ng the girl. I have not had a word from
her."

"Nor have we, although we wrote and telegraphed at once. I am afraid
that she is away from home. We did not know your address, or that you
were interested in her."

"Of course not. I kept that matter to myself," said Hubert gloomily. "It
seems that it was foolish of me to do so. May I ask what steps you have
taken to discover the poor child?"

The Sisters, he found, had not been remiss in their endeavors. They had
placed themselves in communication with a London detective; they had
consulted the local police; they had made inquiries at railway stations
and roadside inns. But as yet they had heard nothing of the fugitive.
The girl was strong and active, a good walker and runner; it seemed
pretty evident that she had not gone by train or by ordinary roads. She
must have plunged into the fields and taken a cross-country route in
some direction. Probably she had gone to London; and in London she was
tolerably safe from pursuit.

"Had she money?" Hubert asked of Sister Louisa.

"Not a penny."

"She will be driven back to you by hunger."

"I am afraid not. She was too proud to return to us of her own free
will."

"Is she good-looking?"

"No, I think not," said the Sister, a little doubtfully. "She was tall
for her age, thin and unformed; she had a brown skin and hair cut short
like a boy's. Her eyes were beautiful--large and dark; but she was too
pale and awkward-looking to be pretty. When she had a color--oh, then it
was a different matter!"

Hubert took away with him a full description of Jane Wood's clothes and
probable appearance, and on reaching London went straight to the office
of a private detective. To this man he told as much of Jane's story as
was necessary, and declared himself ready to spend any reasonable amount
of money so long as there was a possibility of finding the lost girl.
The detective was not very hopeful of success; the runaway had already
had two days' start--enough for a complete change of identity. Probably
she had put on boy's clothes and was lurking about the streets of
London.

"But she had no money!" Hubert urged.

"She'll get some somehow," the detective answered quietly.

For some days and weeks Hubert lived in a fever of suspense. He had set
his heart on finding the girl and sending her back to St.
Elizabeth's--or elsewhere. Some kind of home must be secured to her. For
the sake of his own peace of mind, he must know that she w