o you, as I am desirous of knowing how
Mr. Willoughby is to-day. He seemed so low when I last saw him."

"Oh, certainly," answered Miss Drechsler. "Don't trouble about me; I can
easily wait. And don't hurry, please; I am sure to get some book to
while away the time."

They parted in the hall, Mrs. Gower turning off to the sick-room, while
Miss Drechsler was ushered by the butler into the drawing-room. The room
was a very fine one, large and lofty. It had been little used for some
weeks, and the venetian blinds were down, obscuring the light and
shutting out the summer sunshine.

At first Miss Drechsler could hardly distinguish anything in the room,
coming into it as she did from a blaze of light; but as her eyes became
accustomed to the gloom, she made out first one object and then another
clearly, and rising from the place where she had been seated, she began
to look around her, turning to the pictures, which she had heard were
considered very fine. She looked attentively at some of them. Then her
eyes rested on a full-sized portrait of a beautiful girl, and with a
start of astonishment Miss Drechsler uttered the word, "Frida! and with
her curious necklace on, too. What does it mean?" she queried.

In a moment the whole truth flashed on her mind. That, she felt sure,
must be a picture of Frida's mother, and she must have been the missing
child of Harcourt Manor.

She sat down a moment, feeling almost stunned by the discovery she had
made. What a secret she had to disclose! Oh, if Mrs. Gower would only
come back quickly, that she might share it with her! Oh, if Frida had
only been with her, and she could have presented her to her grandparents
as the child of their lost daughter!

At last the door opened, and her friend appeared, but much agitated.
"Excuse me, dear Miss Drechsler, for having kept you so long waiting;
but I found Mr. Willoughby much worse, and I must ask you kindly to
allow me to remain here for a short time longer. Perhaps you would like
to take a stroll about the beautiful grounds, and--"

But Miss Drechsler could no longer keep silence. "O dear friend, do not
distress yourself about me! Listen to me for a moment. I have made such
a discovery. I know all about Mrs. Willoughby's daughter; but, alas, she
is dead! She died some years ago; but her only child, the very image of
that picture on the wall yonder, is living, and is now residing within a
few hours of London. She is my _protege_, my dearly-