oodsome on
the following day. Mrs. Filmer promised to remain with the sick child
until her return; but she urged Rose to make all haste possible, as
there were various matters in the Filmer household to attend to ere
Mr. Filmer and herself could comfortably leave for Europe on the
Saturday's steamer. With these considerations in view, she was annoyed
at Rose for positively refusing the carriage. "I want to walk, mamma,"
she said crossly; "and if I get tired, I will take the street cars."

"But you may be delayed by them, and time is precious now."

Then she kissed her mother affectionately, and stooped to little
Emma's cot, and with a long, soft pressure of her lips to the lips of
the fragile-looking child, she went away, promising to be home
certainly before noon. But she was not home at one o'clock; and Mrs.
Filmer and Antony ate their lunch together, both of them with a hot,
angry heart at Rose's indifference. At two o'clock Rose was still
absent, and a singular feeling of alarm had taken the place of anger.

"What keeps Rose so long, mother?" asked Antony, in an anxious voice.

"I do not know, Antony. She could have been back in an hour. It is
four hours since she left."

"Can you think of anything? Have you not some idea where she is?"

"She was very tired and low-spirited. She may have gone to see her
father, and then--being so tired--have taken a glass of wine, and lain
down to rest in her own old room. I can think of nothing else."

"She would not be likely to make calls?"

"Make calls so early! in a shopping costume! and without a carriage!
She would not think of such a thing."

"May she have gone to Yanna's?"

"I should say not. She does not care for Yanna as she used to do."

"Will you go home and see if she is in her old room resting? I have a
strange, unhappy feeling about her."

"I will go at once. I shall find her at home, no doubt."

But though Mrs. Filmer spoke confidently, she was by no means sure of
her affirmation. She went home with a trembling, sick heart, and found
that Rose had not been there at all. For a moment or two she was
unable to think or to act, and she was going blindly to Mr. Filmer's
study when she met Harry.

"Oh, my dear boy!" she cried, "you are just the one person needed. I
am almost distracted, Harry. Rose went out this morning at ten
o'clock; and she has not come home, and we are wretched about her."

Harry took out his watch. "It is not quite three, mother. Ros