nt, but he
sank into the chair again as John Heron said in a sepulchral voice:

"I should most willingly do so, Mr. Wordley, but I regret to say I do
not know where she is."

"You--don't--know--where--she is!" said Mr. Wordley, anger and
amazement struggling for the upper hand. "What the devil I beg your
pardon, Mrs. Heron! You must excuse an old man with a short temper and
a touch of the gout--but I don't understand you! Why don't you know?"

Mrs. Heron began to sniff, and her worthy husband drew himself up and
tried to look dignified, and failed utterly in the attempt.

"Such language--" he began.

"Confound my language, sir!" snapped the old lawyer, his face growing
red. "Be good enough to answer my question!"

"Ida left our hospitable roof about a fortnight ago," said Mr. Heron.
"She left like a thief in the night--that is to say, morning. I regret
to say that she left no message, no word of farewell, behind her. I had
occasion to rebuke her on the preceding night, and, following the
dictates of an ungodly nature and a perverse pride, she chose to leave
the shelter of this roof--"

Mr. Wordley sprang to his feet, his passion rendering him speechless
for a moment.

"_You_ rebuke Miss Ida! Are you out of your mind? And pray, what had
she done?"

"She had been guilty of attempting to ensnare the affection of my
son--" began John Heron.

At this moment the door opened and Joseph appeared. Mr. Wordley looked
at him.

"Ensnaring the affections of _this!_" he snorted, with a contempt which
caused Mr. Joseph's immediate retreat. "Oh, you _must_ be out of your
mind!"

"Her conduct was reprehensible in other ways," stammered John Heron.

"Nonsense!" almost shouted Mr. Wordley. "I don't want to hear any more
of such nonsense. Miss Ida's conduct reprehensible! Why, she couldn't
conduct herself in any way than that of a high-bred, pure-minded,
gentle-hearted girl, if she tried! You have been entertaining an angel
unawares, Mr. Heron--there's a bit of Scripture for _you!_--you've had
a pearl in your house, and it's been cast before--Bless my soul! I'm
losing my temper! But, 'pon my word, there's some excuse for it. You've
let that dear child leave your house, you've lost sight of her for over
a fortnight, and--and you stand there and snuffle to me about her
'conduct!' Where is she? Oh, of course, you don't know; and you'd stand
there like a stuck pig, if I were fool enough to remain here for a week
and ask quest