'"
"A good name for it, too," commented Gladys. "Nobody would ever think to
find a pocket there."
Lillian had suddenly ceased to speak. She had suited the action to the
word and slipped her own fingers into the pocket. There was something
within. She drew it forth, startled, her pale face all contorted and
ghastly. It was a bit of stone, of white stone, fashioned by curious
nature in the similitude of a lily, wrought in the darkness, the silence
of the depths of the earth. Lillian had previously seen such things; she
recognized the efflorescence of a limestone cavern. She sprang up
suddenly with a scream that rang through the room with the force and
volume of a clarion tone.
"This child has been in a cave!" she shrilled, remembering the raid on
the moonshiners' cavern. "He is not dead. He is stolen, _stolen_!"
The logic of the possibilities, cemented by her renewal of frantic hope,
had constructed a stanch theory. She was reasoning on its every phase.
The coercion of this significant discovery had suggested the truth.
Pages:
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130