the doctor with her all night--that is, all the last part of the
night. She's lying in a faint, I believe."

"Oh, it will kill her! Poor Frances! Poor Frances!" wailed out Mrs.
Birtwell, wringing her hands and beginning to cry bitterly.

"The police have been on the lookout for the last two or three
hours, but can't find any trace of him," said the officer.

"Oh, he'll turn up all right," broke in Mr. Birtwell, with a
confident tone. "It's only a scare. Gone home with some young
friend, as like as not. Young fellows in their teens don't get lost
in the snow, particularly in the streets of a great city, and
footpads generally know their game before bringing it down. I'm
sorry for poor Mrs. Voss; she isn't strong enough to bear such a
shock. But it will all come right; I don't feel a bit concerned."

But for all that he did feel deeply concerned. The policemen went
away, and Mr. and Mrs. Birtwell sat down by an open grate in which
the fire still burned.

"Don't let it distress you so, Margaret," said the former, trying to
comfort his wife. "There's nothing to fear for Archie. Nobody ever
heard of a man getting lost in a city snow-storm. If he'd been out
on a prairie, the case would have been different, but in the streets
of the city! The thing's preposterous, Margaret."

"Oh, if he'd only gone away as he came, I wouldn't feel so awfully
about it," returned Mrs. Birtwell. "That's what cuts me to the
heart. To think that he came to my house sober and went away--"