"What was the matter?"
She told him the symptoms.
"Yes; nerves, of course. Fretting after the child."
"You know. The American doctor did not. Well, and while I was lying in my dark room, I had a dream. It came again. It kept on coming. A dream which told me that I should see my child again if I came to London. So my husband brought me over."
"And you think that you will find your child?"
"I am sure that I shall. It is the only thing that I have prayed for. Oh, you need not warn me about excitement; I know the danger. I don't care so very much about living; but I want that dream to come true. I must find the boy."
"You might as well look for him at the bottom of the sea. Why, my dear lady, your boy was intended to take the place of a dead child; I am sure he was. I know nothing at all about him. There is no clue—no chance of finding the child."
"Do you know nothing?"
"Upon my honour, madam, I cannot even guess. The lady did not give me her name, and I made no inquiries."
"Oh!" Her face fell. "I had such hopes. At the theatre, yesterday, I saw a young man who might have been my son—tall, fair, blue-eyed. Oh, do you know nothing?"