“I wish I knew what has really happened,” she said to herself. “He knew nothing whatever about this business when I left him this morning. I hope nothing is wrong.” In her disappointment about her husband not being at home, she forgot all about Mrs. Ives. When she returned to the hall the little woman was still seated on one of the chairs. “Oh, I am sorry I forgot all about you,” said Barbara. “Did you wish to see me about anything?” “Well, yes, my lady, I should like to ask you one or two questions.” “Come in here. This is my husband’s study, and we shall be quite uninterrupted.” Barbara opened a door to the left of the hall and entered first. Mrs. Ives followed her. Barbara closed the door behind her guest. “And now what is it?” she asked. “Well, my lady, I have come here to know if by any chance a little boy has arrived during the last twenty-four hours.” “I don’t understand,” said Barbara. “A little boy—what do you mean?” “A very pretty little boy, my lady,” said Mrs. Ives, speaking slowly, her eyes fixed on Barbara’s blooming face. “Brown eyes he had, deep and soft, a wonderful look in ’em, starry eyes, I call ’em, and a little brown face with roses in his cheeks, and black hair all curly, and his name, my lady, is Piers. Has he come here within the last twenty-four hours?” “Certainly not. What a strange question to ask. A boy called Piers. Why, that is the name of the dear little fellow who died three months ago.” “I was thinking of that, my lady.” “But what can you mean? The child you describe is exactly like the little Piers who died. Please explain yourself.” “I can do it in a few words, my lady. I has had the care of a little boy just as I have described, with the air of the nobility about him, and a splendid way and brave, brave as a hero of antiquity, but he’s lost, my lady. I went to town to see my darter, Clara Tarbot what now is—she looks mortal bad—riches don’t agree with her. I saw my darter on the subject of the little boy, and when I come home he was gone. I thought maybe he’d come here.” “I cannot understand it,” said Barbara. She began to tremble. She did not know why. “A little boy whom you had the care of called Piers, with that sort of appearance, and you thought he would come here. But why should he come here?” “I had the thought, my lady. I ain’t prepared to say what gave birth to it.” “I have been out of the house all day,” said Barbara after another pause, “but I will of course inquire. If you will stay where you are I can soon let you know.” Barbara left the room. The little woman clasped her hands and looked straight before her. “This is his house,” she said to herself, “and the room is a beautiful one—heaps of air, big, lofty. If I don’t soon get tidings the police must be told that he’s not an ordinary little boy, but Sir Piers Pelham himself.” Lady Pelham returned, and her face was pale.