"Where have they removed? Can you tell me?" she inquired, thinking that perhaps her mother's and sister's extravagance had caused her father's failure at last, and that they had taken a cheaper house. "Mrs. Lyle and Miss Lyle, and Lady Valentine are all in Europe, ma'am," he answered, wondering what made the bright, pretty face turn so pale as he gave her the information. "And Mr. Lyle--you can tell me where I can find _him_?" she inquired, eagerly. The polite servant looked as if he thought the girl was out of her mind. After a blank stare into her lovely, eager face, he said, surprisedly: "Mr. Lyle--why, ma'am--_he's dead_, you know!" If the man had struck her the cruelest blow in the face she could not have recoiled more suddenly. She stepped backward so quickly, and with such a wild, low cry of pain that she would have fallen down the steps if the man had not thrown out his arm and caught her. "Oh, ma'am, don't take it hard," he said, in a voice of respectful sympathy. "Was he any relation of yours?" She turned her beautiful face toward him with the whiteness of death upon it. "When did he die?" she asked, unheeding his question. "The same night that his daughter died--you've heard of that, ma'am, have you?" asked the man, who seemed rather of a gossiping turn. "Yes, I've heard of that," she said, in a hollow voice totally unlike her own. "Well, Mr. Lyle, he died that same night of a broken heart, folk said. She was his youngest daughter, and his favorite. They were both buried the same day." "Dead, dead!" she murmured. "What did you say, ma'am?" asked the man, not hearing the low words. "Nothing," she answered. "I thank you for your information," and staggered down the steps into the street again. "Dead, dead!" she kept moaning to herself as she staggered along the street in white, tearless despair. "Papa is dead! and died of a broken heart for me. Oh, I was not worth such devotion!" Her mind was so full of this terrible blow that had fallen upon her that she could think of nothing else, until suddenly she saw that the brief winter twilight was settling fast over everything. Then a terror of the night and cold took hold of her. She thought of her husband. "They are all gone--papa and the rest," she murmured; "I have no one but Lawrence now. I will go to him." The thought seemed to invest him with added tenderness and dearness. She hastened her footsteps, and before long she stood in front of the splendid mansion where Captain Ernscliffe lived, and which he had refurnished in splendid style for his fair young bride. The windows were closed as if the house was deserted, but she went up the steps and rang the bell. A woman servant answered the summons. "Is Captain Ernscliffe at home?" asked Queenie, in a faint and trembling voice. CHAPTER XX. The woman whom Queenie had addressed, and who had the appearance of being the housekeeper, stood still and looked at the young girl a moment without replying.