They went upon the elevator, reached Roma’s parlor and found her reclining in her armchair by the center table, reading the “Golden Legend” by the light of a shaded lamp.
Madame Nouvellini lay fast asleep in her invalid chair, nor did she wake up on the entrance of the party.
“What sort of a time did you have?” inquired Roma, as the weary Santa Claus sat down on the sofa with the sleeping child across his knees.
“A very fine time. The ground, or rather the snow, was so hard and smooth, and the horses so fresh, that I am sure they got over the ground with more than steam-engine express speed! Guided by our policeman, I think we visited every poor neighborhood, and even every criminal locality in the ten miles’ square.”
“That was right; for there are innocent children everywhere, even in the guiltiest haunts. Ah, poor children! If I have lost Will Harcourt, I must devote my life and all it holds to them! What am I saying? Whether I have lost him or not, I will devote all that I may of my life to the rescue of the lost children?”
“What!” inquired the lawyer. “Is your stout heart failing that you talk of the possibility of losing Will Harcourt?”
“Oh, no! I do hope—but ‘hope deferred maketh the heart sick.’ No news comes,” sighed Roma.
“The young man may have been smuggled on board some outbound ship—may be across the ocean by this time!”
“What makes you think so?”
“I do not exactly think so. I only throw out the idea on speculation, as a possible explanation of the failure of all our plans to discover him! Well, my dear, I must be going now! It is twenty minutes past one. I suppose the people in this house mean to keep it up all night. To-morrow I shall come and give you a report of to-night’s work—‘To-morrow?’ It is to-morrow now!—Christmas is more than an hour old!” said the lawyer, as he arose and carefully laid the sleeping child on the sofa.