"I suppose we ought to say three, since one from a sanitarium has not yet been discovered. But the insane, they say, have some weird manner of attracting self preservation."
"Have they been dragging the lake?" asked Dorothy, her voice all a-tremble.
"No, not yet, although many have wanted to. But we have so many people lost in these woods every summer, that we feel it is a case of that kind. We suppose the girls, who did not go off together, met later somehow, and in trying to make their way back, got deeper into the woods."
"And their folks from camp?" asked Dorothy.
"We have not been to see them," said the young man, "but some of the boys there are friends of ours, and as soon as we have looked this place over, as well as we can do it, we are going up to Everglade. The girl's father is an old soldier, and they say he is still a soldier in this trouble."
Dorothy felt as if she must speak—must ask them to take her back to the camp, wherever it might be. But suppose they should take her for that demented girl? No, she must find her way on alone. Perhaps she could follow them.
By this time the two canoeists had glided on ahead. Dorothy felt as if her heart would choke her! Then her father was still bearing up, waiting for her! She must soon reach him!
A shout from the bank, and the two young men turned into shore. "Come on," some one called. "We have a clew. Get in here. We must get over to——"
But that was all Dorothy heard, and again she was alone on the lake.
For the space of a moment or so she felt that she had made a mistake, then came the awful thought of that sanitarium, and the knowledge that the people from there were searching everywhere for her.