"Lora is missing," she answered, in a broken voice. "She has been ill, and last night she wandered in her mind. This morning while mamma and I slept she must have stolen away in her delirium. Mamma was prostrated by the shock, and I came out alone to find her."
"You should have left the child at home. It will perish in the rain and cold," he said, looking at her keenly.
She shivered and grew white as death, but pressed the babe closer to her breast that the warmth of her own heart might protect its tender life.
"Why did you bring the child?" he persisted, still watching her keenly.
"I will not tell you," she answered, defiantly, but with a little shiver of dread. What if he had seen her when she found it on the sands?
"Very well; you shall not stay out longer with it, at least. Granted that we are deadly foes—still I have a man's heart in my breast. I would not willingly see a woman perish. Go home, Xenie, and care for your mother. I will undertake the search for Lora. If I find her you shall know it immediately. I promise you."
He took the heavy cloak from his own shoulders and fastened it around her shivering form.
She did not seem to notice the action, but stood still mechanically, her dark, tearful eyes fixed on the mist-crowned sea. He followed her gaze, and said in a quick tone of horror:
"You do not believe she is in there? It would be too horrible!"