It was not till Mr. Mason spoke incidentally of the girl who brought the check in the morning that Mrs. Abbott remembered she had not seen Marion since sending her to him.
Going home again she sought her at once in Candace’s room. The poor woman had but just learned of Elfie’s disappearance, and her anguish was pitiful to see. She rose from her bed at once, conquering the pain that had kept her a prisoner there, and declaring she would go in search of her child.
“O, where, where was Miss Marion,” she asked, “not to be looking after my pet?”
It had become certain by that time that Marion had also disappeared, and, though there was no ground for hoping it, Candace instantly declared that Marion had gone after her darling.
Mr. Mason and Mrs. Abbott were at the station waiting for the cars when a telegram was brought to her from the office within the building.
CHAPTER XXVII.
ON THE ROAD.
The brakeman on the express-train stood at the door of the last car looking through the glass at the scenery which constant travel had made so familiar to him that he was hardly conscious of its wonderful beauty, but a downward glance showed him something much less common, and his face became expressive of great alertness as, uttering one or two words of greater strength and force than his ordinary language conveyed, he opened the door and let himself out upon the platform.
“Well,” he said, looking at Marion critically, “for an outside passenger may be you’ve got the right kind of a look, but it strikes me if you’d remembered to put on your bunnit and brushed yourself up a little you’d have seemed more respectable. Where are you going, my pretty maid, and where did you come from?”
“I got on at the last station,” said Marion, seeing only kindness on his face in spite of his gruff tones. “I was too late, and I had to jump on after you started, and I lost my hat getting over a fence trying to catch the train.”