Ralph turned away, at last, from the lifeless presence before him, from the searching eyes of the woman, from the hall with its dim suggestions of something in the long ago, and went out into the street, into the sunlight, into the busy world around him; but from that time forth a shadow rested on his young life that had never darkened it before,--a shadow whose cause he could not fathom and whose gloom he could not dispel. CHAPTER V. IN SEARCH OF A MOTHER. Three months had gone by since the accident at Burnham Shaft. They were summer months, full of sunshine and green landscapes and singing birds and blossoming flowers and all things beautiful. But in the house from which the body of Robert Burnham had been carried to the grave there were still tears and desolation. Not, indeed, as an outward show; Margaret Burnham was very brave, and hid her grief under a calm exterior, but there were times, in the quiet of her own chamber, when loneliness and sorrow came down upon her as a burden too great for her woman's heart to bear. Still, she had her daughter Mildred, and the child's sweet ways and ceaseless chatter and fond devotion charmed her, now and then, into something almost like forgetfulness. She often sighed, and said: "If only Ralph had lived, that I might have both my children with me now!" One morning, toward the middle of September, Lawyer John H. Sharpman rang the bell at the door of the Burnham mansion, sent his card up to Mrs. Burnham, and seated himself gracefully in an easy-chair by the parlor window to wait for her appearance. She came soon and greeted him with gracious dignity. He was very courteous to her; he apologized for coming, in this way, without previous announcement, but said that the nature of his errand seemed to render it necessary. "I am sure no apology is required," she replied; "I shall be pleased to listen to you." "Then I will proceed directly to the matter in hand. You remember, of course, the Cherry Brook disaster and what occurred there?" "I shall never forget it," she said. "I have a strange thing to tell you about that, an almost incredible thing. An old man has visited me at my office, within the last few days, who claims to have saved your child from that wreck, to have taken him to his own home and cared for him, and to know that he is living to-day." The woman rose from her chair, with a sudden pallor on her face, too greatly startled, for the moment, to reply. "I beg you to be calm, madam," the lawyer said; "I will try to speak of the matter as gently as possible." "Ralph!" she exclaimed, "my Ralph! did you say that he is living?" "So this old man says. I am simply telling you his story. He seems to be very much in earnest, though I am bound to say that his appearance is somewhat against him." "Who is he? Bring him here! I will question him myself. Bring the child to me also; why did you not bring the child?"