“How do you do, my dear? I really forgot to speak to you,” he said.
“Never mind that, dear sir. I am very well. Drink this. It will do you good,” she urged.
“You say you have a clue to him?” he inquired, as he mechanically took the cup from her hand.
“Yes, grandpa.”
“Why is not the clue followed up? Why has it not led you to him?”
“Indeed, it is being very diligently followed up. We are in hourly expectation of recovering our little Lenny. But, dear sir, please to drink your coffee. You are very faint, and need it very much.”
“Where is the poor young mother? Where is Drusa?” he continued.
Drusilla came and knelt down by his side, and took his disengaged hand, and looked up in his troubled face and said:
“She is here, dear uncle; and she trusts in the Lord to restore her child. But you are sinking with fatigue, and with fasting too, I fear. Drink your coffee, and we will tell you all we know about our missing boy.”
And Drusilla put a great constraint upon herself that she might comfort him.