But no Nancy ran out to greet them, nor was she in sight when they entered the hall.

In sudden terror Dorothy had thrown herself down into a cushioned chair, and no words of comfort could stop her sobbing or stay her hot tears.  That Nancy was stolen, never to return, she earnestly believed, and although Mrs. Dainty tried to quiet her, and to assure her that her playmate would doubtless soon be found, she only shook her head, and cried at the thought that her Nancy was not with her.

The maid was sent to the cottage to see if any accident had befallen her which kept her there, while the butler, in the interest which he felt, forgot his dignity and begged permission to call at the homes of her little friends to learn if she were there.

He soon returned with the news that Mollie and Flossie had played with her all the forenoon, and had promised to go over to the cottage after lunch; that they did so, but they found no one to play with, and after waiting for some time, they ran unable to understand why Nancy had not been waiting to greet them.

Then the maid entered.

“If ye please, Mrs. Grayson, I found this paper on yer table.  I do’no’ what it is, fer I’d not be readin’ what wa’n’t writ ter me, but wonderin’ if it was writ by Miss Nancy, I’ve brought it ter ye.”

Dorothy sat with wide eyes and pale cheeks, her slender fingers tightly clasping the arms of the chair.  Could the note be from Nancy?  Would it tell where she was?

Mrs. Dainty leaned over Aunt Charlotte’s chair, and together they read the hastily pencilled note.

“Dear Aunt Charlotte:—­I guess you remember Sue, I’ve forgotten what her other name is, but she’s the girl that worked for Uncle Steve, and was so good to me when I was sick.  She called to-day, and says my aunt is sick and thinks she must see me, and you needn’t think I’m stolen, because Uncle Steve is dead, so he couldn’t steal me again.

“My aunt doesn’t live in the city.  Sue meant to ask you if I could go, but you were away, and she said I ought to go so I did.  I’ll be right home as soon as my aunt has told me what Sue says she’s got to tell.

    “Lovingly,

    “NANCY.”

“The dear child has not told us where her aunt lives, only that she is not in the city.  What are we to do?”

Aunt Charlotte’s face was pale as she asked the question, and the hand which held the note shook so that the bit of paper rustled like a leaf as it lay against her silk gown.

“We can do nothing to-night,” Mrs. Dainty replied, “but to-morrow at daybreak the search must commence.  I try to find comfort in the fact that the girl, Sue, seemed to be honest, and certainly she was straightforward if she intended to ask us if she might take Nancy to her aunt, and to insist that she write a note explaining her absence.”

“I am sure that the girl’s intentions are honest, but I am not so sure of the woman who sent her to get Nancy.  Steve Ferris is dead, but while it was he who once stole Nancy, it was his wife who helped him to keep her.  I am frightened, and I can not believe that she has sent for her only for the pleasure of seeing her.”