That very night Dorian had a strange dream, one unusual to him because he remembered it so distinctly the day after. He dreamed that he saw Mildred in what might well be called the heavenly land. She seemed busy in sketching a beautiful landscape and as he approached her, she looked up to him and smiled. Then, as she still gazed at him, her countenance changed and with concern in her voice, she asked, "Where's Carlia?"
The scene vanished, and that was all of the dream. In the dim consciousness of waking he seemed to hear Carlia's voice calling to him as it did that winter night when he had left her, not heeding. The call thrilled his very heart again:
"Dorian, Dorian, come back—come back!"
CHAPTER SIXTEEN.
The second week in December Dorian went into action in search of Carlia Duke. He acknowledged to himself that it was like searching for the proverbial needle in the haystack, but inaction was no longer possible.
Carlia very likely had no large amount of money with her, so she would have to seek employment. She could have hidden herself in the city, but Dorian reasoned that she would be fearful of being found, so would have gone to some nearby town; but which one, he had no way of knowing. He visited a number of adjacent towns and made diligent enquiries at hotels, stores, and some private houses. Nothing came of this first week's search.
A number of mining towns could easily be reached by train from the city. In these towns many people came and went without notice or comment. Dorian spent nearly a week in one of them, but he found no clue. He went to another. The girl would necessarily have to go to a hotel at first, so the searcher examined a number of hotel registers. She had been gone now about six months, so the search had to be in some books long since discarded, much to the annoyance of the clerks.
Dorian left the second town for the third which was situated well up in the mountains. The weather was cold, and the snow lay two feet deep over the hills and valleys. He became disheartened at times, but always he reasoned that he must try a little longer; and then one day in a hotel register dated nearly five months back, he found this entry:
"Carlia Davis."
Dorian's heart gave a bound when he saw the name. Carlia was not a common name, and the handwriting was familiar. But why Davis? He examined the signature closely. The girl, unexperienced in the art of subterfuge, had started to write her name, and had gotten to the D in Duke, when the thought of disguise had come to her. Yes; there was an unusual break between that first letter and the rest of the name. Carlia had been here. He was on the right track, thank the Lord!