If it had been in these days of telegraphs and telephones, railroads and detectives, it would have been but a matter of days until they had found her, but in those times travel and search were long and hard. There seemed little hope. It was the third dead face which Charles had searched for likeness to the girl he loved. He came home worn and exhausted, his spirit utterly discouraged and weary, and he was an easy prey to the disease which gripped him from the first in its most violent form. Silence and sadness settled down upon the Winthrop household while the life of Charles was held in the balance. The father carried on the search for the lost wife more vigorously than ever, believing that the sight of her might bring his boy back even from the grave; but nothing developed. News from the Van Rensselaers gave no hope of the paralyzed man’s recovery. He was lying like a thing of stone, unable to move. He could not even make a sound. Only his eyes followed his tormented wife, like haunting spirits sent to condemn her. The face was set in its stern expression, like a fallen statue of his proud, imperious self. It was mid-winter before Charles began slowly to creep back to life, and there was still no clue to Dawn. They dreaded to have him ask about her; though they had noticed how he had searched their faces every morning after consciousness returned to him. He knew as well as they that nothing had been accomplished toward finding her. One day he seemed more cheerful and a little stronger, and called old Mr. Winthrop to his side. "Father," said he, "I’ve been thinking that perhaps she’d not like to come back here, the way she feels about it. There was a little white house on the hills beyond Albany that we noticed as we came along on the train. We both said we should like to live there among the trees. Would you be willing that I should take the money Grandfather left to me and buy that little house for her to come to? Then I could put a notice in the papers telling her it was ready, and perhaps she would see it and understand." The old man’s heart was heavy, for he had begun to believe that Dawn was no longer in the land of the living; but he would have consented to any plan that would comfort his boy and give him a new interest in life, and so as soon as Charles was able to travel they went together to purchase the small farm and little white house. The next day there appeared in the New York papers this notice, which was printed many weeks and copied into numerous village papers: Dawn, the little white house we saw near Albany is ready for us. Write and tell me where to find you. CHARLES. But nothing ever came in answer, though Charles watched every mail with feverish anxiety; and he still kept up his search in other directions. So the spring crept on, and almost it was a year since Dawn had left him. CHAPTER XXIV