r,
because it was the name of the man who made our big map." And, looking
up with that eager zeal which marks the liking of very little folks for
some one favorite person among their grown acquaintances, she added,
earnestly: "I do hope you won't let them say any thing bad about Mr.
Mansell, he is so good."

And without waiting for a reply, she ran off, her curls dancing, her
eyes sparkling, all her little innocent form alive with the joy of
having done a kindness, as she thought, for her favorite, Mr. Mansell.

Mr. Byrd, on the contrary, felt a strange pang that the information he
had sought for so long and vainly should come at last from the lips of
an innocent child.

Monteith, as you remember, was the next station to Sibley.

XV.

THE END OF A TORTUOUS PATH.

Thus bad begins and worse remains behind.--HAMLET.

THE arrest of Mr. Hildreth had naturally quieted public suspicion by
fixing attention upon a definite point, so that when Mr. Byrd returned
to Sibley he found that he could pursue whatever inquiries he chose
without awakening the least mistrust that he was on the look-out for the
murderer of Mrs. Clemmens.

The first use he made of his time was to find out if Mr. Mansell, or any
man answering to his description, had been seen to take the train from
the Sibley station on the afternoon or evening of the fatal Tuesday. The
result was unequivocal. No such person had been seen there, and no such
person was believed to have been at the station at any time during that
day. This was his first disappointment.

He next made the acquaintance of the conductors on that line of
street-cars by means of which he believed Mr. Mansell to have made his
escape. But with no better result. Not one of them remembered having
taken up, of late, any passenger from the terminus, of the appearance
described by Mr. Byrd.

And this was his second disappointment.

His next duty was obviously to change his plan of action and make the
town of Monteith the centre of his inquiries. But he hesitated to do
this till he had made one other visit to the woods in whose recesses he
still believed the murderer to have plunged immediately upon dealing the
fatal blow.

He went by the way of the street railroad, not wishing to be again seen
crossing the bog, and arrived at the hut in the centre of the glade
without meeting any one or experiencing the least adventure.

This time he went in, but nothing was to be seen save