Singularly enough, the child, from this time, showed a restless desire to get away from the house. Instead of creeping into lonely rooms by herself, she would seek the front windows and door, and stand gazing into the street, her eyes wandering up and down among the passengers, as if in search of some one. When taken from the door or windows, she would resist, and sometimes fall into passionate fits, that left her in a strange stupor. Three times within a week she attempted to steal away; and once she succeeded in getting off, but was met by her father, who happened to be returning home, when only a few blocks distant. To his inquiries as to where she was going, she replied, “To the Square.” After a slight opposition, she concluded to go back with him, but was moody and ill-natured for the rest of the day.
So it continued for weeks, with but little change for the better. Mrs. Dainty’s fears were all the while excited, and she never felt comfortable a moment when Madeline was away from her.
One day, in taking her usual after-dinner sleep, Mrs. Dainty was visited by a frightful dream about Madeline, so vivid in its character as to awaken her. Her first impulse, the moment bewildered thoughts ran clear, was to seek for her child. “Madeline!” she called, going to her chamber-door. For a moment or two she stood listening, then called, in a louder voice, “Madeline! Madeline!”
“Madeline!” It was the voice of the oldest daughter, calling from the library.
“Agnes, where is Madeline?”
“I do not know,” replied Agnes, coming toward her mother. “I heard her and George up in the nursery not long ago. Perhaps she is there. George!”
A pair of rapid feet responded noisily to the call.
“George, where is your sister?”
“Don’t know,” answered the boy.
“Isn’t she in the nursery?”