“I was talking to the child, Laura,” she said. “I have been hearing her history. Don’t you remember that I’ve been trying for years to find my niece, Clara Bird, or her children? Well, this girl is Clara’s child--” A look of fear and anger disfigured Mrs. Blight’s face. The girl became, upon the instant, a terror to her. “Aunt Wroat,” said the lawyer’s wife hastily, “this girl is a mere imposter that I took in out of charity. She has deceived you. Miss Bird, go to your room at once. To-morrow morning you leave my house.” “Peters,” said Mrs. Wroat quietly, “give me my purse.” Peters brought a plethoric pocket-book from her mistress’ traveling-bag, and the old lady took out a five-pound Bank of England note. “Give that to Mrs. Blight, Peters,” continued the old lady calmly. “Mrs. Blight, that is the amount you advanced to my great-niece when she entered your service. I do not wish her to be indebted to you. And here are twenty pounds to reimburse you for any expense I may have put you to. I am sorry, Laura, to disappoint you,” added Mrs. Wroat, putting her wallet in her pocket, “but you and your husband need the lesson. I am not so deaf but that I heard every whisper you and your husband exchanged in the drawing-room to-night. I am aware that you consider me ‘an old cat,’ and ‘an old nuisance,’ and that you ‘would send me to an alms-house, if it were not for my money.’ I have now only to say to you that your heartlessness has met with its appropriate reward. This young lady is my adopted daughter and future heiress, and when you order a cab for her in the morning, you may let the boy come up for my luggage also. I shall go with my adopted daughter.” CHAPTER V. NEVA AND HER ENEMIES. Neva Wynde had arrived in London, by the morning express train from Canterbury, in the care of Mr. and Mrs. Craven Black, and from the moment in which she had emerged with them from the railway station, all clue to her movements was suddenly and mysteriously lost. What had become of her? How had she so singularly disappeared? These questions, which filled the souls of Neva’s lover and guardians with such unspeakable terror and anxiety and which they so signally failed in their efforts to solve, we now purpose answering for the benefit of the reader. On alighting from the crowded morning train, Craven Black hurried his bride, her maid and Neva into a waiting cab, superintended the mounting of the luggage to the stout cab roof, and gave the order to be driven to Gravesend, adding more explicit directions in an undertone. He then entered the vehicle, and the vehicle rolled from the station. “Where are we going, Mrs. Black?” asked Neva, looking from the cab windows. “I fancied Mr. Black said Gravesend.”