“Oh! w’ite man! Owly! Owly!” wildly wailed the child.
“Where did you leave Owlet? Tell me.”
“Yoad!—ta’yidge! w’ite man! Owly! Owly!” heaved and gasped the child.
“Come and show me where you left her,” said Miss Fronde, now seriously alarmed, as she took the hand of the child.
Dorcas, her little black face streaming with tears, her breast heaving with sobs, drew the lady, followed by the two gentlemen, toward the door, out of the house, along the locust avenue, and through the great gate leading to the road, which was bordered on the opposite side by a fine piece of woods.
“Deh! deh!” she wildly wailed, pointing to a nook under the trees, which was a favorite resort with the children.
There were the signs of the children’s late presence and abrupt departure. There on the ground lay Ducky Darling’s adored musical box, dropped and forgotten in her wild woe. There also lay Owlet’s little workbasket, upset, with needle case, scissors, thimble, spools of silk and bright scraps scattered among the weeds and wild flowers.
On the road, just in front of the spot, were traces of carriage wheels which had stopped and turned there.
“Deh! deh!” still wildly wailed the child. “Deh!—w’ite man!—ta’yidge!—Owly!”
Roma began to understand, and a sickening fear seized her heart.