CHAPTER XXVIII.

ALMOST.

ON they drove, till the cab, as directed by the woman, turned up one of the openings leading from the main road, and at length stopped at the gate of a house, just as Gertrude had anticipated, next door to her own home.

All along the way, she had been questioning with herself what she ought to do, but she could not form any definite plan.

They got out, Gertrude paying the man, and then they paused and looked each other in the face, under the gas-lamp, Gertrude raising her eyes with an appealing look in them.

The woman caught both her hands as if terrified, and drew her nearer the light.

"Your face—something in your face brings back to me another face, which all these months I have fled from and dreaded to see."

"But you do not any longer?" said Gertrude, with quivering voice.

"I hardly know, dear miss. I owe you so much, but let me go in and have time to think! You seem—and yet it is impossible—as if you were some one belonging to that poor mother I have wronged, or else to be herself grown different!"

She trembled all over, and Gertrude led her into her own garden and up to her own door.

"May I come in too?" she asked, as the woman fumbled in her pocket for a key.

"No, no!" she answered, turning round suddenly. "I must speak to my husband. Not but what he will be glad—this has pretty near worn him out. But I do not think I can let you in!"

"Dear friend," said Gertrude, in an imploring tone, "if I go away now, you will not disappoint me afterwards, and refuse to see us if I find the little one's mother? You will remember then all we said and did at Johnnie's grave?"

"Yes, yes, I will," said the woman. "Now go and leave me." Then, suddenly altering her mind, the woman pulled her into the dim, fire-lighted kitchen, and struck a match.

"No, you are not his mother!" she said slowly.

"But," added Gertrude, "I am her sister. I never guessed it when you began to tell me. I thought you were just a stranger out in the wide world—some one who needed Jesus! But now—oh, you will not refuse to let me bring my sister to her lost darling! You will let me go and fetch her, that she may once more clasp him in her arms, as you clasped Johnnie only a week ago!"

The woman sank into a chair, and Gertrude knelt in front of her, pouring out entreaties, feeling as if in the woman's silence, little Lester were slipping away and away, just as she had grasped him.

Then she thought of her Unfailing Refuge. Why was she so anxious and dismayed? Would not He, who had brought her thus far, bring her to the end?

She buried her face in her hands in silent, earnest petition to Him who is ever near.

"Dear miss," said the woman softly, "did I not say that I would give him up?"

Gertrude looked in her face, and then she rose up from her knees, and bent her head to kiss the careworn cheek.

"Then I will bring her," was all she said. "Shall you come to the door if I ring there?"

"Yes," said the woman, "I'll come."

* * * * *

In another two minutes Gertrude was standing in the Shaddocks' bright hall, with all the family crowding round her.

"Where have you been?" exclaimed Mollie.

"We have been so anxious about you," said Mrs. Shaddock.

"We stayed at the confectioner's till we were ashamed to stay any longer," said Rose.

"I expect you've had a spree!" said Randall.

While behind stood tall Conway with his rather supercilious look, Hugh and Daisy filling up the rest of the circle.

But Rose, more accustomed to Gertrude's ordinary aspect, saw something different in her sister's face.

And just as Mrs. Shaddock was saying, "How tired you must be! I hope you have not walked all the way," Rose drew close to her, and said—

"I am afraid you have been frightened. Is anything the matter?"

"I have met some one who told me a very sad story," said Gertrude, meeting her sister's eyes, where in a moment came a startled look.

"Who told you a sad story, dear Gertrude?" she asked breathlessly.

A silence fell upon the whole group. That something had happened, every one saw.

"You are worn out!" said Rose. "Come in here and tell us. Mrs. Shaddock, may I give my sister some tea?"

The rest followed the sisters into the dining-room, while Mollie poured out some tea, and Rose put Gertrude into an arm-chair.

"I want to tell you all!" she exclaimed, looking up at the eager faces, "but I am bound over to tell only one person at present. Dearest Rose! Can you bear to hear that I believe I have found a clue which will lead us to little Lester. But, Rose, darling, he is not very well—not very strong—"

Rose's eyes were like burning coals as they tried to take in the meaning of her sister's words.

"He is not—not dead?" she exclaimed.

"No—no, but ill. I must not say more. Oh, how I wish I could! But the woman will let me by and by. I feel sure. Dear Mrs. Shaddock, forgive me, but if I had made any objection to her terms, I might have lost little Lester altogether!"

"Do not be distressed on our account," said Mrs. Shaddock, heartily; "surely we can wait, when such a joy has come to you both!"

"Ah! But it is not all joy," said Gertrude, remembering what had to be told to that sorrowful mother, of the cruel trick and its consequences.

And then, looking up to thank Mrs. Shaddock, she found that they were all leaving the room, and she and Rose were alone.

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