m the unfamiliar handwriting to
the signature. Carey G. Mayo. Anne's uncle!

With changing countenance, she read the letter hastily.

Then she reread it once and again.

"Liverpool, England,

"20 September, 1910.

"Miss Sarah Drayton,

"Dear Madam,--I write to you on the eve of leaving the city, to
commend my niece to your care. You have been so good to the child that I
venture to hope you will care for her till I can relieve you of the
burden. She has no near relative and I am in no position to hunt up the
cousins who might take charge of her.

"I told Anne not to tell you about seeing me till you reached Nantes,
for by that time, if ever, I shall be beyond the reach of officers of
the law. Please keep her mother's rings that I gave to her, unless it
becomes necessary to dispose of them to provide for her. If I live, I
will replace her money that I squandered.

"Will you leave your address for me with the consul in Nantes? For God's
sake, madam, do not betray me to the hands of the law. I am a guilty
man, but I am putting myself in your power for the sake of this
innocent child. Be very good to her, I implore you. Deal with her as you
would be dealt with in your hour of need.

"Respectfully yours,

"Carey G. Mayo."

This was the secret then, this the mystery. How she had misjudged poor
little Anne! She would hasten to take the child from the asylum and
would do all possible to make up for the lonely, neglected past. She
wrote at once to the consul at Nantes, asking him to forward to her
Washington address any letters which came for her. Then she hastened her
departure to Washington.

"I came before the time I set," she said to her brother-in-law as soon
as they were alone together, "because I wish to talk to you about Anne
Lewis." Mr. Patterson's brow clouded. "She is in an orphan asylum in
Virginia, is she not? We must get her out. At once. Read this letter."

Mr. Patterson held the letter unopened in his hand. "The subject is an
unpleasant one," he said. "I've been wanting to tell you about a
conversation I had with Pat. It showed me in a startling way how the boy
is developing. I don't know what to do with him. In my young days, boys
were different. We submitted to our fathers. A year or two of school and
camp life has changed my little Pat into a sullen, self-willed,
unmanageable youngster." He repeated the conversation between Pat and
himself about