A week passed away, and again it was the night of Mrs. de Vere’s weekly
reception.
The magnificent house was ablaze with light, and a band of music in the
broad hall filled the air with strains of sweetest music.
In the drawing-room the friends of the hostess--fair women and gallant
men--were dispersed in social groups, having just returned from the
supper-room.
Mrs. de Vere was looking stately and beautiful as usual in a costume of
trailing dead-white silk, with a necklace of pearls. The trying costume
was relieved by the warm hue of her eyes and hair, and her admirers
declared that she was looking her loveliest.
The mother-in-law, too, stately old lady that she was, came in for her
share of admiration. Her handsome, high-bred face, with its large, dark
eyes and frame of wavy, white hair, gave her a very distinguished air,
and her black silk dress with point-lace fichu and diamond pin were
very becoming.
But the handsome old face was clouded with pain and grief this evening,
for in some way she had become aware of her son’s suspicions, and her
loving heart was almost broken by his coldness. Her eyes followed him
wistfully as he stood apart from her, trying to do his part in the gay
scene, but with a brooding trouble in his deep, dark eyes, for the fate
of little Sweetheart rested heavily on his mind.
In the week that had elapsed since the child’s disappearance, no clew
to her whereabouts had been discovered. Unknown to any one, he had
placed a clever detective on her track, but as yet he had received no
tidings, and the suspense began to grow unbearable.
The lovely, winning child had wound herself around his heart in the two
days when she had been his sole care. He who had saved her life felt
himself responsible to her friends for her safe guardianship.
Already he had had inserted in several newspapers the story of the
finding of the child and her mother’s tragic death. He hoped by this
means to find Sweetheart’s friends.
But as days went by bringing no news from those to whom the child
belonged, he began to feel a sort of relief at the silence, for if any
one came to claim her, what was he to do, how answer for her loss?
To-night he was restless and ill at ease in spite of the fact that his
capricious wife had been all sunshine for a week. Somehow her smiles
and gayety seemed heartless, for she showed no anxiety, no sympathy
over the loss that weighed so heavily on his conscience.
He glanced at her as she stood, the center of an admiring group, tall,
stately, queen-like in her rich dress and jewels, and turning away
with a heavy sigh, sought the seclusion of the grounds, eager for a
few moments of solitude that he might drop the conventional smile that
social courtesy demanded.
How sweet and cool and silent it was out there in the beautiful
moonlight among the flowers! He drew a long breath and murmured:
“Ah, Little Sweetheart, where are you to-night? Are you living or dead?
What would I not give to feel your soft little arms about my neck
again, and see your sunny blue eyes looking into mine!”
Suddenly he saw the tall figure of a man advancing up the path toward
the house. He thought he recognized him, and went hastily forward. It
was, as he had thought, the detective he had employed to trace the
missing child.
The man lifted his hat with a cry of pleasure.
“Ah, Mr. de Vere, I should not have ventured in so late, but I saw
that you were entertaining company, so I thought I would wait about the
grounds in the hope of seeing you.”
“You have news?” the young man exclaimed, eagerly.
“Yes. I have found the little girl.”