“You did wrong.  He ought to know of this calamity.  Each day that does not give you tidings of the missing children lessens the chance of your ever recovering them.  I must say their disappearance is most mysterious.”

“So it is,” answered Aunt Jane suddenly.  “And in my heart of hearts,” she added, “I am greatly alarmed.”

“Well, if I were you, I would send a cablegram to the address most likely to find Mr. Delaney.”

“If you think it right.”

“I do.  It is the only thing to do.  He ought to come home immediately.  That little girl ought to have her father with her.”

“Then your opinion is that Iris is very ill?”

“She is on her way to be very ill.  At the same time, if her mind is relieved, she will be well in a week.  Under existing circumstances, however, there seems but small chance of that.  You ought to communicate with the father, and if I were you I would let the child do something herself—­even if that something is useless—­to try to recover her lost brother and sister.”

“What do you mean?  It really is impossible for the child to go over the country looking for Orion and Diana.  Oh, what trouble I brought upon myself when I undertook the care of my brother’s family!”

“I am very sorry for you, Mrs. Dolman, but I must give you my true opinion.  Please act on my suggestion; I am sure you will not regret it.  Communicate with the father in the quickest way possible, urge him to return to London without fail, and give little Iris something to do which will occupy and satisfy her mind.  In the meantime I will order her a tonic, but medicines are not what she needs.  She requires mind rest, and nothing else will make her well.”

Mrs. Dolman left Dr. Kent’s house, feeling very uncomfortable.  She took Iris home, was wonderfully gentle to her during the walk, and sent her up to the schoolroom with a message to Miss Ramsay to say that she was not to do any more lessons that morning.  Having got rid of Iris, she went immediately to have an interview with her husband in his study.

“Well, William,” she said, “I own myself beaten.”

“My dear Jane—­beaten?  In what way?”

“Here’s a pretty mess,” continued Mrs. Dolman; “Orion and Diana cannot be found, and Dr. Kent says that Iris is going to be very ill.”

“Iris going to be ill?” repeated Mr. Dolman.  “Has she caught anything taking.  If so, Jane, it would be our duty to separate the children immediately.”

“Oh, nonsense, William!  Where would she take a catching complaint in a wholesome, well-sanitated rectory like this?  Have you never heard of nerve troubles?”

Mr. Dolman opened his sleepy eyes and stared full at his wife.

“My dear,” he said, “I often thought that you had never heard of them.  So you really believe in them at last?”

“I am forced to when that pretty child is dying from the effects of them.”