alled, and took
away the child."

Mrs. Clifton sank back, in keen disappointment.

"My child, my child!" she murmured. "Shall I ever see thee again?"

Jack, too, felt more disappointed than he was willing to acknowledge.
He could not conjecture who this gentleman could be who had carried away
Ida. The affair seemed darker and more complicated than ever.

CHAPTER XXV. IDA IS FOUND.

IDA was sitting alone in the dreary apartment which she was now obliged
to call home. Peg had gone out, and not feeling quite certain of her
prey, had bolted the door on the outside. She had left some work for the
child,--some handkerchiefs to hem for Dick,--with strict orders to keep
steadily at work.

While seated at work, she was aroused from thoughts of home by a knock
at the door.

"Who's there?" asked Ida.

"A friend," was the reply.

"Mrs. Hardwick--Peg isn't at home," returned Ida. "I don't know when she
will be back."

"Then I will come in and wait till she comes back," said the voice
outside.

"I can't open the door," said Ida. "It's fastened on the outside."

"Yes, I see. Then I will take the liberty to draw the bolt."

Mr. John Somerville entered the room, and for the first time in eight
years his glance fell upon the child whom, for so long a time, he had
defrauded of a mother's care and tenderness.

Ida returned to the window.

"How beautiful she is!" thought Somerville, with surprise. "She inherits
all her mother's rare beauty."

On the table beside Ida was a drawing.

"Whose is this?" he inquired.

"Mine," answered Ida.

"So you have learned to draw?"

"A little," answered the child, modestly.

"Who taught you? Not the woman you live with?"

"No;" said Ida.

"You have not always lived with her, I am sure."

Ida admitted that she had not.

"You lived in New York with a family named Crump, did you not?"

"Do you know father and mother?" asked Ida, with sudden hope. "Did they
send you for me?"

"I will tell you that by and by, my child; but I want to ask you a few
questions first. Why does this woman Peg lock you in whenever she goes
away?"

"I suppose," said Ida, "she is afraid I will run away."

"Then she knows you don't want to live with her?"

"Oh, yes, she knows that," said the child, frankly. "I have asked her to
send me home, but she says she won't for a year."

"And how long have you been with her?"

"About a fortnight."

"What does she make you do?"

"I can't tell w