“Roy, Roy, little darling Roy,” she called, but no sweet, gay voice answered to hers. Oh! where was little Roy? She went into the tiny dressing-room where her father slept. No, Roy was not there.
A horrible dread came over Faith. Where was Roy? Her father had said that as she could not take proper care of him, some one else should. Had he really taken Roy away, and given him into the care of some stranger, some dreadful, dreadful stranger who would not love him, or care for him as he ought to be loved and tended? The agony of this idea took all fear away from Faith. Without a particle of hesitation now, she went back to her father. He was so busy he did not even hear her swift step, and started when her voice sounded at his elbow.
“Please, father, I must know where you ha’ tuk Roy. It ’ull kill me unless I know that much at once.”
The agony and consternation in her tone caused Warden to raise his head in surprise.
“I don’t know what you mean, Faith. I only took Roy into the bedroom. There! go, and put him to bed, and don’t act more foolishly than you can help.”
“You only tuk him inter the bedroom?” repeated Faith. She did not stay another second with her father, she rushed away from him and back to the inner room. A fear even more terrible than her first fear had come to her. She remembered that the door leading into the passage was open. Was it possible, possible that little Roy, her little sweet baby Roy, had gone out through that open door, had slipped down-stairs, and into the street? Oh! no, it never could be possible. However angry God was with her, He could never allow such an awful punishment as this to overtake her. She rushed wildly up-stairs and down-stairs, looking into every room, calling everywhere for Roy. No one had seen him, no one had heard the baby steps as they stole away. The whole house was searched in vain for little Roy. He was not to be found. In five minutes, Faith came back to her father. She came up to him, her breath a little gone, her words coming in gasps. She laid her hand on his shoulder.
“Yes, father,” she said, “you wor quite, quite right. God h’Almighty’s werry angry wid me. I don’t know how I’ll h’ever bear it. Little Roy ain’t in the house, father. When you put him in the bedroom he runned out by the other door, he ran inter the street. We ha’ searched h’all the house over, and he ain’t there. My little Roy is quite, quite lost.”
“Lost!” echoed Warden. He sprang to his feet. “Roy not in the house! Roy lost!” Back over his memory came the picture of the lovely sleeping boy, of the real love and pride with which he had kissed him. His prize essay became as nothing to him. But swift through his hard, cold heart passed an arrow of intolerable pain. “Roy, lost?” he repeated. “God help me! and I wor werry rough to the little chap.”
They were the humblest words that had ever passed his lips. He rushed from the room, for he must find his son.