“They took some of the family documents—not all; so far that is good,” said Uncle Angelo at last.
“Would they had taken them all, precious as they are, and left our poor little Lily’s money intact!”
“Of course, it’s a misfortune,” said Lily ruefully. “But never mind, Aunt Cosy. It can’t be helped. I didn’t even keep the numbers of the notes, so I’m afraid there’s no hope of our ever being able to recover them. The police court at Epsom is always shut on Sundays, and I suppose it’s the same here?”
No one answered this remark.
“I cannot understand when it happened!” exclaimed the Countess. She turned sternly to Cristina. “Did you oversleep yourself?” she asked accusingly.
“I know when it happened,” said Lily. And then she told the Countess of her experience of the night before.
“Thank God you did nothing!” said the Count in French, and he really did look agitated at last. “The brigands might have shot you, had you given the alarm!”
As for Cristina, she sat down and, with a dreadful groan, threw her apron over her head and began rocking herself backwards and forwards.
“Be quiet, Cristina!” cried the Countess sharply. But the Count went up to his foster-sister, and patted her kindly on the head.
“You must come to me when you want a little money, dear child,” said the Countess, turning to Lily. “Perhaps generous Tom Fairfield will send you another fifty pounds when he hears of your loss?”