CHAPTER TWO

"_It Was In That Church Last Sunday!_"

The Sunday following Mildred's departure was a sad one in the Jacobs' household. Since she came to it months before, Sunday had always been distinguished from other days. It was then that all talked and smiled, and indulged at length in other pastimes that make home happy. And that is why today was the saddest day they--Constance and her brother--felt they had ever experienced. Neither could keep their gaze from wandering to the empty chair, and down in the hearts of each was a constant cry, though both surpressed it with a mighty effort: "Where is she today?"

It was Wilson who broke the silence. Was it perhaps the one woman who had filled that empty chair only last Sunday, gay, cheerful, happy and hopeful? Wilson Jacobs felt as though he should choke. Constance saw his emotion 'ere he spoke, and experienced a choking sensation also. She hadn't become reconciled to the absence, and all the week through, she had been like one in a trance.

"Can we ever give Mildred up, Constance?" Constance did not reply. She did not raise her head for fear he might happen to see her eyes. But after a time, she could hold back the tears no longer. All at once they came in a flood, and her whole being gave up to convulsive sobs.

"There, there, dear," he cried, rising and coming hurriedly around to where she sat. Whereupon she became worse. He raised her to a standing posture, and took her affectionately in his arms, but the weeping went on unchecked. He held her and stroked her hair with his hand, but said nothing. He could not, for he was too overcome himself. By and by, he knew it would pass, and then they would speak of her in the terms they had known her. She was a good girl.

"Oh, Wilson, I will never get over it--never, never, never!" Constance moaned and gripped him convulsively. "Just think of it, too, and when we were beginning to realize how much she was to both of us. And just think how she acted about the Y.M.C.A.! Went to the bank and drew all the money she had saved this summer, walking by day in the sun to sell the book, and gave it, every dollar of it, to the cause of our people!" She cried harder now than ever. He drew her closer, and as he did so, one tear dropped from his eye upon her hair. She never felt it, and he would not have had her know for anything. He was a strong man, and had ever kept from tears.

"If we could only do something, only help a little," he said now, in a constrained voice. "I would give the rest of my life to the cause of that girl," he said, with words that spelled of fire. "Whatever this lurking evil is that has driven her from the protection of those who love her, _it was in that church last Sunday_!" He paused now, and while he stood silent, his sister released herself, looking at him for a moment sympathetically, and then sank again into the chair.

Their breakfast had been neglected, forgotten, and was growing cold. "Come, Wilson," she called softly, and pointed to his plate. He heard her and obeyed. They ate in absolute silence, automatically putting from their minds the emotion that had possessed them.

And even as he ate the food, with the strength it required to force it down, his mind played about the incident connected with her strange leaving. He tried vainly to recall who was at the church that he did not know. And it occurred to him that there were many. Yes. There were many; then he remembered suddenly how cheered he had been, when he saw his little church filled to its capacity. He recalled with a pang, that, as he stood at the rostrum, Mildred had passed, and, upon seeing him, had glanced at the congregation that had gathered, and then back at him and smiled. He continued his meal, but he knew he could never forget that smile.

Mildred Latham had wanted to help him. And when she saw his small church filled with people that day, some there purposely, while others were merely curious, she had, in that smile, shown how glad she was. It was that unselfishness about her, which was evident in many little ways, and which had finally won him.

And she had played and sung that day with all the strength of her body and soul. She had struggled in every way she knew how, to help him in his great effort. She had gone to the bank and drawn all she had saved in the months he had known her, as further evidence of her regard for this human welfare. She had acted, in doing so, at the most opportune time. With such a sum from an unknown girl, others, during the week, had surprised even themselves by subscribing sums that made the success of his work seemed assured. And cash was given where it might not have been otherwise. He knew his people a little. And when someone started the ball rolling, by means of patience, fortitude, hard work and application to the task, others can be found who will keep it going.

And why had Mildred Latham done this? Certainly she had not done so because she was in love with him. She had never shown any affection for him in that way. She had been interested in him, because she felt that he was sincere in his effort to help his fellow men. And she had given the sum to the proposed Y.M.C.A., because she was _interested in humanity_, and that was her mite to prove it....

And on the heels of this, she had--almost in the same moment, been driven from the place she had appreciated as home.... Who was this beast, for positively he was a beast.... When he got to a man in the case, he could never go further. For, think as he might, he could not, in some way, connect her with a man. A man it might be; but he felt positive she had no relation with anyone. And yet, what was it? Just something, and after that, all was blank.

They had finished their meal now. And he rose and strolled out upon the porch. He drew a cigar and, lighting it, started to smoke. It was a beautiful morning, and one to make even the sorrowful happy. But Wilson Jacobs was not happy. He gave up to the delight of the moment, and for a time, he forgot the harrowing sorrows.

The trees that lined the street were heavy with foliage, and gave forth the sound of many song birds; while a soft wind made the leaves rustle ever so little.

Presently, a man came down the street. On he came until he was even with the house, and then, for a brief spell, he paused at the gate. Until then, he had apparently not observed the man sitting on the porch. He glanced up and saw him. Then, with something akin to an air of guilt, the stranger passed on, and, as he did so, Wilson gave a start. His thoughts flew back over the past, with electric rapidity. Where had he seen that man before? "Where, where, where?" His thoughts were fairly alive. His lips grasped the cigar so tightly, that the lighted end fell to the floor, for he had bitten it in two, in his excitement. He kicked it from him with impatience, while he ransacked his brains in deep thought. "Where, where, where?" he cried, now almost aloud. And, strange as it seemed, in some way he connected this man with the disappearance of Mildred Latham. He raised his hands to his head to steady the thumping there, which by now had reached a state of violence. Just then the sexton rang the bell of his church next door. The same broke forth upon the clear morning air in stentorian tones, and floated beyond, and then Wilson Jacobs sat up quickly, bolt upright.

"I have it! _I have it!_" he cried in a subdued voice, while his very frame trembled. "It was at the meeting. That man came in late, I recall it all now. He came in late and I saw him. He, I recall now, appeared to have no interest in the service; but his eyes sought something, and then I caught him looking at Mildred with a cunning expression!" Why had he not thought of this before? It was all clear to him now, as he arose.

And then it occurred to him to follow. He tore into the house, and seizing his hat, hurried out and through the yard, came into the street and looked in the direction which he had seen the other take. No one was in sight. He hesitated a moment, and then hurried forward in that direction. He presently came abreast of a house where people sat upon the porch. He halted a moment as they called out his name pleasantly, bidding him good morning. He calmed himself, and after returning the greeting, inquired quite casually whether a man had passed that way recently, and he gave a description of him.

"No; but such a man as you describe came down as far as the corner back there," one of them explained, "and turned in that direction," and he pointed west.

"Thank you," he nodded calmly, and then retreated until he came to the place the other had turned. He stood for a moment, apparently lost in thought, while the people on the porch stared at him carelessly. A moment later, he passed in the direction the other had taken.

But, while he had been advised that the other had gone in that direction, no one was in sight, he now saw with sinking heart. He walked for two blocks, making inquiries as he went, but no one had seen such a man. He was downcast for a time. Presently, he returned to his home in a disappointed mood. As he came by the church, the doors were open, and his few members were filing scatteringly in. He hurried into his clothes, and a few minutes later, stood before his congregation reading the text.