“Sweetheart,” he whispered, sitting beside her and taking her hands in his, “do you love and trust me very much indeed?”

The wondering blue eyes smiled upon him, and small fingers threaded his black hair.

“I not only love you, Dear, but trust you always.  I don’t want to seem obstinate and impatient, Floyd, but if I could see my babies just from the door I should be happy.  And it won’t hurt me.  I haven’t seen them in three whole weeks.”

During the long, agonizing silence the young mother gathered something of his distress.

“Floyd, look at me!”

Slowly he lifted his white face and looked straight at her.

“Floyd, Floyd, you’ve tears in your eyes!  I didn’t mean to hurt you—­”

She stopped speaking, and the pain in his heart reached hers.

“Floyd,” she cried again, “is there anything the matter with—­with—­”

“Hush, Fledra darling, little wife, will you be brave for my sake and for the sake of—­her?”

His eyes were still full of tears as he touched the bundle on the bed.

“But my babies!” moaned Mrs. Vandecar.  “If there isn’t anything the matter with my babies—­”

“I want to speak to you about our children, Dear.”

“They are dead?” Mrs. Vandecar asked dully.  “My babies are dead?”

At first Vandecar could scarcely trust himself to speak; but, curbing his emotion with an effort, he answered, “No, no; but gone for a little while.”

His arms were tightly about her, and time and again he pressed his lips to hers.

“Gone where?” she demanded.

“Fledra, you must not look that way!  Listen to me, and I will tell you about it.  I promise, Fledra.  Don’t, don’t!  You must not shake so!  Please!  Then you do not trust me to bring them back to you?”

His last appeal brought the tense arms more limply about his neck.  She had believed him absolutely when he said they were not dead.

“Am I to have them tonight?”

“No, dear love.”

“Where are they gone?”

“The cradles were empty after little Mildred—­”

“They have been gone for—­for three weeks!” she wailed.  “Floyd, who took them?  Were they kidnapped?  Have you had any letters asking for money?”

Vandecar shook his head.

“And no one has come to the house?  Tell me, Floyd!  I can’t bear it!  Someone has taken my babies!”

She raised herself on her arm wildly, fever brightening the anguished eyes.  The husband with bowed head remained praying for them and especially for her.  Another cry from the wounded mother aroused him.

“Floyd, they have been taken for something besides money.  Tell me, Dearest!  Don’t you know?”

Faithfully he told her that he could think of no human being who would deal him a blow like this; that he had thought his life over from beginning to end, but no new truth came out of his mental search.