"Wheder dere's anyfing wrong or not, 'snot for me to say, massa, but I t'ink dere's suffin' up, for she seems in a carfuffle." "Tell her I shall be with her instantly." Completing his toilet hastily, our hero repaired to his mother's apartment, where he found her seated in dishabille with an open letter in her hand, and some excitement in her face. "Is Laronde better this morning?" she asked as her son sat down on a sofa at the foot of her bed. "I don't know, mother--haven't been to his room this morning. Why do you ask? Has anything happened?" "I will tell you presently, but first let me know what success you have had in your search." "Nothing but failure," said the middy, in a desponding tone. "If there had been anything good to tell you I would have come to your room last night despite the lateness of the hour. We were later than usual in arriving because a trace broke, and after that one of the horses cast a shoe." "Where did you make inquiries, George?" "At the solicitors' office, of course. It is through them that we obtained what we hoped would be a clue, and it is to them that poor Marie Laronde used to go to inquire whether there was any chance of her husband being released for a smaller sum than was at first demanded. They had heard of a dressmaker who employed a girl or woman named Laronde in the West End, so I hunted her up with rather sanguine expectations, but she turned out to be a girl of sixteen, dark instead of fair, and unmarried! But again I ask, mother, what news, for I see by your face that you have something to tell me. That is a letter from Minnie, is it not?" "It is, George, and I am very hopeful that while you have been away on the wrong scent in the West End of London, Minnie has fallen, quite unexpectedly, on the right scent in one of the low quarters of Liverpool. You know that she has been nursing Aunt Jeanette there for more than a fortnight." "Yes, I know it only too well," answered the middy. "It is too bad that Aunt Jeanette should take it into her head to get ill and send for Minnie just three weeks after my return from slavery!--But what do you mean by her having fallen on the right scent? Surely she has not found leisure and strength both to hunt and nurse at the same time!" "Yes, indeed, she has. Our last winter in that charming south of France has so completely restored her--through the blessing of God--that she has found herself equal to almost anything. It happens that Aunt Jeanette has got a friend living close to her who is an enthusiastic worker amongst the poor of the town, and she has taken your sister several times to visit the districts where the very poor people live. It was while she was thus engaged, probably never thinking of poor Laronde's wife at all, that she--but here is the letter. Read it for yourself, you need not trouble yourself to read the last page--just down to here." Retiring to the window the middy read as follows:--