The poor creature uttered a low wail, and put a handkerchief to her old eyes.
“But, bless the Lord!” she added in a more cheerful tone, “I will go to her—soon.”
For some minutes I knew not what to say in reply, by way of comforting my poor old friend. The case seemed indeed so hopeless. I could only press her hand. But my nature is naturally buoyant, and ready to hope against hope, even when distress assails myself.
“Do not say there is no hope, granny,” said I at last, making an effort to be cheerful. “You know that with God all things are possible. It may be that this missionary did not go the right way to work in his search, however good his intentions might have been. I confess I cannot imagine how it is possible that any girl should disappear in this way, unless she had deliberately gone off with some one.”
“No, John, my Edie would not have left me thus of her own free will,” said the old woman, with a look of assurance which showed that her mind was immovably fixed as to that point.
“Well, then,” I continued, “loving you as you say she did, and being incapable of leaving you deliberately and without a word of explanation, it follows that—that—”
I stopped, for at this point no plausible reason for the girl’s disappearance suggested itself.
“It follows that she must have been killed,” said the old woman in a low broken tone.
“No, granny, I will not admit that.—Come, cheer up; I will do my best to make inquiries about her, and as I have had considerable experience in making investigations among the poor of London, perhaps I may fall on some clew. She would be sure to have made inquiries, would she not, at your old lodging, if she had felt disposed to return?”
“Felt disposed!” repeated Mrs Willis, with a strange laugh. “If she could return, you mean.”