“I do not care what becomes of it so that it never crosses my path again!” she thought, vindictively, and just then she lifted her eyes and saw her husband before her.
“Why didn’t you bring the little one with you?” she asked, with pretended anxiety.
“Camille, I do not know what to think. Little Sweetheart is gone. She disappeared in some mysterious fashion last right,” he answered, with a groan.
“Norman!” amazedly.
“It is true,” he said. “I found my mother in the greatest distress. She had slept later than usual this morning, and when she awoke the child was gone.”
“Gone!” she echoed, faintly.
“Yes. She thought at first that the little one had slipped out and gone down-stairs, but on making inquiries she could find no trace of her anywhere.”
“I would have the grounds searched. She may be a somnambulist. Perhaps she has wandered off somewhere in her sleep,” suggested his wife.
“Perhaps so,” he said, then he looked at her keenly. “Camille, I am tormented with a dreadful suspicion!” he exclaimed.
“A sus—picion!” she faltered, growing deathly pale.