e the despatch-box direct to its destination.
Your business now is to find the young woman, and return with her not
later than six o'clock this afternoon to my office at the General
Post-office. What other steps we think it requisite to take, you need
know nothing about; the less you know, the better for yourselves."

Another gleam of commiseration in his official eye made our hearts sink
within us. We departed promptly, and, with that instinct of wisdom which
at times dictates infallibly what course we should pursue, we decided our
line of action. Tom Morville was to go down to Camden-town, and inquire
at every house for Miss Clifton, while I--there would be just time for
it--was to run down to Eaton by train and obtain her exact address from
her parents. We agreed to meet at the General Post-office at half-past
five, if I could possibly reach it by that time; but in any case Tom was
to report himself to the secretary and account for my absence.

When I arrived at the station at Eaton, I found that I had only
forty-five minutes before the up train went by. The town was nearly a
mile away, but I made all the haste I could to reach it. I was not
surprised to find the post-office in connexion with a bookseller's shop,
and I saw a pleasant elderly lady seated behind the counter, while a tall
dark-haired girl was sitting at some work a little out of sight. I
introduced myself at once.

"I am Frank Wilcox, of the railway post-office, and I have just run down
to Eaton to obtain some information from you."

"Certainly. We know you well by name," was the reply, given in a cordial
manner, which was particularly pleasant to me.

"Will you be so good as give me the address of Miss Anne Clifton in
Camden-town?" I said.

"Miss Anne Clifton?" ejaculated the lady.

"Yes. Your daughter, I presume. Who went up to London last night."

"I have no daughter Anne," she said; "I am Anne Clifton, and my daughters
are named Mary and Susan. This is my daughter Mary."

The tall dark-haired girl had left her seat, and now stood beside her
mother. Certainly she was very unlike the small golden-haired coquette
who had travelled up to London with me as Anne Clifton.

"Madam," I said, scarcely able to speak, "is your other daughter a
slender little creature, exactly the reverse of this young lady?"

"No," she answered, laughing; "Susan is both taller and darker than Mary.
Call Susan, my dear."

In a few seconds Miss Susan made