WHEN Susan returned from carrying Bessie Rider home, she was quite
surprised to find the front-door ajar, as she thought she had been
sure of latching it in going out; but, without stopping to make any
inquiries of the other servants, she ran up the stairs, took off her
shawl and hood, and then went to the drawing-room for 'Toinette. The
room was empty; and Susan at once concluded that Mrs. Legrange had
taken the child to her own chamber while she dressed for dinner, as
'Toinette often begged to be present at this ceremony, and was often
indulged.
"I'll just ready up the nursery a bit before I fetch her," said
Susan, looking round the littered room; and so it was half an
hour before she knocked at Mrs. Legrange's chamber-door with,
"I came for Miss 'Toinette, ma'am."
"Come in, Susan. Miss 'Toinette, did you say? She is down in the
drawing-room by herself, and you had better put her to bed at once.
She must be very tired."
Alas! the tender mother little guessed how tired!
Without reply, Susan closed the door, and ran down stairs; an uneasy
feeling creeping over her, although she would not yet confess it
even to herself.
The drawing-room was still empty; but James had lighted the gas and
stirred the fire, so that every corner was as light as day. In every
window-recess, under every couch and sofa, behind every large chair,
even in the closet of the ‚tagŠre, Susan searched for her little
charge, hoping, praying to find her asleep, or roguishly hiding, as
she had known her to do before. But all in vain: no merry face, no
sunny curls, no laughing eyes, peeped out from recess or corner or
hiding place; and Susan's ruddy face grew pale even to the lips.
She flew to the dining-room, and searched it as narrowly as she had
done the drawing-room.
No: she was not there!
The library, the bath-room, the chambers, the nursery again, the
servants' chambers, the kitchen, laundry, pantries, the very cellar!
No, no, no! 'Toinette was in none of them. 'Toinette was not in any
nook of the whole wide house, that, without her, seemed so empty and
desolate. Standing in one of the upper entries, mute and bewildered,
Susan heard a latch-key turn in the front-door lock, and presently
Mr. Legrange's pleasant voice speaking in the hall. A sudden hope
rushed into Susan's heart. The child might possibly have gone to
meet her father, and was now returned with him. She rushed down
stairs as fast as her feet could carry her; but in the hall stood
only Mr. Legrange, talking to James, who had some message to deliver
to him.
As Susan flew down the stairs, the master turned and looked at her
in some surprise.
"Be careful, Susan: you nearly fell then. Is any thing the matter?"
"Miss 'Toinette, sir: I can't find her, high nor low!" gasped Susan.
"Can't find her! Good heavens! you don't mean to say she's lost!"
exclaimed the father, turning, and staring at the nurse in dismay.
"Oh! I don't know, sir, I'm sure; but I can't find her," cried
Susan, wildly bursting into tears.
"Where is her mother? Where is Mrs. Legrange, James?"
"I don't know, sir, I'm sure," said the footman blankly.
"She's in her own room, sir; and I'm afraid to go to tell her,
she'll feel that bad. And indeed it wasn't any fault of mine: I only
went"--
"Hush!" exclaimed Mr. Legrange, who had heard his wife close her
chamber-door and begin to descend the stairs, and did not wish her
to be frightened.
"Wait here a moment, Susan," added he, and, running up stairs,
entered the drawing-room just after his wife, who stood before the
fire, looking so pretty and so gay in her blue silk-dress, with a
ribbon of the same shade twisted among her golden curls, that her
husband shrunk back, dreading to ask the question that must so shock
and startle her. But Mrs. Legrange had caught sight of him, and,
running to the door, opened it suddenly, crying,--
"Come in, you silly boy! Are you playing bo-beep? I don't do such
things since my daughter is six years old, I would have you to
understand."
Mr. Legrange, forcing a laugh and a careless tone, came forward as
she spoke, and, stooping to kiss her, asked,--
"And where is your daughter, my love?"
"'Toinette? Oh! I suppose she is with Susan," began Mrs. Legrange
carelessly; and then, as something in her husband's voice or manner
attracted her attention, she drew back, and hurriedly looked into
his face, crying,--
"O Paul! what is it? What has happened? Is 'Toinette hurt? Where is
she?"
"Be quiet, darling; don't be alarmed. Wait till we know more.--Susan,
come up here," called Mr. Legrange; and Susan, with her face buried
in her apron, and sobbing as if her heart would break, crept timidly
up the stairs and into the room.
