"I want to ask you something, Mattie. Sit down here; spare me two or three minutes. Tell me, has it ever seemed to you that some one must have helped Doris, or she could not have found a situation as she did?" For one moment the kindly brown eyes rested with a troubled glance on his face. "It has occurred to me often," she replied, "but I cannot imagine who would do it." "Did she ever talk to you about any of her school-fellows?" he asked. "No, none in particular. Why, Earle, tell me what you are thinking about?" "I should have some clew to her whereabouts, I am convinced, if I could but discover that." She looked steadily at him. "Earle," she asked, in a low pained voice, "are you still thinking of going in search of her?" He remembered the morning's interview, and would have felt some little relief if he could have shared the secret with Mattie; but he said: "Yes, I am still determined, and, to tell you a secret that I do not intend telling any one else. I intend to go this very day." He saw her lips whiten and quiver as though from some sudden, sharp pain, but it never struck him that this quiet, kindly girl had enshrined him in her heart of hearts. She was quicker of instinct when any wish of his was in question than at any other time. Suddenly she raised her eyes to his face, and he saw in them the dawn of a new idea. "There is one person," she said, "whom we have quite overlooked, and who is very likely to have helped Doris." "Who is that?" he asked quickly. "The artist, Gregory Leslie." And they looked at each other in silence, each feeling sure that the right chord had been struck. Then Earle said, gravely: "Strange! but I never once thought of him." "Doris talked so much to him while he was here," said Mattie, "and from his half-bantering remarks, I think he understood thoroughly how much she disliked the monotony of home. He has very probably found the situation for her." "I should think so too, but for one thing--he was an honorable man, and he would not have helped her run away from me." "Perhaps she deceived him. In any case, I think it worth trying," she replied. "Heaven bless you, Mattie," said Earle. "You are always right. Do not tell any one where I have gone. I shall go to London at once. I will send a note to my mother by one of the men. Good-bye! Heaven bless you, my dear sister who was to have been----" "Who will be," cried Mattie, "whether you marry Doris or not!" He wrote a few simple words to his mother, saying merely: "Do not be alarmed at my absence. I cannot rest--I have gone to find Doris. I shall write often, and return when I have found her." "Poor mother," he said to himself with a sigh, "I have given her nothing but sorrow of late." Then he went quietly to Quainton railway station, and was just in time to catch the train for London. Gregory Leslie was astonished that evening at seeing Earle suddenly enter his studio, and held out his hand to him in warmest welcome.