"What is it, Keith?" she asked, going swiftly to the bedside.
His great dark eyes were lifted to her face with a wistful look in their depths.
"Beatrix!" he faltered, feebly. "I want Beatrix. Where is she?"
A look of fiendish hatred flashed into Mrs. Lynne's pale eyes, and the bony hands clutched each other fiercely.
"Beatrix is not here," she replied.
He started up wildly; then fell back upon the pillows, faint and exhausted.
"Not here?" he repeated, brokenly. "Oh, Mrs. Lynne! don't tell me that she is gone! Why, she could not go all alone; and he—he sent me here for her."
"Sent you for her? Who sent you?" demanded Mrs. Lynne sharply.
"Uncle Bernard. That was my business here in this place. He said that Beatrix was to come home to New Orleans to him, and so he sent me to escort her there. Tell me—where is she? Tell her to come to me. I want Beatrix—I want Beatrix!"
"You will never get her!"