Dorian, in the simplicity of his mind, did not yet realize what the woman was talking about.  He let her continue.

“We had one of the best doctors in the city ‘tend her, an’ I did the nursing myself which I consider was as good as any of the new-fangled trained nurses can do; but the poor girl had been under a strain so long that the baby died soon after it was born.”

“The baby?” gasped Dorian.

“Yes,” went on the woman, all unconsciously that the listener had not fully understood.  “Yes, it didn’t live long, which, I suppose, in such cases, is a blessing.”

Dorian stared at the woman, then in a dazed way, he looked about the plain farm-house furnishings, some details of which strangely impressed him.  The woman went on talking, which seemed easy for her, now she had fairly started; but Dorian did not hear all she said.  One big fact was forcing itself into his brain, to the exclusion of all minor realities.

“She left a month ago,” Dorian heard the woman say when again he was in a condition to listen.  “We did our best to get her to stay, for we had become fond of her.  Somehow, she got the notion that the scoundrel who had betrayed her had found her hiding place, an’ she was afraid.  So she left.”

“Where did she go?  Did she tell you?”

“No; she wouldn’t say.  The fact is, she didn’t know herself.  I’m sure of that.  She just seemed anxious to hide herself again.  Poor girl.”  The woman wiped a tear away with the corner of her apron.

Dorian arose, thanked her, and went out.  He looked about the snow-covered earth and the clouds which threatened storm.  He walked on up to the road back to the town.  He was benumbed, but not with cold.  He went into his room, and, although it was mid-afternoon, he did not go out any more that day.  He sat supinely on his bed.  He paced the floor.  He looked without seeing out of the window at the passing crowds.  He could not think at all clearly.  His whole being was in an uproar of confusion.  The hours passed.  Night came on with its blaze of lights in the streets.  What could he do now?  What should he do now?

“Oh, God, help me,” he prayed, “help me to order my thoughts, tell me what to do.”

If ever in his life Dorian had need of help from higher power, it was now.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

Dorian had not found Carlia Duke; instead, he had found something which appeared to him to be the end of all things.  Had he found her dead, in her virginal purity, he could have placed her, with Mildred, safely away in his heart and his hopes; but this!...  What more could he now do?  That he did not take the first train home was because he was benumbed into inactivity.