“Oh Dick! Dick! little Lenny is—LOST,” replied Anna, uttering the last word with a gasp, and sobbing hysterically.
“Lost! Good Heaven, Anna, little Lenny lost?” repeated Dick, changing color.
“Yes, yes, yes! lost since day before yesterday afternoon—lost since the very day you left. We telegraphed to you the same day. We hoped you would receive the telegram immediately on your arrival at Southampton; and I who knew that you were going further, hoped that at least you would get it on your return. Oh, Dick!”
“Lost since the day before yesterday, and not found yet,” repeated Richard Hammond, in amazement and sorrow.
“Oh, yes, oh, Dick. We have not seen him since—since you yourself saw him last. Oh, Dick, he never returned from that walk you and grandpa sent him to take, to get him and Pina out of the way, you know,” sobbed Anna.
“It would kill my uncle!” exclaimed Richard. “It would kill him! But, good Heaven! how did it all happen? I don’t understand it at all. I can hardly believe it yet. Compose yourself, Anna, if you can, and tell me all about it.”
With many sobs Anna told the story of little Lenny’s abduction, as far as it was known to herself, and also described the measures that had been taken for his recovery, but taken, so far, without effect.
“But his poor young mother,—how does she bear it? and where is she now?” inquired Dick.
“Oh, Dick, poor Drusilla! I do fear for her life, or her reason, in this horrible suspense, worse than death! Nothing but her unwavering faith in Providence has saved her from insanity or death,” wept Anna.
“But where is she now?” repeated Dick. “Can I see her?”