By degrees Lord Stuart brought the conversation around to the story Camille had told him of Sweetheart’s origin. He induced Norman to repeat the whole story to him.
“Have you kept the clothing the child wore when you saved her life?” he asked, eagerly.
“Yes; every little garment is in a trunk at Verelands, together with a water-colored photograph I had taken of her a few days after I took charge of her. I kept the things in the hope that they might some day assist in establishing her identity.”
“I hope you will not believe me idly curious if I ask you to show me those garments and that picture at some future day,” Lord Stuart said, in a strange voice.
Norman promised to gratify his curiosity without thinking that there was anything significant in it, so fully was his mind absorbed in his trouble; and presently Lord Stuart took leave, promising to return that night and watch with Norman through the crisis that the physician had predicted as imminent.
Then he returned to the hotel to his sister, having decided that it would be better to confide to her some of the facts he had learned, smoothing them over as best he could, lest her grief over poor Thea’s trouble should prostrate her upon a sick-bed, and so hinder him from assisting Norman in his troubles.
Lady Edith was cruelly shocked, but she bore it more bravely than he had expected.
“Dear brother, there is something in your face that tells me you are hopeful,” she cried, eagerly, through her starting tears.
“Yes, I am hopeful,” he answered, firmly. “All is not so dark as it appears, Edith, and if Norman’s mother only gets well, and we can find our precious runaways, I shall do all I can to help our noble friend unravel the web of fate that wicked Camille has woven around him. There are some precious threads in my grasp, but I must not tell you more just now. Only be brave and patient, my sister, and keep in your mind the old adage: ‘The darkest hour is just before the dawn.’”