But Miss Stone did not look at him. "Drive to the Greek's. You
know--where she went before." She would not give herself time to
think--sitting a little forward on the seat--of course the child had
gone to the Greek--to Mr. Achilles.... They should find her in a minute.
There was nothing else to think about--no shadowy fear that had leaped
to meet the look in James's face when it turned to her. The child would
be there--

The carriage drew up before the shop, with its glowing lines of fruit
under the striped awning, and Miss Stone had descended before the wheel
scraped the curb, her glance searching the door and the dim room beyond.
She halted on the threshold, peering in.

A man came from the rear of the room, his hands outstretched to serve
her. The dark, clear face, with its Greek lines, and the eyes that
looked out at her held a welcome. "You do me honour," he said. "I hope
Madame is well--and the little Lady--?" Then he stopped. Something
in Miss Stone's face held him--and his hand groped a little, reaching
toward her--"You--tell me--" he said.

But she did not speak, and the look in her face grew very still.

He turned sharply--calling into the shop behind him, and a boy came
running, his eyes flashing a quick laugh, his teeth glinting.

"I go," said the man, with quick gesture--"You keep shop--I go." He had
taken off his white apron and seized a hat. He touched the woman on the
shoulder. "Come," he said.

She looked at him with dazed glance and put her hand to her head. "I
cannot think," she said slowly.

He nodded with steady glance. "When we go, you tell--we find her," he
said.

She started then and looked at him--and the clear colour came to her
face. "You know--where--she is!"

But he shook his head. "We find her," he repeated. "You tell."

And as they threaded the streets--into drays and past clanging cars and
through the tangle of wheels and horses and noise--and she told him the
story, shouting it above the rumble and hurry of the streets, into the
dark ear that bent beside her.

The look in Achilles's face deepened, but its steady quiet did not
change. "We find her," he repeated each time, and Miss Stone's heart
caught the rhythm of it, under the hateful noise. "We find her."

Then the great house on the lake faced them.

She looked at him a minute in doubt. Her face broke--"She may have
come--home?" she said.

"I go with you," said Achilles.

There was no sign of life, but the door s