"That model may be worth a lot, but it is not worth another tragedy to this house," groaned Cornelius Allendyce.
"No. It is worth a good deal—but not—that much."
A few moments' deep silence prevailed. Wrinkles of worry twisted the lawyer's face. What a mess it all was, anyway—he had urged Robin to go to the Granger's in hopes that she'd bring the two families into close intimacy again and instead of that she had gotten herself into this fix. If they found her safe and sound she ought to be spanked and taught to keep her hands off the Mill affairs until she was older. But down in his heart he knew this was only a vexatious expression of his concern—you couldn't punish Robin for anything.
"As her guardian I appreciate your alarm. I share it with you, not alone because Miss Forsyth was a guest at my house but because I took a great fancy to the child. It struck me, as I looked at her, that her coming to Wassumsic—to the Manor, might change things, here, quite a bit."
"It has—it will," mumbled Mr. Allendyce. For a moment, just to relieve his feelings, he wondered if he might not confide in this very human man the ordeal he must face with Madame Forsyth when his reckoning came.
"My wife is prostrated with it all. She does not know the particulars but she is deeply concerned. I do not like to add to your worry but do you think there is any possibility that the child returned to the road, and that Kraus, freed from Tom's rope, captured her and went off with her?"
"Why, every possibility in the world!" shouted Robin's guardian. "Why did you hug that idea to yourself? We'll telephone the New York police. He's sure to make straight for the city."
Both men welcomed action. They rushed to the library and put in a long distance call and then, while waiting, paced the room's length back and forth. Harkness, shaking and white and miserable, glued his ear to the crack in the door, hopeful for one crumb of comforting news.
Below stairs Mrs. Budge, flatly refusing to believe that "Miss Robin" could be lost just when she had learned to love her, beat up a cake for her homecoming, unmindful of the tears that splashed into the batter.
In the little sitting-room they had shared, Beryl, who did not even have the heart to play with Susy, sat with her nose against the window watching the ribbon of road over which anyone would come if they came. That was why she was the first of the Manor household to spy the dilapidated Ford approaching, snorting up the incline. Something about it made her think of the general dilapidation of the Forgotten Village. It might be some word! She rushed down the stairs, two steps at a time, past the startled Harkness, through the big front door. The strange-looking car had turned into the Manor gate. A man with long white whiskers was driving it. And yes, a bareheaded girl, who looked like Robin, sat on the back seat. It was Robin. Beryl waved her hand wildly and Robin answered. But who rode with her? Beryl's flying feet came to a quick halt.