“I fear so. If a little servant-maid disappears from her native village, the newspaper-men get hold of it in twenty-four hours. Here, instead of an obscure little domestic, you have a man, popular, well-known to half the population of England, whose portrait has been in every illustrated paper in the three Kingdoms. I fear it would be impossible. But I will do my best. The Home Secretary may give certain instructions in this case.”
Then turning to Sheila he said:
“Good-night, Miss Monkton. Rely upon it, we will leave no stone unturned to find your father, and bring him back to you.”
He was gone with those comforting words. But with his departure, hope seemed to die away, and Sheila was left to confront the misery of the present.
The faithful Grant, who had been hovering in the background, came forward, and spoke to her in the coaxing tone he had used when she was a child.
“Now, Miss Sheila, you must go and rest.”
“Oh, no!” she cried wildly. “What is the use of resting? I could not sleep. I can never rest until father comes back to me.” She broke into a low wail of despair.
Grant looked at Wingate, with a glance that implored him to use his influence. The faithful old man feared for her reason.
“Sheila, Grant is right,” said Austin gravely. “You must rest, even if you cannot sleep. You will need all your strength for to-morrow, perhaps for many days yet, before we get to the heart of this mystery. Let the servants go back to bed. Grant and I will wait through the night, in case good news may come to us.”
There were times when, as the old butler remembered, she had been a very wilful Sheila, but she showed no signs of wilfulness now. The grave tones and words of Austin moved her to obedience.