At this moment the door opened, and the waiter appeared and announced: “Your cab waits, madam.” “Come then,” said Drusilla. And followed by Anna and attended by Pina, she hurried down-stairs. They entered the cab, gave the order, and were driven rapidly towards Mivart’s hotel. The drive was accomplished in almost perfect silence. Drusilla sat pale and still, suffering inexpressible anguish, yet controlling herself by a mighty effort. Anna was occupied by her own anxious thoughts. Of course _she_ knew the mission to Mivart’s in search of Alick to be quite vain, and worse than vain since it involved loss of time where time was of vital importance; yet she dared not enlighten Drusilla by explaining the absence of Alexander, for she feared by doing so to add to the terrible anxiety that was already oppressing the young wife and mother. And, also, Anna suspected that Alexander really was concerned in the abduction of little Lenny; that he had hired these men to carry him off; and had most probably instructed them to bring him to Mivart’s. Therefore, although she knew there was no chance of finding Alexander, she cherished some hope of hearing of little Lenny. The men who abducted him might have carried him there, not knowing of their employer’s absence. If so, little Lenny might be recovered before the day was over. Amid all her grave anxieties, Anna felt some little curiosity upon one point: Drusilla had grown so sensitive and timid in regard to her beloved but truant husband that she had shrunk even from the casual glance of his eye in public; and now she was going to Mivart’s in quest of him; after all that had passed, she was voluntarily seeking him; true, it was to find the child; true, also, she could not see her husband; but—would she ask to see Alexander? Could she endure to see him? What were her thoughts and feelings on that subject? Anna would ask. “Drusilla,” she said, “when we reach Mivart’s shall you send in your card to Alexander?” The young mother started. She had been in a deep reverie about the present condition of her child, and had not heard her distinctly. Anna repeated her question. “Yes; I shall send in my card,” she said. “And shall you see him?” “That shall be as he pleases. Here is the card that I have prepared to send in to him,” she continued, taking from her gold case a small envelope directed to Lord Killcrichtoun, and drawing from it her card, bearing the name, “MRS. ALEXANDER LYON,” and the pencilled lines, “_Only tell me little Lenny is with you and is safe and I will thank and bless you_.” “I shall send that up. He can reply to it by a pencilled line, or a verbal message, or he can come down and see me, as he wills,” said Drusilla. “Drusa, you have thought of everything; you have prepared for every emergency. But maternal love is a great sharpener of the wits, I suppose,” said Anna. “It confers a sixth sense I sometimes think, Anna,” she replied.