te for
literature. You see, I have heard much of him. Oh, I am sure something
has happened to him, some misfortune! You see, she had asked him to
call upon me, and he would never have left Hilda--not to mention his
parents and sister--five days in suspense if able to communicate with
them.'

'If he is the person you describe him, surely not.'

She gazed at me a moment, as if about to reproach me for the doubt my
words implied, and dropped her eyes. Then she answered quietly:

'The simple fact that John O'Neil, Hilda's father, has accepted him as
his daughter's _fiance_ is sufficient for me. Mr. O'Neil is an astute
lawyer and a shrewd judge of character; he has known the Trents for
many years, and he already looks upon Gerald Trent as a son.'

'And Mr. O'Neil--where is he?'

'Abroad at present; it is to be regretted now.'

I took up the paper and re-read the account of young Trent's
disappearance; and Miss Jenrys dropped her head upon her hand, and
seemed to be studying the case. After a moment of silence, Miss Ross,
who had been a listener from the beginning, leaned toward her niece
and said, in her gentlest tone:

'June, my child, ought we not to try and do something? What does thee
think? Should we wait, and perhaps lose valuable time, while the
Trents are on their way?'

Miss Jenrys lifted her head suddenly.

'Auntie,' she exclaimed, 'you are worth a dozen of me! You are right!
We must do something. Mr. Masters, what would you do first if you were
to begin at once upon the case?'

'Get, from the chief of police if necessary, the name of the up-town
hotel where young Trent was last seen.'

'And then?' she urged, in a prompt, imperious manner quite new in my
acquaintance with her.

'Obtain a description of him from some of the people there, and learn
all that can be learned about him.'

'And what next?' she urged still.

'Next, I would seek among the houses within two or three blocks from
the north entrance for the rooms which he engaged, and which are
perhaps still held for him.'

'Mr. Masters, can you do this for me?' She was sitting erect before
me, the very incarnation of repressed activity, and I knew, as well as
if she had said it, that she would never permit my refusal to weaken
the determination just taking shape in her mind to do for Hilda O'Neil
what she could not have done for herself, and to do it boldly,
promptly, openly. She saw my hesitation, and went on hurriedly:

'I know how busy