"Have you seen my father?" she asked.
One of them rubbed his head rather ruefully.
"Yes, miss. The Admiral, he come down an hour ago, and he were proper upset at this job, so he were!"
"Where is he? Where did he go?" Sidney asked impatiently. Oh, why had she not been at hand to comfort him! she thought.
"He went towards the shrubberies, miss, but I reckon he's back at the house long ago."
Sidney turned off at once, and as she walked she mechanically repeated to herself:
"'I will trust and not be afraid. The Lord is my helper. I will not fear what man shall do unto me.'"
The verses had formed part of her morning reading. She wondered afterwards why they had recurred to her mind at that juncture, as she was not conscious of actual fear, only a longing desire to be with her father and comfort him. The shrubberies were gloomy even on this bright morning. She called her father by name, but there was no response.
She was on the point of turning back when she heard the whining of the Admiral's little terrier, and, coming out at the end of the shrubberies, she saw the dog.
There was a rubbish heap against an old wall; half in and half out of a ditch were the guns, and leaning against one of them, with his arms tightly clasped round it, and his head bowed down upon his arms, was her father. For a moment Sidney hesitated to disturb him. This private grief was sacred; she felt she ought not to intrude. And then a well of seething hot anger rose within her. How dared they go to such lengths with these family treasures! She felt as if she could never forgive Mrs. Urquhart for such a wanton proceeding.