As Anna spoke there was the sound of a cab drawing up before the house. A few minutes after Drusilla entered the room. Her face was deadly white and her eyes had that wild, wide open, sleepless look seldom seen except in the insane. And yet Drusilla, in all her agony of mind was far as possible from insanity. All her anxieties were marked by forecast, reason, judgment.
Dick arose, and his countenance and gestures were full of sympathy as he held out his hands and went to meet her.
“Oh, Dick! Dick! you have heard of my great loss,” she said, putting her hands in his.
“Yes, my dear Drusilla,” he answered, in a voice shaking with the pity that nearly broke his heart, as he looked upon her great misery.
“Oh, my Lenny! my Lenny! Oh, my poor little two-year old baby!” she cried, breaking into sobs and tottering on her feet.
Dick caught her and tenderly placed her in a chair and stooped before and took her hands again, saying:
“Dear Drusa, your little Lenny will be found, he will indeed, my dear.”
“Oh, I hope so! I believe so!—but this suspense is the most awful anguish in life! Oh, where is he now? Now at this moment, where is my poor little helpless babe? In whose hands? Suffering what?”
Her look as she said this was so full of unutterable sorrow that Dick could restrain himself no longer.
“Dear Drusa, dear Drusa,” he said holding her hands, “your child, wherever he is, is not suffering; he is well and cheerful. I know it.”