nd the dead were hurried to their last resting-place
without a prayer or a dirge.

Little Elinora was taken by her nurse to the Sisters of Charity, and
escaped the disease. Mrs. Checkynshaw recovered, and as soon as she was
able, reclaimed her child, and fled to the interior of Switzerland, to
a small town which the plague had not yet visited. When the panic had
subsided, she returned to Paris. She bad been informed, before her
departure, that little Marguerite had died of the disease; but, on her
return, she visited the hospital, and made more careful inquiry in
regard to the little patient. She was told that the child answering to
her description had died, and been buried with a dozen others. It was
then impossible to identify the remains of the child.

Mr. Checkynshaw returned to Paris in September. His wife had written to
him and to Mrs. Wittleworth as soon as she was able, and her husband
had received her letter before his departure from Boston. Poor little
Marguerite! She was his own child, and he was sorely grieved at her
death. He was not quite satisfied with his wife's investigations, and
he determined to inquire further. With Mrs. Checkynshaw he went to the
hospital.

"The child died the day after it was brought here," replied the
director. "Here is the name;" and he pointed to the record.

The name indicated certainly was not "Checkynshaw," though it was as
near it as a Frenchman could be expected to write it. The letters
spelled "Chuckingham."

"Allow me to look at the book," said Mr. Checkynshaw.

"Certainly, sir; but I remember the case well. She was a little English
girl," added the director.

"This child was American," interposed the anxious father.

"We cannot tell the difference. She spoke only English."

"What is this?" asked Mr. Checkynshaw, pointing to another name.
"Marguerite Poulebah."

"That patient was discharged, cured."

"Do you translate English proper names?"

"Never!"

"What became of this patient?" asked Mr. Checkynshaw, deeply
interested.

"I don't know."

The banker was satisfied that "Marguerite Poulebah" was his daughter;
that the persons who had brought her to the hospital understood a
little English, and had translated his surname literally from "chicken"
and "pshaw." He investigated the matter for a week. The concierge of
the lodgings where he had resided assured him he had not given the name
as "Poulebah." At the end of the week he informed his wife that he had