"Did he say what hotel?" asked Quincy.

"No," replied Alice; "but why are you so interested in a total stranger?"

Then Quincy told the story of the broken envelope--the little piece of cloth--and the name, Linda Fernborough.

"I must find him at once," said he, "for I have an impression that his daughter must have been Lindy Putnam's real mother. You gave me my reward, Alice, before my quest was successful, but I gave my word to find her for you, and I shall not consider myself fully worthy of you till that word is kept."

"But what did your father and mother say?" broke in Aunt Ella.

"My father took me to task," began Quincy, "for not being present at the reception, but I told him I had to see Culver on some political business. Then he remarked that I missed a very pleasant evening. He complimented Aunt Ella, here, for her skill as an entertainer, and expressed his surprise that Bruce Douglas, instead of being a young man, was a young and very beautiful woman. Yes, Aunt Ella, he actually called my wife here a very beautiful young woman."

"That is a capital beginning!" cried Aunt Ella. "Go on, Quincy."

"In order to continue the conversation, I ventured the remark that Bruce Douglas came from an ordinary country family and one not very well off; for which aspersion, I humbly ask your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer. Father replied that he thought that I must have been misinformed; that Bruce Douglas was worth fifty thousand dollars in her own right, and he added that she would become a very wealthy woman if she kept up her literary activity."

"What did sister Sarah say?" asked Aunt Ella.

"Well," said Quincy, "I resolved to do something desperate, so I asked: 'Doesn't she look countrified?' again asking your pardon, Mrs. Sawyer."

"No," said mother, "she has the repose of a Lady Clara Vere de Vere, and is as correct in her speech as was the Lady Elfrida Hastings."

"It will come out all right," cried Aunt Ella; and Quincy, kissing his aunt and wife, and promising to write or telegraph every day, caught up his hand-bag and started forth in search of the Hon. Stuart Fernborough, M.P.

When Quincy left his aunt's house he had not the slightest idea which way would be the best to turn his footsteps. He commenced his search, however, at the Revere House, then he tried the American House, but at neither place was Mr. Fernborough a guest.

At the Quincy House the clerk was busy with a number of new arrivals. He had just opened a new hotel register, and the old one lay upon the counter. Quincy took it up, and turning over the leaves, glanced up and down its pages. Suddenly he started back; then, holding the book closer to his eyes he read it again. There it was, under the date of September 10, "Mdme. Rose Archimbault and daughter." The residence given in the proper column was "New York." Quincy kept the book open at the place where he found this entry until the clerk was at leisure. He remembered Mdme. Archimbault and daughter in a general way. He was sure that they arrived from Europe the day that they came to the hotel, and he was equally sure that they went to New York when they left. What made him positive was that he remembered asking the young lady when she wrote New York in the register if she had not just returned from Europe. She said yes, but that her home residence was in New York.

Quincy thanked the clerk, and started forth again in search of the elusive Mr. Fernborough. A visit to Young's, Parker's, and the Tremont furnished no clue, and Quincy was wondering whether his search, after all, was destined to be fruitless, when he thought of a small hotel in Central Court, which led from Washington Street, a little south of Summer Street.

It was noted for its English roast beef, Yorkshire mutton chops, and musty ale, and might be just the sort of place that an English gentleman would put up at, provided he had been informed of its whereabouts.

On his way Quincy dropped into the Marlborough, but Mr. Fernborough had not been there, and Quincy imagined that the little hotel in Central Court was his last hope.

His persistence was rewarded. Mr. Fernborough was not only a guest, but he was in his room. Quincy sent up his card, and in a very short time was shown into the presence of a courtly gentleman, between sixty and seventy years of age. His face was smooth shaven, and had a firm but not hard expression. His eyes, however, showed that he was weighed down by some sorrow, which the unyielding expression of his face indicated that he would bear in silence rather than seek sympathy from others.

Quincy's story was soon told. The old gentleman listened with breathless interest, and when at the close Quincy said, "What do you think?" Mr.

Fernborough cried, "It must be she, my daughter's child. There are no other Fernboroughs in England, and Linda has been a family name for generations. Heaven bless you, young man, for your kindly interest, and take me to my grandchild at once. She is the only tie that binds me to earth. All the others are dead and gone."

The old gentleman broke down completely, and for several minutes was unable to speak.

Quincy waited until his emotion had somewhat subsided. Then he said, "I am at your service, sir; we will do our best to find her. I have a feeling that she is in New York, but not a single fact to prove it. We can take the one o'clock train, if you desire."

The old gentleman began at once to prepare for the journey. Quincy told him he would meet him at the hotel office, and from there he sent a note to Aunt Ella informing her of his intended departure.

Arriving in New York they were driven at once to the Fifth Avenue Hotel.

Quincy prevailed upon Sir Stuart to retire at once, telling him that he would prepare an advertis.e.m.e.nt and have it in the next morning's issue of the "New York Herald."

Quincy wrote out two advertis.e.m.e.nts and sent them by special messenger to the newspaper office. The first one read: "Linda: important paper not destroyed, as suspected. Communicate at once with Eastborough, 'Herald' office." The second was worded as follows: "Celeste A----t: an American friend has a message for you from me. Send your address at once to Eastborough, 'Herald' office. ALGERNON H."

