“You mean I—I am actually Phyllis Gale? That—that there is no mistake?”
He nodded, not yet able to put It more clearly into words. She swayed as though about to faint, and Fairbain caught her, but she slipped through his arms, and fell upon her knees, her face buried in her hands upon the chair.
“Oh, thank God,” she sobbed, “thank God! I know who I am! I know who I am!”
Chapter XXXI. The Search for the Missing
The note of unrestrained joy of relief in the woman's voice rang through the room, stilling all else, and causing those who heard to forget for an instant the sterner purpose of their gathering. Fairbain bent over her, like a fat guardian angel, patting her shoulder, her eyes so blurred with tears as to be practically sightless, yet still turned questioningly upon Waite. The sheriff was first to recover speech, and a sense of duty.
“Then this lets Miss Maclaire out of the conspiracy charge,” he said, gravely, “but it doesn't make it any brighter for Hawley so far as I can see—there's a robbery charge against him if nothing else. Any one here know where the fellow is?”
For a moment no one answered, although Keith took a step forward, reminded instantly of Hope's predicament. Before he could speak, however, Christie looked up, with swift gesture pushing back her loosened hair.
“He was to have met me at the theatre to-night,” she said, her voice trembling, “but was not there when I came out; he—he said he had important news for me.”
“And failed to show up—did he send no message?”