alled the little unused front
room. He felt strangely ill at ease and began to be convinced that he
was on the very wildest of wild goose chases. To think of expecting to
find Elizabeth Stanhope in a place like this! If she ever had been here
she certainly must have flown faster than she had from the church on her
wedding night.

So, instead of beginning as he had planned, to put a list of logically
prepared keen questions to a floundering and suspecting victim, he found
the clear eyes of Ma looking into his unwaveringly and the wise tongue
of Ma putting him through a regular orgy of catechism before she would
so much as admit that she had ever heard of a girl named Lizzie Hope.
Then he bethought him of her daughter's letter and handed it over for
her to read.

"Well," she admitted at last, half satisfied, "she isn't here at
present. I sent her away when I found you was comin'. I wasn't sure I'd
let you see her at all if I didn't like your looks."

"That's right, Mrs. Carson," he said heartily, with real admiration in
his voice. "I'm glad she has some one so careful to look out for her.
Your daughter said she was in a good safe place, and I begin to see she
knew what she was talking about."

Then the strong look around Ma's lips settled into the sweeter one, and
she sent Bob after the girl.

"Are you a friend of hers?" she asked, watching him keenly.

"No," said Reyburn. "I've never seen her but once. She doesn't know me
at all."

"Are you a friend of her--family?"

"Oh, no!"

"Or any of her friends or relations?" Ma meant to be comprehensive.

"No. I'm sorry I am not. I am a rather recent comer to the city where
she made her home, I understand."

Ma looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. It wouldn't have been called
a stare, it was too kindly for that, but Reyburn thought to himself that
he would not have liked to have borne her scrutiny if he had anything to
conceal, for he felt as if she might read the truth in his eyes.

"Are you--please excuse me for askin'--but are you a member of any
church?"

Reyburn flushed, and wanted to laugh, but was embarrassed in spite of
himself:

"Why, yes--I'm a member," he said slowly, then with a frank lifting of
his eyes to her troubled gaze, "I united with the church when I was a
mere kid, but I'm afraid I'm not much of a member. I really am not what
you'd call 'working' at it much nowadays. I go to morning service
sometimes, but that's about all. I don't want t