brown hair and a smile still on the parted lips,
as if she had welcomed Death; but she was not my Edie. For months and
months after that I waited and waited, feeling sure that she would come.
Then I was forced to leave my lodging. The landlord wanted it himself.
I begged that he would let me remain, but he would not. He was a
hard-hearted, dissipated man. I took another lodging, but it was a long
way off, and left my name and new address at the old one. My heart sank
after that, and--and I've no hope now--no hope. My darling must have
met with an accident in this terrible city. She must have been killed,
and will never come back to me."

The poor creature uttered a low wail, and put a handkerchief to her old
eyes.

"But, bless the Lord!" she added in a more cheerful tone, "I will go to
her--soon."

For some minutes I knew not what to say in reply, by way of comforting
my poor old friend. The case seemed indeed so hopeless. I could only
press her hand. But my nature is naturally buoyant, and ready to hope
against hope, even when distress assails myself.

"Do not say there is no hope, granny," said I at last, making an effort
to be cheerful. "You know that with God all things are possible. It
may be that this missionary did not go the right way to work in his
search, however good his intentions might have been. I confess I cannot
imagine how it is possible that any girl should disappear in this way,
unless she had deliberately gone off with some one."

"No, John, my Edie would not have left me thus of her own free will,"
said the old woman, with a look of assurance which showed that her mind
was immovably fixed as to that point.

"Well, then," I continued, "loving you as you say she did, and being
incapable of leaving you deliberately and without a word of explanation,
it follows that--that--"

I stopped, for at this point no plausible reason for the girl's
disappearance suggested itself.

"It follows that she must have been killed," said the old woman in a low
broken tone.

"No, granny, I will not admit that.--Come, cheer up; I will do my best
to make inquiries about her, and as I have had considerable experience
in making investigations among the poor of London, perhaps I may fall on
some clew. She would be sure to have made inquiries, would she not, at
your old lodging, if she had felt disposed to return?"

"Felt disposed!" repeated Mrs Willis, with a strange laugh. "If she
_could_ return, y