"Little or nothing. Austin," suddenly, "did she ever apply to you for help?"
"To me?" he exclaimed, raising his brows. "Certainly not! Why do you ask?"
"Because she said that she had, and you had refused to assist her. But she was dreadfully incoherent, and I'm afraid that privation and trouble have upset her reason. She, poor girl, seemed possessed by some wild idea that she had injured me. She even feared that I should—strike her! When I offered her some money, and begged her to tell me where I could find her, she turned and bolted, and I lost her."
Austin Ambrose drew a breath of relief and mixed himself some brandy and water.
"Poor Lottie, she must be half mad! Thought she had injured you! Why, how could she do that?"
Blair shook his head.
"By no way that I know of. She behaved very strangely all through. She must be found to-morrow."
"Of course; and there's nothing easier. Don't make yourself uncomfortable about it, my dear Blair. I will set the police on her track at once, and we'll soon find her. But the meeting with poor Lottie hasn't spoiled your evening, I hope?"
Blair was silent for a moment, then he said, in a low voice:
"No, no; it was not that, painful as it was. I wish to Heaven it was no more! But—but—Austin, I have seen poor Margaret!"