o'clock, but when Miss Conway peeped into his room half-an-hour ago, to see if the storm had disturbed him, his bed was empty. He had dressed, and we believe, he must have gone out."
"Perhaps he is somewhere hiding in the house," Salome suggested. "Surely he would not go out on a night like this."