“Rector of Goeberlin parish, in which Goblin Hall is situated. And Goblin Hall, as the child told you, is her ‘Lady’s house,’ where that lady lives a part of every year.” “Oh, yes. I see.” “Now, pray, tell me all that you have learned from the child of herself.” Annie then told the story as Owlet told her, in answer to leading questions. It need not be repeated her, even in epitome. “So this little foundling of ours is the orphan of a poor widow who died in an apartment house in Washington, and the adopted daughter of the mistress of Goblin Hall, from which she was abducted. This is the gist of the whole story,” said Harcourt. “Yes; but why should she have been stolen from her benefactress? Who could have had any interest in the abduction of an orphan child living on charity?” Annie questioned. “No one but the very man who carried her off. He alone was interested,” Harcourt answered, grimly. “But why should he, whoever he was, have been interested in taking off a destitute orphan adopted by a benevolent lady?” Harcourt paused for a moment to reflect before answering. He had “read between the lines” of the story. He knew more of it than Annie had heard, or Owlet had understood, yet he could not tell his own or Roma’s terrible story even to this good woman, nor could he give her any distinct or satisfactory answer to her question without at least alluding to that “Deed Without a Name.” So he answered, vaguely: “Some mercenary, selfish or blackmailing motive, no doubt.” Just at this moment a knock was heard at the door of Harcourt’s room. He left Annie, and saying: “That may be the telegram,” went out into the passage to see. Annie heard him in low-toned talk with some one there, who presently left him and went downstairs. Then Harcourt returned, looking very much puzzled, and said: “This is a telegram from Mr. Merritt. I will read it to you,” he said; and he read: “CITY HALL, WASHINGTON, D. C., May 1, 187—. “TO MR. WILLIAM WILLIAMS, 110 Drouse Street, New York: Miss Fronde cannot interfere in the case of the abducted child. Wait for a letter of explanation. “AMOS MERRITT.” “This is strange, and passing strange, Annie, is it not?” inquired the young man. “It is indeed. I do not understand it in the least,” sighed the seamstress. “We must wait for the letter of explanation, it seems. That will clear up the case, I hope,” concluded Harcourt. At that moment there was another knock at Harcourt’s door. “I wonder what that is. It can’t be another telegram,” he said, with a slight smile, as he again got up and went out in the passage. But it was another telegram, for in a few moments Harcourt returned to the seamstress’ room with a face so white and a frame so shaken that she started up in a fright, and hurriedly exclaimed: “For the Lord’s sake, Mr. William, what is the matter? What has happened? Have you received bad news?”