“Oh, she is Lady, you know, Lady.” “But what is her name?” “I—don’t—think—I—quite—know.” “But what do other people call her? Everyone does not call her Lady, I suppose?” “No—nobody but me. I call her Lady. But the black people do call her ‘young mist’ess,’ and Mr. Merritt and Dr. Shaw call her ‘Roma, my dear’.” Harcourt started. “‘Roma?’—‘Dr. Shaw?’—‘Mr. Merritt?’ What does all this mean?” he muttered to himself in strong agitation. Then: “Where does this lady live, my child?” he asked, in a shaking voice. “Oh! at Goblin Hall. Such a lovely place! Oh, sir, please—oh! please do take me home to my own dear Lady!” pleaded the child, putting her little, white hands together and looking up in his face. “Yes, yes, you shall be restored to your Lady,” he said. “This is very strange. I cannot comprehend it at all. But I know that I must succor this little one,” he thought, as he lifted the unresisting child to his shoulder and carried her up the four flights of stairs to his room. CHAPTER XXII WILL HARCOURT’S WAIF It was growing lighter. A bright dawn, shining over the bay and into the back windows, lighted up the room. Harcourt laid the child down on his white bed, shrinking involuntarily from the offensiveness of the foul rag that wrapped her. “And she talks of Roma, and Mr. Merritt, and Dr. Shaw! It is very strange. I cannot comprehend it all. But I will appeal to Annie. Annie will be able to learn more from her than I could,” he said to himself. “Oh, please, sir, will you give me something to eat?” asked the child. “Yes, dear. Are you so very hungry?” kindly inquired Harcourt. “Oh! so hungry—so very hungry! I never was so hungry in all my life before. I am all sunk in, and my stomach has all gone to my backbone—it has, indeed, though you mayn’t believe it.” “What would you like to have, dear?” “Bread and butter, with sugar on it,” promptly replied the child. Harcourt went to his corner cupboard and brought out a pitcher of milk and a loaf of bread. He cut a slice, spread it with butter, then with sugar, and placed it on a plate; then filled a cup with milk, and took the repast to his little guest. She sat up on the side of the bed to eat it. “When did you leave your lady?” he inquired, as he seated himself on a chair near her. “Oh! I don’t know. I—I—I——No! it’s no use—I don’t know. It was—was—ever so long ago,” sighed the child. “Were you lost?” “Yes; I lost myself. I went out to try to find Lady; and she found me.” “Lady found you?” “Oh, no; of course not! If Lady had found me I shouldn’t be here, looking this way,” said the elf, rather indignantly. “Then who found you?” “The nasty old woman, of course.” “Ah! And what then?” “I did ask her the way to Goblin Hall, and she told me she would go with me and show me the way.” “Oh! And what next did she do?”