eyes, and when we reached the bottom of the hill, and Emilia said, "It was here the wagon stood, I think," she pressed the unfortunate lady in her arms, and they mingled their tears together. It was at this spot, I repeat, that our real difficulties began, for at about a couple of hundred yards along the road the wagon must have taken (there being no other) it branched out in three directions, north, south, and east. Now, which road led to the wagoner's home? Emilia could not inform us. We took one, the broadest--though why he should have selected the broadest instead of the narrowest I cannot explain, all three roads being equally available for horse traffic--and pursued it for a mile or so, and were confronted by four cross roads, which multiplied our difficulty. I will not enlarge upon the labor of this perplexing enterprise. It is sufficient to say that at the end of the twelfth day I was compelled to confess that we were as far from success as on the first day of our journey. Of course I made innumerable inquiries, but I was speaking of eighteen years ago, and I could not elicit the slightest information of a reliable nature to guide me in the search we were prosecuting. I spared no labor, and although I was greatly discouraged I did not allow my companions to observe my despondency. At length I came to the conclusion that it would be useless to employ further time in the quest, and I told Emilia and my sister that we should return to London on the morrow. Emilia looked at me mournfully. "Don't feel down-hearted," I said, with a cheerful smile. "This is the smallest arrow in my quiver. I have a surer one to adjust when we reach town." It was touching when we arrived at my mother's house, to see the meeting between Emilia and her daughter. We left them to themselves awhile, and when they joined us I conveyed to Emilia a pressing request from my mother that they would stop with her as long as they remained in London. It needed persuasion to induce Emilia to comply, but she saw that Constance wished her to accept, and she did so with much grace, but with a humbleness of manner which powerfully affected me. Constance had some news to communicate. The Bordiers had arrived in London, and had visited her. I was impressed by a certain tremulousness in her voice as she spoke of them, but I made no comment upon it, not feeling myself warranted to intrude upon her confidence. "My mother's house is open to your friends," I said. "They will be always welcome here." She thanked me, and shortly afterward I was hurrying to the W. C. district, first to present myself at the office of the _Evening Moon_, and afterward to go to my chambers, where, in response to a telegram I had forwarded from the country, I expected a visitor. CHAPTER XLV. DR. PETERSSEN IS TRACKED.