At sight of her, Mrs. Legrange turned pale, and clung to her husband
for support.
"O Susan! what is it? Tell me quick!"
"She's gone, ma'am, and I don't know where!" sobbed the nurse.
"Gone! What, 'Toinette gone! Lost, do you mean?" cried the mother
wildly, while her pale cheeks flushed scarlet, and her soft eyes
glittered with terror.
"Oh! I don't know, ma'am; but I can't find her."
"Lost! What, 'Toinette lost!" repeated the mother in the same wild
tone, and trying to tear herself away from her husband's detaining
arms. But, soothing her as he would a child, Mr. Legrange, by a few
calm and well-directed questions, drew from both mistress and maid
all that was to be known of 'Toinette's disappearance, and, when the
whole was told, said,--
"Well, Susan, you are not to blame. You merely obeyed your
mistress's directions, and need not feel that this misfortune is at
all your fault. No doubt 'Toinette has gone out by herself, and is,
for the moment, lost, but, I trust, will soon be found. You may go
at once to the houses of the neighbors whose children she has been
in the habit of visiting. Be as quick as you can about it; and, if
you do not find her, come directly home, and I will warn the police.
Send James up to me as you go down."
"Yes, sir," said Susan, a little comforted; and, as she closed the
door, Mr. Legrange returned to his wife, and, clasping her tenderly
in his arms, kissed the burning cheeks and glittering eyes that
frightened him, until the dangerous calm broke up in a gracious
flood of tears and wild sobs of, "My child!--O my little child!"
"Hush, darling, hush! You must be calm, or I cannot leave
you,--cannot go to look for her. I will not leave you so, even to
search for her."
"Yes, yes, go! I will try--O Paul, Paul! do go and look for her!"
"When I see you calmer, love; not till then;" and the tender-hearted
man could himself have wept to see the heroic efforts of that
delicate nature to control itself and put his fears to rest. He
still was soothing her, when, with a tap at the door, entered James,
followed by Susan, who hurriedly announced that 'Toinette was not to
be heard of at any of the neighbors, and asked where she should go
next.
"Nowhere! Stay here and attend to Mrs. Legrange until I return. I
shall go at once to the police-station. James, you know where Mr.
Burroughs lives?"
"Yes, sir."
"Go to him. Or stay: he is dining with a friend to-day. Here is the
direction. Go to this house at once; see Mr. Burroughs; tell him
that 'Toinette is lost, and beg him to come up here directly. Keep
your eyes open as you go: you may possibly meet her yourself. Hurry,
man; hurry for your life!"
"Yes, sir," replied the man heartily; and Mr. Legrange returned to
his wife, who was walking quickly up and down the room, her hands
clasped tight before her, her lips rigid, and her eyes set.
"There, darling, I have sent for Tom to help us; and no one could do
it better than he will. I am going to the police myself. Take
courage, dearest, and hope, as I do, that, before morning, we shall
have our pet back, safe and sound. But you--O Fanny! how can I leave
you so? Try, try, for my sake, for 'Toinette's sake, to be calm and
hopeful."
"Yes--I--will--try!" sobbed the poor mother; and Mr. Legrange, not
daring to trust himself to look at her again, lest he also should
break down, hastened from the room.
But morning came, and night, and yet another morning and as the
father, the mother, the cousin who was almost brother to both, the
assistants, and poor broken-hearted Susan, looked into each other's
wan, worn faces, they found nothing there but discouragement, and
almost hopeless despair.
Mrs. Legrange who had not eaten or slept since 'Toinette's
disappearance, was already too ill to sit up, but insisted upon
remaining dressed, and waiting in the drawing-room for the reports
that some one of those engaged in the search brought almost hourly
to the house. Her husband, looking like the ghost of his former
self, wandered incessantly from his own home to the police-office
and back again, each time through some new street, and peering
curiously into the face of every child he met, that more than one of
them ran frightened home to tell their mothers that they had met a
crazy man, who stared at them as if he would eat them up.
And yet no clew, no faintest trace, of the little 'Toinette, who lay
tossing in her fever-dreams upon good Mrs. Ginniss's humble bed,
while the young doctor day by day shook his head more sadly over
her, and said to his own heart that it was only by God's special
mercy she could ever rise from that cruel illness.
Read next: CHAPTER XI - A TRACE AND A SEARCH
Read previous: CHAPTER IX - THE NIGHT-WATCH
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