Harcourt passed into the front room, where he found the child yawning in a deep leather armchair, in which her little figure was nearly lost. “Well, you have been a time! I have almost gaped the top of my head off!” said Owlet reproachfully, as soon as she saw him. “I’m sorry. But come, my dear. Mr. Merritt wants to see you, and take you right away to your Lady,” said Harcourt. “Oh, where is she? Where is she?” exclaimed Owlet, jumping off the chair in great excitement. “Not far off. She is back here in the city, and in that same house where you first met her. You will see her in time to take tea with her,” he replied as he led the delighted child into the presence of the lawyer. “Hello, Miss Catherine! Is that you? You have had adventures since I saw you last. You will have to write your travels, I am thinking. Where did you come from last?” gayly demanded Mr. Merritt, holding out his hand to the child. She rushed upon it, seized it, looked up into his face, and exclaimed: “Oh! are you going to take me to Lady—right away—this very, very minute?” “Just as soon as I can wash my face, change my coat and put on my hat,” said Amos Merritt, smiling at the impetuosity of the child. “Well, then, please—oh, please! be very, very quick! And I know you will be, for you always was possessed of common sense!” exclaimed the child, with her formula of highest praise. “Oh, thank you! I feel as if I were invested with the Order of the Garter,” said the lawyer as he left the office to retire into the little dressing-room where he kept his best coat, clean collars, combs and brushes, etc. He spent but a few moments over his toilet, and came out dressed for dinner. “Come, now; I am ready,” he said. “Good-by, dear little Owlet,” said Harcourt, stooping to kiss the child. “Oh!—but ain’t you going with us to see Lady?” inquired the little one, with a look of surprise and disappointment. “No, dear child, I cannot do so,” sadly replied the young man. “Oh! but indeed, indeed, you must! you must! you must!” she insisted. “Listen to me, little one. My dear old mother is sick in bed. I did not tell you so before, because I did not wish to trouble you, but I tell you so now so that you may know why I must hurry away to see her,” said Harcourt, looking down into the earnest face of the child, whose brown eyes were lifted to his, full of sympathy. “Oh, I am so sorry—so very sorry! I hope she will get well soon, and then you can come to see Lady and me,” she said. “I should be very happy to do so, dear. Now you will let me go? Good-by, dear,” he said, stooping again to kiss her, and saying to himself: “This is another final parting. Even this child I shall never see after this day.” Mr. Merritt was drawing on his gloves, and kindliness getting the better of his sternness for a moment, he said: “Oh, don’t take leave of her here. Come along with us. Our course goes the same way as far as the avenue, where we take the up car, and you the down one.”