The hour at which I arrived at number -- Charles Street, was one of deep agitation to me, I had thought so continually upon my journey of the young waif I was seeking. Would she be the embodiment of ingenuousness which her grandfather had evidently believed her to be? Should I find her forgiving and tractable; or were the expectations I had formed false in their character and founded rather upon Mr. Pollard's wishes than any knowledge he had of her disposition and acquirements? The house was, as far as I could judge from the exterior, of a most respectable character, and the lady who answered my somewhat impatient summons was one of those neat and intelligent-looking persons who inspire confidence at first glance. To my inquiries as to whether there was living in her house a young English lady by the name of Grace--I did not like to venture upon that of Pollard, there being some phrases in the communication I have shown you which led me to think that Mr. Pollard had changed his name on coming to this country,--she gave me a look of such trouble and anxiety that I was instantly struck with dismay. "Miss Merriam?" she exclaimed; then, as I bowed with seeming acquiescence, continued in a tone that conveyed still more disquiet than her face, "She _was_ here; but she is gone, sir; a woman took her away." A woman! I must have grown pale, for she swung wide the door and asked me to come in. "We can talk better in the hall," she remarked, and pointed to a chair into which I half fell. "I have a great interest in this young lady," I observed; "in short, I am her guardian. Can you tell me the name of the person with whom she went away, or where she can be found now?" "No sir," she answered, with the same expression of trouble. "The woman gave us no name nor address, and the young lady seemed too much frightened to speak. We have felt anxious ever since she went, sir; for the letter she showed us from the captain of the ship which brought her over, told us to take great care of her. We did not know she had a guardian or we should not have let her go. The woman seemed very pleasant, and paid all the bills, but----" "But what?" I cried, too anxious to bear a moment's delay. "She did not lift her veil, and this seemed to me a suspicious circumstance." Torn with apprehension and doubt, I staggered to my feet. "Tell me all about this woman," I demanded. "Give me every detail you can remember. I have a dreadful fear that it is some one who should never have seen this child." "Well, sir, she came at about eleven in the morning----" "What day?" I interrupted her to ask. "Thursday," she replied, "a week ago yesterday." The very day after the will was returned to me. If she were the woman I feared, she had evidently lost no time.