ght I
would like you to come with me, for your tact may be of great
assistance. Have you spoken much with Eliza?"

"Not at all, I think. Beth has talked with her, but I have scarcely been
near her since she came here."

"You are willing to come?"

"I shall be glad to."

"The poet Saxe," said Mr. Burke, walking through the gap beside Louise,
"has never been properly appreciated by his countrymen, although since
his death his verses are in greater demand than while he lived. Do you
care for them?"

"I don't know Saxe very well," she answered, observing that they were
approaching a place where Eliza was bending over a rose-bush. "But one
or two of his poems are so amusing that they linger in my memory."

Eliza turned at the sound of their voices and gave them a quick glance.
But the next moment she resumed her occupation of cutting roses.

"The man's greatest fault was his habit of punning," remarked the
detective, watching the girl's form as he drew nearer. "It is that which
blinded his contemporaries to his real talents. What exquisite roses,
Miss Merrick! May I ask for one for my button-hole?"

"Yes, indeed!" she replied, pausing with him just beside Eliza. "Will
you cut that bud yonder, for Mr. Burke, my dear?"

The maid silently obeyed and as the detective took the flower from her
hand he said:

"Why, isn't this Eliza Parsons?"

"Yes, sir," she replied, carelessly.

"Don't you remember me, Eliza?"

She seemed a little surprised, but answered promptly:

"No, sir."

"I'm William Burke, your mother's cousin. How did you leave your brother
Harry, and have you heard from Josephine lately?"

The girl gave him a startled look and shrank back.

"Why, how nice!" cried Louise. "I did not know you knew Eliza's family,
Mr. Burke."

"Yes, she is one of my relatives, and came from Roanoke, Virginia. Isn't
that correct, Eliza?"

"Yes, sir--no! I--I don't remember!" she said, in a low tone.

"Don't remember, Eliza? That is strange."

The girl stared at him half frightened, and drew her hand over her eyes
with a gesture of bewilderment.

"I hope, my dear, you are not going to be like your mother," said Mr.
Burke, gently. "My poor cousin Nora was subject to a strange lapse of
memory at times," he remarked to Louise. "She always recovered in time,
but for days she could remember nothing of her former life--not even her
own name. Are you ever affected that way Eliza?"

She looked up at him pleadingly, and m