[Ill.u.s.tration: ALICE RECOVERS HER SIGHT (ACT IV.)]

Then began the days of weary waiting; the careful examination of the "Herald" each morning, to be sure that the advertis.e.m.e.nts were in, for both had been paid for a week in advance. The request for mail made every morning at the "Herald" office received a stereotyped "no" for answer; then he vowed that he would advertise no more, but would enlist other aids in the search.

On the morning of the eighth day Quincy stood upon the steps of the Fifth Avenue Hotel. He was undecided which way to go. It is in such cases of absolute uncertainty that unseen powers should give their aid, if they ever do, for then it is most needed. He did not hear any angels'

voices, but he crossed over Broadway and started up town on the right-hand side of that great thoroughfare. As he walked on he glanced at the shop windows, for they were resplendent with holiday gifts, for Christmas was only one short week away.

Just beyond the corner of Broadway and Twenty-ninth Street his attention was attracted by a wax figure in a milliner's window. The face and golden hair reminded him of his wife, and he thought how pretty Alice would look in the hat that was upon the head of the figure. His first inclination was to go in and buy it, then he thought that it would make an unhandy package to carry with him, and besides his taste might not be appreciated.

Thinking, however, that he might return and purchase it, he glanced up at the sign. One look and he gave a sudden start backward, coming violently in contact with a gentleman who was pa.s.sing. Quincy's apology was accepted and the gentleman pa.s.sed on, giving his right shoulder an occasional pressure to make sure that it was not dislocated. Then Quincy took another look at the sign to make sure that he had not been mistaken. On it he read, in large golden letters, "Mdme. Archimbault."

It was but the work of an instant for Quincy to enter the store and approach the only attendant, who was behind the counter nearest the door.

"Could I see Mdme. Archimbault?" he inquired in the politest possible manner.

"Ze madame eez seeck zis morning, monsieur, mais ze Mademoiselle Celeste eez in ze boudoir."

As she said this she pointed to a part.i.tion with windows of ground gla.s.s, which extended across the farther end of the store, evidently forming a private department for trying on hats and bonnets. Quincy said nothing, but taking out his cardcase pa.s.sed one to the attendant.

The girl walked towards the boudoir, opened the door and entered. Quincy followed her, and was but a few feet from the door when it was closed.

He heard a woman's voice say, "What is it, Hortense?" And the girl's reply was distinctly audible. This is what she said, "A veezitor, mademoiselle."

An instant's silence, followed by a smothered cry of astonishment, evidently from mademoiselle. Then ensued a short conversation, carried on in whispers. Then Hortense emerged from the boudoir, and facing Quincy said, "Ze mademoiselle weel not zee you. She has no desire to continue ze acquaintance."

As she said this she stepped behind the counter, evidently thinking that Quincy would accept the rebuff and depart. Instead of doing this he took a step forward, which brought him between Hortense and the door of the boudoir. Turning to the girl he said in a low tone, "There must be some mistake. I have never met Mademoiselle Archimbault. I will go in and explain the purpose of my visit." And before Hortense could prevent him, Quincy had entered the boudoir and closed the door behind him.

In the centre of the room stood a beautifully carved and inlaid table.

Before it sat an elegantly-dressed woman, whose hair, artistically arranged, was of the darkest shade of brown--almost black. Her arms were crossed upon the table, her face was buried in them, and from her came a succession of convulsive sobs, that indicated she was in great physical or mental distress.

Quincy felt that she knew he was there, but he did not speak.

Finally she said, and there was a tone of deep suffering in her voice: "Oh! Algernon, why have you followed me? I can never, never marry you.

If it had been possible I would have met you that evening, as I promised."

The thought flashed across Quincy's mind, "This is the girl that ran away from Lord Hastings. But why did she call me Algernon?" Then he spoke for the first time. "Mademoiselle, there is some misunderstanding; my name is not Algernon. I am not Lord Hastings."

As he spoke he looked at the woman seated at the table. She looked up; there was an instantaneous, mutual recognition. In her astonishment she cried out, "Mr. Sawyer!"

As these words fell from her lips, Quincy said to himself, "Thank G.o.d!

she's found at last." But the only words that he spoke aloud were, "Lindy Putnam!"

"Why do I find you here," asked Quincy, "and under this name? Why have you not answered my advertis.e.m.e.nts in the 'Herald?'" And he sank into a chair on the other side of the little table.

The revulsion of feeling was so great at his double discovery that he came nearer being unmanned than ever before in his life.

"How did you come by this card!" asked Mademoiselle Archimbault in a broken voice. "When you have explained, I will answer your questions."

Quincy took the card from her hand and glanced at it. "What a big blunder I made and yet what a fortunate one," cried he, for he now saw that he had sent in Lord Hastings's card bearing the London address.

"Lord Hastings himself gave it to me," he continued. "He was a guest at my father's cottage at Nahant last summer. He came to America and spent three months vainly searching for you. He loves you devotedly, and made me promise that if I ever found you I would cable at once to the address on that card, and he said he would come to America on the next steamer.