ed minds seems
at times enough to swamp the understanding: yet there is a foreboding,
unsought, unwelcomed, combated, which, once felt, can never be
counterfeited; it carries with it some chill, unfathomed quality of
truth.

Lois knew now that she had had this foreboding all day.

XXI

"And you haven't heard _anything_ of him yet?"

"Not yet, Mrs. Alexander. I'm sorry--oh, so sorry--to have nothing more
to tell you. But I'm sure we'll hear something before morning."

Bailey Girard spoke with confidence, his eyes bent controllingly on
Lois, who trembled as she stood in the little hallway, looking up at
him, with Dosia behind her. This was the third night since that one when
Justin had failed to appear, and there had been no word from him in the
interim. Owing to that curious way that women have of waiting for events
to happen that will end suspense, rather than seeking to end it by any
unaccustomed action of their own, no inquiry had been made at the
Typometer Company until late in the afternoon of the next day, which had
been passed in the hourly expectation of hearing from Justin or seeing
him walk in. However, nobody at the company knew anything of Justin's
movements, except that he had left the office rather early the afternoon
before, and had been seen to take a car going up-town. It was presumable
that he had been called suddenly out of town, and had sent some word to
Mrs. Alexander that had miscarried.

That evening, however, Lois sent for Leverich, who was evidently
bothered; though bluffly and rather irritatingly making light of her
fears, he seemed to be both a little reluctant and a little
contemptuous.

"My dear Mrs. Alexander, you can't expect a fellow to be always tied to
his wife's apron-strings! He doesn't tell you everything. We like to
have a free foot once in a while. Why, my wife's glad when I get off for
a day or two--coaxes me to go away herself! And as for anything
happening to Alexander--well, an able-bodied man can look out for
himself every time; there's nothing in the world to be anxious about.
He's meant to wire to you and forgotten to do it, that's all. I did that
myself last year, when I was called away suddenly; but Myra didn't turn
a hair. She knew I was all right. And if I were you, Mrs.
Alexander,--this is just a tip,--I wouldn't go around telling _every_
one that he's gone off and you don't know where he is. It's the kind of
thing folks get talking about in all kinds of ways;