"Sometimes I think so—but she fluctuates," replied Annabel. "She is extremely weak, and her spirits are depressed. She will pass whole hours shut up in her room in solitude. When I ask to go in, Hatch brings out a message that mamma is not able to see even me."
"Her illness must be on the nerves."
"I suppose so. Yesterday she came down and walked with me in the garden in the sunshine. She seemed pretty well then, but not strong. In the evening she shut herself up again."
"I wish you would sit down, Annabel," I said, offering her a chair for the third time.
"I would if I could stay. Mamma charged me to go straight back after leaving the message with you. Are you well?" she continued with hesitation. "You look harassed."
"I am well, Annabel. But you have used the right word—I am harassed; terribly so."
"Poor papa!" she sighed. "It has brought a world of work and care upon you, as well as of grief to us."
"I should not mind work. But—we have had another loss, Annabel. A loss as mysterious as that of the gold; and far more important."
"What is it?" she asked. "More money?"
"No; I wish it were. A will, deposited in the safe there, has disappeared. I cannot even guess at the consequences; ruin probably to me and to one of our best clients. Not only that. If things are to vanish so unaccountably from our strongholds, we must have an enemy at work, and it is impossible to foresee where it may end."