At first, it was decided Mr. Andrews should not go on the yacht, but should be on the spot to direct, and order the search in different quarters. A hastily sworn-in officer was taken on board, and several gentlemen who had full authority to act for him. But when the last boat load was about to push off, a certain fierce impatience seemed to seize him. He had taken up Missy's theory, it seemed, at last, and felt that he could not let them go without him. He signalled them to wait, and hurried across the lawn to Missy, who stood with a rigid face, watching the vessel's sails filling with the breeze. "I believe I'm going with them," he said, "there is nothing I can do here. If anything comes up, you will decide. The fact is, I can't stand it, all day in suspense." "Then don't keep the boat waiting," said Missy, with ungraciousness. The truth was, she wanted to go so wildly herself, she hated him for being able to do what she could not. What was the suspense more to him than to her, she thought. She must count all these dreadful hours at home, while he could feel he was nearer, every moment, to some certainty, good or bad, which must be so many hours further off from her. In a moment more he had sprung aboard the little boat, and they were off. All this while Gabrielle had been wandering about, silent and eager. At first she had been questioned, with few results, as to her knowledge of the events of the night. She had denied, generally, having been awake or knowing anything till Eliza had waked her up in her fright at finding Jay's crib empty. Then, in the hurry and panic, she had dropped out of notice. Missy found her standing beside her on the lawn, watching the boat go off. A sudden doubt came into Missy's mind as she saw the child's keen, silent face. "What was Alphonsine's last name?" she said to her, without preface. "Gatineau," she answered, promptly. "When did you see her last?" she asked, looking at her narrowly. "I--I--don't know--" faltered the child, turning her eyes away. "Yes, you do know, Gabby," said Missy, firmly. "Tell me quickly. Did you see her yesterday?" "I promised not to tell," returned the child, faintly. "Come into the house with me," said Missy, taking her by the hand with no uncertain grasp. "I want to talk to you about all this." There were groups of people upon the lawn, and Missy felt afraid to trust herself to talk before them, afraid, also, that the presence of strangers would weaken her power over the child, who followed her unwillingly into the house. When there, she shut the door upon them, and sat down, drawing Gabrielle towards her. "We all feel very unhappy about your little brother," she said, looking directly into the oblique eyes of Gabrielle; "this is a terrible day for your father and for us all." "They won't hurt him," faltered the child, uneasily.