They came too late for the table d’hote, and partook of an extemporised meal in their sitting-room immediately on their arrival, as the start was to be early.  Then it was that Janet missed her bag, her precious bag!  Delrio was sent all over the house to make inquiries whether it had been taken to any other person’s room, but in vain.  Mrs. Evelyn said she had last seen it when they took their seats on board the steamer.

“Yes,” added Elvira, “you left it there when you went to walk up and down with that gentleman.”

“Then why did not you take care of it?  I don’t mean Elfie-—nobody expects her to be of any use; but you, Babie?”

“You never told me!” gasped Babie, aghast.

“You ought to have seen; but you never think of anything but your own chatter.”

“It is a very inconvenient loss,” said Mrs. Evelyn, kindly.  “Have you sent to the station?”

“I shall, as soon as I am satisfied that it is not here.  I can send out for the things I want for use; but there are books and papers of importance, and my keys.”

“The key of mother’s davenport?” cried Babie.  “Was it there?  O Janet, Janet!”

“You should have attended to it, then,” said Janet sharply.

Delrio knocked at the door with an account of her unsuccessful mission, and Sir James, little as the young lady deserved it, concerned himself about sending to the station, and if the bag were not forthcoming there, telegraphing to Boulogne the first thing in the morning.

While Janet was writing particulars and volubly instructing the commissionaire, Mrs. Evelyn saw Babie’s eyes full of tears, and her throat swelling with suppressed sobs.  She held out an arm and drew the child to her, saying kindly, “I am sure you would have taken care of the bag if you had been asked, my dear.”

“It’s not that, thank you,” said Babie, laying her head on the kind shoulder, “for I don’t think it was my fault; but mother will be so sorry for her key.  It is the key of her davenport, and father’s picture is there, and grandmamma’s, and the card with all our hairs, and she will be so sorry.”

And Babie cried the natural tears of a tired child, whom anything would overcome after her long absence from her mother.  Mrs. Evelyn saw how it was, and, as Delrio was entirely occupied with the hue and cry, she herself took the little girl away, and helped her to bed, tenderly soothing and comforting her, and finding her various needments.  Among them were her “little books,” but they could not be found, and her eyes looked much too tired to use them, especially as the loss again brought the ready moisture.  “My head feels so funny, I can’t think of anything,” she said.

“Shall I do as I used when Sydney was little?” and Mrs. Evelyn knelt down with her, and said one or two short prayers.

Babie murmured her thanks, nestled up to her and kissed her, but added imploringly, “My Psalm.  Armie and I always say our Psalm at bed-time, and think of each other.  He did it out on the moraine.”