“He was in New York at the time. He was coming out of his lodging-house, in the gray of the morning, on the day before yesterday, when he heard a moan of distress near the steps. He followed the sound and found the child. She was half dead with cold, hunger and fright. He took her in, and with the assistance of a poor seamstress, a fellow lodger in the house, he succored her until she was able to give some account of herself—just such a confused account as a child of six years, who had been drugged, first with chloroform and then with opium, and brought three hundred miles in a state of stupor, had had brain fever, and had come to her senses to find herself in a strange city, among strangers, had run away, had fallen among total thieves, had been left to die under a stoop, and had been found half dead, might be supposed to be able to give.” “Oh, the dastardly villain! “‘There may be heaven!—there must be hell!’” exclaimed Miss Fronde, as the words of Browning rushed into her mind. “In the child’s imperfect story they heard such names as ‘Roma,’ ‘Goblin Hall,’ ‘Dr. Shaw,’ and even that of your humble servant. Of course, Harcourt recognized these names at once, and he knew from what place the child had been stolen, though he did not know the name of the thief, nor the motive of the theft; for those the child did not herself know, and could not tell him.” “And did Will Harcourt send the child to Washington?” “Wait a moment. First of all, he wired me that the child had been found. That was on the day before yesterday. You were on your way from Goeberlin Hall to Washington. I could not consult you; therefore, I wired back that you could not interfere in the case of the recovered child. I thought I would tell you all about it when you should get to Washington, but you arrived late, and I did not wish to tell you any news that might keep you awake all night. I deferred the announcement until this afternoon. In the meantime, it seems Harcourt received a telegram from Miss Wynthrop, summoning him immediately to his mother’s sick bed. In his dilemma as to what he should do with the forlorn child, he decided to bring her with him, and even take her, if necessary, to Lone Lodge. On his arrival in Washington he brought her to my office, giving us, as it were, the refusal of her. I thought, when I heard his statement, that under the circumstances you might receive her, and having this engagement to dine with you this evening, I ventured to bring the child with me.” “Of course I will receive her, and of course I will hereafter protect her against the unnatural monster who deserted her to destitution in her helpless infancy, and afterward stole her for blackmail and endangered her life with his poisonous drugs.” “I do not think that he will ever again disturb you in the possession of the child. I do not think he will dare to do it,” said Mr. Merritt earnestly.