That accomplished fruitlessly, she fled home again, in the
vain hope of finding the children in some accustomed haunt overlooked
in her first search. She began to be thoroughly alarmed now, and
thoroughly confused. With twitching hands and nervous shaking of the
head, she hurried through the vacant rooms, growing more and more
aimless in her quest. She climbed on a tall bureau and looked in a
tiny medicine cupboard; then under the benches and behind the charts
in the parlour; even under the kitchen sink, among the pots and pans,
and in the stove, where she poked tremulously among the ashes. Her
newfound wit seemed temporarily to have deserted her, and she was a
pitiable thing as she wandered about, her breath coming in long-drawn
sighs, with now and then a half-stifled sob.
Suddenly she darted into the street again. Perhaps they had followed
their aunt Cora. Distance had no place in her terror-stricken heart.
She traversed block after block, street after street, until she
reached Pocahontas Hall, a building and locality she knew well. She
crept softly up the main stairs, and from the landing slipped into
the gallery above. Mrs. Grubb sat in the centre of the stage, with a
glass of water, a bouquet of roses, and a bundle of papers and tracts
on the table by her side.
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