r, I'll ask if she can give you any information."

He disappeared, and a pale-faced lad stepped quickly into his place
behind the counter. After waiting for a few moments Elsie heard a door
close, and he came back. "My mother hasn't heard from Mrs. Penn since
she left Soho Square," he said. "She cannot tell you anything about
her."

An exclamation of disappointment broke from Elsie's lips; she moved
impatiently, turning her face towards the door. The man looked at her
keenly, with dark eyes shining through his spectacles.

"If you knew Mrs. Penn," she began, with a quiver of distress in her
voice, "you must have known a young lady who lived with her. Her name
was Meta."

"Yes, we knew her," he answered quietly. "Are you a relation of hers?"

"No." Elsie turned to him with a sudden lighting-up of her face. "But
she is a great deal to me! And you really knew her?"

"We knew her," he repeated, "while she lived. Her story was a sad one. I
thought you were related to her because you are like her."

"Like her?" Elsie echoed. "I must have grown like her through thinking
about her so much! But I never saw her in my life."

The man still looked at her, with a glance kind as well as penetrating.
"I daresay my mother will be ready to have a chat with you," he said,
after a moment's pause. "Excuse me; I will go and speak to her again."

She waited, looking out through the doorway, and feeling that she was
nearer the goal than she had ever been before. A strange joy and
excitement thrilled her as she heard the shopkeeper returning.

"My mother will be glad to see you, madam," he said.

As he spoke she caught the gleam of firelight in a room at the back of
the shop. It was a neat little parlour in which the old lady sat, and
she rose to receive her visitor with quiet courtesy. Elsie sat down in
an arm-chair, close to the window overlooking a little back-yard, and
Mrs. Beaton attentively studied her face as she spoke.

"My son tells me that you want to ask some questions about Mrs. Penn and
Miss Neale."

Elsie started slightly.

"Miss Neale?" she repeated. "Ah, that must be Meta."

"Did you not know her as Miss Neale?" the old lady asked.

"I only knew her as Meta. I found a manuscript of hers in the drawer of
an old table in my lodgings, and I have been seeking her ever since.
That search has brought me to you."

"A manuscript? Did it tell you her story fully? Was it long or short?
She had not time to write much,