He whispered to his mother and she nodded, and he darted off in the direction of his own home.
Andrew Brewster had just come home after an all-night's search, and he was in his bedroom in the bitter sleep of utter exhaustion and despair.

Suddenly his heart had failed him and his brain had reeled.
He had begun to feel dazed, to forget for a minute what he was looking for.

He had made incoherent replies to the men with him, and finally one, after a whispered consultation with the others, had said: "Look at here, Andrew, old fellow; you'd better go home and rest a bit.

We'll look all the harder while you're gone, and maybe she'll be found when you wake up." "Who will be found ?" Andrew asked, with a dazed look.

He reeled as if he were drunk.
"Ain't had anything, has he ?" one of the men whispered.
"Not a drop to my knowledge." Andrew's lips trembled perceptibly; his forehead was knitted with vacuous perplexity; his eyes reflected blanks of unreason; his whole body had an effect of weak settling and subsidence.