“Thank you; but I thought you were going to tell me all about the Harcourts?” “So I was; but, on second thoughts, I will leave Miss Wynthrop’s letter with you. Here it is. You see, I really ought to be at my office. It is now ten minutes after ten, and I have to meet a client at eleven. Are you still resolved to leave the city to-morrow morning?” “Oh, yes. I have written to Will Harcourt to meet me at Goblin Hall immediately. That means as soon as steam can take him there, of course.” “Then I shall return to spend the last evening with you. Good-morning, my child.” “Good-morning, good friend.” The lawyer left the room. Little Owlet, who had been sitting demurely on a hassock, nursing a black bull pup Tom had given her, now looked up and asked: “What is it all about?” “A dear, very dear friend, whom I have not seen for months,” replied Roma. “So I thought, from what the lawyer said; but he did say, too, that somebody had been found. Now, nobody could be found unless they had been lost, could they?” “Of course not.” “Was it your friend who was lost?” “Yes, dear.” “And his name was Will something or other. I remember that much.” “Will Harcourt.” “Oh, yes! That was it! Who lost him?” “He himself, I think.” “Was he a very little boy?” “No, dear; he is a man.” “Then, if he is a man, he is not possessed of common sense, to go and lose himself. Who found him?” “I don’t know, dear. I wish to read this letter, which will tell me, perhaps.” “Well, read it, and I will go and take George Thomas out for a walk on the pavement,” said the child; and she arose and carried the puppy, on whom she had bestowed the double name, out of the room. Roma read Margaret Wynthrop’s letter, giving the account of Harcourt’s sudden arrival at Lone Lodge, and of his distress at finding the mind of his aged mother failing, even though that failure was attended by a happy hallucination. From the tone of the letter Roma judged that Harcourt had never mentioned his defeated marriage, and that the Wynthrops were ignorant of it. This circumstance seemed very strange to Roma, and if it did not deepen the mystery of that unparalleled marriage ceremony, it certainly threw no light upon its darkness. But she would soon see Harcourt, and learn the truth from him, she said to herself, as she laid aside Miss Wynthrop’s letter and set about completing her last preparations for her journey. In the midst of packing her traveling bag she was interrupted by the entrance of Owlet with her puppy in her arms. “I thought you were going to read your letter? If I had known you were going to work I would have stayed to help you” said Owlet solemnly. “I have finished my letter, dear, and now I am only putting up a few things in my bag for use during our journey,” Roma explained.