The inquiries which Yeldham had instituted in every possible quarter had all been without result, and already many weeks had elapsed, when one morning Robert received a letter from Mrs. Stanbourne, to whom he had written immediately on Katharine's departure, but from whom, up to that time, he had received no reply. He had had no exact knowledge of her address, and his inquiries had elicited no more precise indication than "Rome;" so he had no resource but waiting--with little patience indeed, and but poorly rewarded, for the letter ran thus: "Florence. "My Dear Mr. Streightley,--Your letter has been following me about for several weeks,--I believe for months, indeed,--and has only just reached me. I cannot--I need not tell you how greatly the news which it conveys has pained and distressed me. I am sure you will understand this without my dwelling upon the point, and that you personally will be assured of my sympathy in this your hour of grief. I am old enough to be allowed to speak plainly in these matters, even to one with whom I have not been very long acquainted, and I may tell you therefore that not merely did I see in you many qualities which any girl might be proud of in a husband, but I took the opportunity of showing to Katharine that I had observed them. I am sure furthermore, not merely from the manner in which those remarks were received, but from the general tenour of her conduct, that she had not one thought which she would have been ashamed of sharing with you, and I therefore am disposed to hope that her departure may have been caused by childish petulance, provoked by some little 'tiff,' which you have not explained to me--that it has been merely temporary, and that now, ere this note reaches you, she has returned to you and her duty. If this be so, you will throw this letter into the fire and think no more of it. But if it be not so; if she is still holding aloof from you through self-will, and which I suppose, as her relative, I may venture to call obstinacy, I think it best to give you all the aid and information in my power. I need scarcely tell you that she is not, that she has not been, with me. I do not know that she would have sought me; but, at any rate, my frequent changes of address would have prevented her finding me. Had I seen her, I should have put aside my own ill-health (which is, I suspect, a great deal laziness, and hatred of England in the dull season), and, starting off at once, never left her until I had restored her to you. But I remember that two or three years ago a great friend and old schoolfellow of hers, Annie Burton--of whom I know Katharine had a very high opinion--went to live at the Convent de St. Etienne, in Paris, and, as I believe, ended in taking the veil there. If all the other inquiries which you have doubtless set on foot have failed, would it not be well to make a search for our poor lost girl at this convent? Such a place would be likely to attract her in her then frame of mind.