"I know. She was there." The Colonel spoke with brevity. "Rose left her there talking to your sister. No one seems to have seen her since. I thought she might have been with Sir Eustace. I see I was mistaken. I apologize. But where the devil can she be?"
Sir Eustace raised his shoulders. "She was certainly not talking to my sister," he remarked. "She has kept her room to-day. Miss Bathurst is probably in her own room dressing for dinner."
"That's just where she isn't!" exploded the Colonel. "I missed her at tea-time but thought she must be out. Now her brother tells me that he has been all over the place and can't find her. I suppose she can't be upstairs with your sister?" He turned to Scott.
"I'll go and see," Scott said. "She may be--though I doubt it. My sister was not so well, and so stayed in bed to-day."
He moved towards the stairs with the words; but ere he reached them there came the sound of a sudden commotion on the corridor above, and a wailing voice made itself heard.
"Miss Isabel! Miss Isabel! Wherever are you, mavourneen? Ah, what'll I do at all? Miss Isabel's gone!"
Old Biddy in her huge white apron and mob cap appeared at the top of the staircase and came hobbling down with skinny hands extended.
"Ah, Master Scott--Master Scott--may the saints help us! She's gone! She's gone! And meself sleeping like a hog the whole afternoon through! I'll never forgive meself, Master Scott,--never, never! Oh, what'll I do? I pray the Almighty will take my life before any harm comes to her!"
She reached Scott at the foot of the stairs and caught his hand hysterically between her own.
Sir Eustace strode forward, white to the lips. "Stop your clatter, woman, and answer me! How did Miss Isabel get away? Is she dressed?"
The old woman cowered back from the blazing wrath in his eyes. "Yes, your honour! No, your honour! I mean--Yes, your honour!" she stammered, still clinging pathetically to Scott. "I was asleep, ye see. I never knew--I never knew!"
"How long did you sleep?" demanded Sir Eustace.
"And how am I to tell at all?" wailed Biddy. "It didn't seem like five minutes, and I opened me eyes, and she was all quiet in the dark. And I said to meself, 'I won't disturb the dear lamb,' and I crept into me room and tidied meself, and made a cup o' tay. And still she kept so quiet; so I drank me tay and did a bit of work. And then--just a minute ago it was--I crept in and went to her thinking it was time she woke up,--and--and--and she wasn't there, your honour. The bed was laid up, and she was gone! Oh, what'll I do at all? What'll I do?" She burst into wild sobs, and hid her face in her apron.