"Why do you ask ?" "There are two theories of his absence," said the policeman.

"One is that he has been set upon in the street, robbed and murdered, and the other that, stupefied and bewildered by drink, he lost himself in the storm, and lies somewhere frozen to death and hidden under the snow." A cry of pain broke from the lips of Mrs.Birtwell, and she came hurrying down stairs.

Too well did she remember the condition of Archie when she last saw him--Archie, the only son of her oldest and dearest friend, the friend she had known and loved since girlhood.

He was not fit to go out alone in that cold and stormy night; and a guilty sense of responsibility smote upon her heart and set aside all excuses.
"What about his mother ?" she asked, anxiously.

"How is she bearing this dreadful suspense ?" "I can't just say, ma'am," was answered, "but I think they've had the doctor with her all night--that is, all the last part of the night.
She's lying in a faint, I believe." "Oh, it will kill her! Poor Frances! Poor Frances!" wailed out Mrs.
Birtwell, wringing her hands and beginning to cry bitterly.
"The police have been on the lookout for the last two or three hours, but can't find any trace of him," said the officer.
"Oh, he'll turn up all right," broke in Mr.Birtwell, with a confident tone.