put his great long arm
over the pram and snatched her out." And, sitting on the bed, she gave
way utterly.

Gyp stood still. Nemesis for her happiness? That vengeful wretch, Rosek!
This was his doing. And she said:

"Oh, Betty, she must be crying!"

A fresh outburst of moans was the only answer. Gyp remembered suddenly
what the lawyer had said over a year ago--it had struck her with terror
at the time. In law, Fiorsen owned and could claim her child. She could
have got her back, then, by bringing a horrible case against him, but
now, perhaps, she had no chance. Was it her return to Fiorsen that they
aimed at--or the giving up of her lover? She went over to her mirror,
saying:

"We'll go at once, Betty, and get her back somehow. Wash your face."

While she made ready, she fought down those two horrible fears--of
losing her child, of losing her lover; the less she feared, the better
she could act, the more subtly, the swifter. She remembered that she had
somewhere a little stiletto, given her a long time ago. She hunted it
out, slipped off its red-leather sheath, and, stabbing the point into a
tiny cork, slipped it beneath her blouse. If they could steal her baby,
they were capable of anything. She wrote a note to her father, telling
him what had happened, and saying where she had gone. Then, in a taxi,
they set forth. Cold water and the calmness of her mistress had removed
from Betty the main traces of emotion; but she clasped Gyp's hand hard
and gave vent to heavy sighs.

Gyp would not think. If she thought of her little one crying, she knew
she would cry, too. But her hatred for those who had dealt this cowardly
blow grew within her. She took a resolution and said quietly:

"Mr. Summerhay, Betty. That's why they've stolen our darling. I suppose
you know he and I care for each other. They've stolen her so as to make
me do anything they like."

A profound sigh answered her.

Behind that moon-face with the troubled eyes, what conflict was in
progress--between unquestioning morality and unquestioning belief in
Gyp, between fears for her and wishes for her happiness, between the
loyal retainer's habit of accepting and the old nurse's feeling of being
in charge? She said faintly:

"Oh dear! He's a nice gentleman, too!" And suddenly, wheezing it out
with unexpected force: "To say truth, I never did hold you was rightly
married to that foreigner in that horrible registry place--no music,
no flowers, no blessin' a