"Yes, sir, I had occasion to, for a letter did come for Miss Merriam only a short time after she left. So thinking it a good opportunity to see where she had gone, I carried it to the address which was on the card given me, and found as I have told you that it was not the same lady at all who lived there, and that there was not only no Miss Merriam in the house but that her name was not even known there." "And you saw the lady herself?" "Yes, sir." "And are you sure it was not the same as the one who was here?" "Oh yes; she was short and stout and had a frank way of speaking, totally unlike that of the veiled woman." "And the latter? How was she shaped? You have not told me." I asked this in trembling tones. Though I was sure what the answer would be, I dreaded to have my fears confirmed. "Well, sir, she was tall and had a full commanding figure, very handsome to look at. She was dressed all in gray and had a way of holding her head that made an ordinary sized woman like myself feel very small and insignificant. Yet she was not agreeable in her appearance; and I am sure that if I could have seen her face I should have disliked her still more, though I do not doubt it was in keeping with her figure, and very handsome." I could have no doubts as to whom this described, yet I made one final effort to prove my suspicions false. "You have given me the description of a person of some pretensions to gentility," I remarked, "yet from the first you have forborne to speak of her as a lady." "An involuntary expression of my distrust and dislike I suppose. Then her dress was very plain, and the veil she wore quite common." I thought of the dress and veil which my self-designated "sister" had worn in the visit she paid to my rooms and wondered if they would not answer to the description of these. "What was the color of her veil?" I inquired. "Dark blue." That was the color of the one which had been worn by my mysterious visitor, as I had found from subsequent questions put to my neighbor, and I could no longer have the least uncertainty as to who the woman was who had carried off Mr. Pollard's grandchild. Sick at heart and fearing I scarcely knew what, I asked for the letter which had been left for Miss Merriam, and receiving it from the hand of this amiable woman in whom I appeared to have inspired as much confidence as her former visitor had alarm, I tore it open, and in my capacity of guardian read what it contained. Here it is: MY DEAR MISS MERRIAM: