Miss Drayton laughed heartily.  The gift set aside so completely the lapse of time that she could fancy she saw Anne running to meet them, her tawny hair flying in the wind and Honey-Sweet clasped in her arms.

According to its habit, the Southern train was behind time.  Instead of early afternoon, it was twilight when Miss Drayton and Pat reached their station.  Dusk was deepening into drizzling night when their cab set them down at the gate of the ‘Home.’  They were ushered through the prim hall into the superintendent’s office.  Miss Farlow rose from her desk.

“You are in charge of this institution?” asked Miss Drayton.

“I am Miss Farlow, the superintendent.”

“I am Miss Drayton from Washington City.  This is my nephew, Patrick Patterson.  We are friends of Anne Lewis.”

“You have news of her?” asked Miss Farlow, starting eagerly forward.

“News?  We have come to see her—­to take her home with us—­to give her a home,” explained Miss Drayton.

Miss Farlow sank back on her chair, and buried her face in her hands.  The quiet, reserved woman was weeping bitterly.  “If we only had her, if we only had her!” she moaned.  “Poor little motherless, fatherless one!  Oh, it was my fault.  I failed in my duty.  I tried to do right by her.  God knows I did.”

“What is the matter?  What do you mean?” Miss Drayton was frightened.  Was the child dead? injured?  She dared not ask.  “Anne—­where is she?” she faltered at last.

“I don’t know.”  Miss Farlow was recovering her self-control and struggling to speak steadily.  “She started on a holiday trip with some friends.  On the way she disappeared.  Absolutely disappeared.  No one knows where nor when.  The nurse saw her last at Westcot, a few stations from Lynchburg.  The train was in the city before she was missed.”

“We will find her.  We must,” cried Miss Drayton.

Miss Farlow was hopeless.  “Not a stone has been left unturned.  That was two weeks ago.  The trainmen were all questioned.  Telegrams were sent to every station.  Mr. Marshall has spared neither trouble nor expense.  No one saw her get off.  There is no trace of her.  None.  If the earth had opened and swallowed her, she could not have disappeared more completely.  When you came in—­strangers—­and mentioned her name—­my one thought and hope was that you had found her.”  Miss Farlow sobbed.  “I think of her day and night.  A little lost child! homeless! friendless! all alone!”

“Don’t, don’t!” Pat put up his hand as if to ward off a blow.  He hurried from the room and crouched down in a corner of the cab, staring out into the wet night.  Somewhere in the darkness—­in the rain—­homeless—­friendless—­all alone—­was little Anne.

Surely there was some clew that they might follow to reach the child.  Miss Drayton and Pat went to ‘Roseland’ to hear the story from Mrs. Marshall’s own lips.  She could give them no help.  She and her husband had done all that was possible.  They would have done this for the child’s own sake.  They were doubly bound to do it for the sake of their sons who were heart-broken about Anne.  Arthur was always begging them to let Anne come back to see him.  Dunlop understood that she was lost and refused to be comforted.