s to see her. But possibly you know the whole story?"

"I know nothing," I cried eagerly. "You will be furthering her
interests, as well as doing me a great personal favor, if you will tell
me what you know."

"It is very little," she answered, leaning back against the edge of the
table and regarding me seriously. "Poor Elma! Her people treated her
very badly indeed. They sent her no money, and allowed her no holidays,
and yet she was the sweetest-tempered and most patient girl in the whole
school."

"Well--and the story regarding her?"

"It was supposed that her people at Durham did not exist," she
explained. "Elma had evidently lived a greater part of her life abroad,
for she could speak French and Italian better than the professor
himself, and therefore always won the prizes. The class revolted, and
then she did not compete any more. Yet she never told us of where she
had lived when a child. She came from Durham, she said--that was all."

"You had a letter from her after the Baron came and took her away?"

"Yes, from London. She said that she had been to several plays and
concerts, but did not care for life in town. There was too much bustle
and noise and study of clothes."

"And what other letters did you receive from her?"

"Three or four, I think. They were all from places abroad. One was from
Vienna, one was from Milan, and one from some place with an
unpronounceable name in Hungary. The last----"

"Yes, the last?" I gasped eagerly, interrupting her.

"Well, the last I received only a fortnight ago. If you will wait a
moment I will go and get it. It was so strange that I haven't destroyed
it." And she went out, and I heard by the frou-frou of her skirts that
she was ascending the stairs.

After five minutes of breathless anxiety she rejoined me, and handing me
the letter to read, said:

"It is not in her handwriting--I wonder why?"

The paper was of foreign make, with blue lines ruled in squares. Written
in a hand that was evidently foreign, for the mistakes in the
orthography were many, was the following curious communication:

"My Dear Lydia:

"Perhaps you may never get this letter--the last I shall ever be able to
send you. Indeed, I run great risks in sending it. Ah! you do not know
the awful disaster that has happened to me, all the terrors and the
tortures I endure. But no one can assist me, and I am now looking
forward to the time when it will all be over. Do you recollect our old
peacef