"No, No, No I can not. Oh, I will not!" And before he could quite understand her sudden rebellion, she rushed from the room and into the hall, and soon her rapid footsteps died away in the distance.
He stood as she had left him, not comprehending that she had gone. "Am I awake?" he whispered dreamily putting his hands together, and gazing at them stupidly, as if to assure himself they were his own, "She has gone? Gone, gone! Mildred—but—why?" He felt sadly weak, for the strain was beginning to tell upon him.
In a half stupor, he finally found a seat in the office chair, and mechanically let his gaze wander out over the city. After a time, it rested upon a street that led down to the wide thoroughfare. His eye soon caught sight of a figure hurrying along the walk. He leaned forward and observed it carefully, and when it reached another street, he made out that it was Mildred. He watched her as she crossed quickly to the center where a car was moving, and boarded it. In a moment it had disappeared down the street.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Slave Market
Days passed and still he waited, still he watched, and still he listened, but in vain. And always he moved about distractedly. He had no plans, he had no hopes now, but was simply moving in a circle. At times he would utter stupidly, "Where is she? Where is Mildred?" And after that he would become silent; he would be thinking—yes, always thinking.
He ransacked the office; he made inquiries to ascertain where she stayed—but in vain. He knew not how to look for her; he knew not where to begin. But the work in the office—the result of her ability—continued to increase. Mail was brought four times a day, and in each, letters from far and near would contain money orders, express checks, cheerful letters, and still orders for more books. But they gave him no cheer, notwithstanding he mechanically went about the work, with the system he saw she had created.
And as the days went by, he grew more anxious, more worried in regard to her fate, and he grew determined to find her, if he could.
"Poor little girl. Poor little Mildred. Why has she done all this? And she is alone somewhere—always alone—and I know not where."