“Oh, no, dear.” “Then was it Uncle Paunchus?” “No, Owlet.” “He’s very aggravating, too, sometimes, you know.” “But he has not displeased me, nor has any one here.” “Then who was it? That is what I want to hear.” “You would not know, dear, if I were to tell you,” gently replied the lady. “Well, if I don’t know who it was, I do know one thing,” said Owlet. “What is that, dear?” Roma inquired, with a grave smile. “I know whoever it was that hurt you is not possessed of common sense, and I would not mind ’em if I was you,” concluded Owlet with solemn conviction. While she spoke, Puck, the mail messenger, entered the room with the mail bag, which he handed to his mistress. Roma opened the bag and emptied its contents upon the table before her. There was quite a heap of letters. She hastily looked over their superscriptions and postmarks, and recognized them by their handwriting. There was a letter from her late guardian, Lawyer Merritt, letters from Mr. and Mrs. Gray and from Abbot Elde. She opened Mrs. Gray’s letter first, saw at a glance that the writer and all her family were well, and then laid aside that and all the accompanying foreign letters, to be read at more leisure, and opened Mr. Merritt’s letter, which was a very bulky one, for the envelope inclosed two others, one in the handwriting of Margaret Wynthrop, addressed to Amos Merritt, Esq., and the other in that of Reba Bushe, addressed to Mrs. William Harcourt, care of Amos Merritt, Esq. The lawyer’s letter contained only a few lines, to the effect that he forwarded the inclosed, adding a remark that Hanson’s stepsister was evidently still in utter ignorance of Roma’s true position, and believed her to be the wife of Will Harcourt. Roma hastened to open and read Miss Wynthrop’s letter, in the hope of hearing some good news of the Harcourts. It was, however, but a short note, seemingly in answer to an inquiring one from the lawyer, and informing him that Mrs. Harcourt’s condition remained unchanged, and that Mr. Will Harcourt had left Goblin Hall for the North, but not giving the young man’s address, which, by the way, was not known to the writer. With a deep sigh Roma laid this letter aside and took up that of Reba Bushe.