Mr. Everett's ideas had undergone a rapid and wonderful change within the few weeks of his meager acquaintance with Jane. He no longer appeared to himself to be breasting an unfriendly current of life with the mere vision of a distant, sunny shore to cheer his untiring efforts. He seemed suddenly to have attained a larger and completer knowledge of himself and of his powers. He knew himself to be abundantly able to make a home for the dearest, sweetest little girl in the world, and he was ready to ride rough shod and triumphant over difficulties of every conceivable sort. Since he had arrived at this by no means tardy conclusion of the matter, his love for Jane had over-leapt its barriers, and was ready to sweep all before it, including the girl's own delightful shyness and maiden coldness.
Mr. Everett found his sister Margaret at her little desk, a leather-covered account book open before her, a pile of bills and silver pushed to one side. He stooped to pinch her pink ear, following the pinch with a hearty brotherly kiss. Then he perceived that something was seriously amiss with the little lady. There were tears in her eyes and a piteous quaver in her voice as she looked up to greet him.
"What's the matter, little woman?" he asked gayly. "Won't the accounts balance?"
He bent nearer and read: "Jane Evelyn Aubrey-Blythe. Began work April 26th; wages $14.00."
"Is that her name?" he almost shouted. "Why didn't you tell me before?"
"I don't know what you mean, Jack," Mrs. Belknap replied petulantly. Then she burst into nervous tears as she faltered: "Jane's—gone! And, oh, Jack, she wouldn't take her wages!"
CHAPTER XIX
"Gone!" echoed John Everett blankly. "Are you telling me that Jane has gone?" Then he stooped over his sister with something almost threatening in his face and attitude. "Margaret," he said quietly, "you must tell me at once what has happened to Jane!"