Louise rushed to the nursery, followed by Arthur, whose quick ears had overheard the statement. The young mother bent over the crib, the covers of which were thrown back as if the infant had been quickly caught up—perhaps from a sound sleep.
“Good gracious!” cried Louise, despairingly; “she’s gone—my baby’s gone!”
“Gone?” echoed Arthur, in a distracted tone. “What does it mean, Louise? Where can she be?”
A gentle hand was laid on his shoulder and Uncle John, who had followed them to the room, said soothingly:
“Don’t get excited, my boy; there’s nothing to worry about. Your two nurses have probably taken little Jane out for a ride.”
“At this time of night?” exclaimed Louise. “Impossible!”
“It is merely twilight; they may have been delayed,” replied Mr. Merrick.
“But the air grows chill at this hour, and—”
“And there is the baby-cab!” added Arthur, pointing to a corner.
Louise and her husband looked into one another’s eyes and their faces grew rigid and white. Uncle John, noting their terror, spoke again.