Anna paused, and Alexander tried to look as much shocked as she evidently expected him to be; but he could not yet trust himself to make any comment.
“Old Dorset, nearly beside himself with distress, wrote to my grandfather, telling him of what had occurred, and asking for your address that he might communicate the matter to you. Of course, not knowing it, my grandfather could not give it. But I did hope the old man had discovered your whereabouts and written to you.”
“No, he has not. Dear me! Poor girl, poor girl! how shocking! And no trace has been discovered of her yet?” said Alexander, acting grief and anxiety as well as any ordinary stage-player could.
“None that I knew of.”
“Bless my life, how dreadful! I must put advertisements in all the papers and employ the detectives. What motive does old Dorset assign to her act of leaving her home?”
“Partial derangement, I tell you, inherited from her mother.”
“Poor child! poor child! I will have inquiries set on foot immediately. But—here comes General Lyon,” said Alexander, glad to have a diversion from the very embarrassing subject of Drusilla.
In fact, at that moment the old soldier entered the library, looking to the right and left in search of his grand-daughter.
Attended by Alexander, she went to meet him.
“Well, my dear, ready to go back to our hotel?—Ah, Alexander, how do you do, my boy? Glad to see you. How long have you been here?” he asked, cordially shaking hands with his nephew.