"Bless the darling—is she not asleep?" she said. "It was so late and stormy that we expected you would all be in bed and asleep."
The rain beat dismally outside, the wind howled like a demon in despair. Something of the chill and coldness outside seemed to strike to the man's heart as he said quickly:
"The servants are all asleep—but Queenie—she is with you, of course?"
"Why do you say of course, papa?" said Sydney. "Did Queenie come down to the steamer to meet us in this dreadful storm?"
Mr. Lyle looked bewildered.
"Sydney," he exclaimed hoarsely, "did not Queenie come home with you from Europe?"
"Why, Papa, Queenie did not go with us, you know," said Georgina, coming forward, and laying her hand on his arm. "She came back to stay with you. Is she not at home?"
Mr. Lyle dropped back into a chair, and wrung his hands like one distracted.
"My God!" he exclaimed. "You torture me with your inexplicable words. I tell you I have never laid eyes on Queenie, living, since I bade her good-bye on the deck of the Europa a year ago."
"My God!" screamed Mrs. Lyle, falling down upon the floor, while Sydney and Georgina looked like statues of horror, "what has become of my little Queenie?"