“By Jove!” exclaimed the captain, as he opened the letter.  “It’s from my lawyer, Dave, telling me that my sister has been found.  She is living here in the city, and is a widow with one daughter.”

“Yo’ doan’ say so, sah!”

Dave was standing with his mouth wide open to indicate his interest in the news.  He had been with the captain so long that he was very deep in his confidences.

“Yes, she’s here in town, and has been for years, and to think I’ve been here, too, and didn’t know it!  You see, Dave, I ran away from home when she was only a young girl.  When the home was broken up I lost track of her completely.  Now there’s a snug little fortune waiting for her that she should have had five years ago, but perhaps it’s just as well it’s been accumulating interest all the time.”

“An’ yourn has bin a losin’ interes’,” replied the negro, grinning.  “I neber see money slip troo’ a man’s fingers so fas’ as it do troo’ yourn, capting, dat’s a fac’.”

“Oh, I get the worth of it as I go along, Dave,” laughed the captain, “but I suppose I’ve got to go out again now and call on my new-found sister.”

He glanced at the address which the lawyer had given him.

“Pshaw!  That’s too bad,” he said, impatiently.  “If I had only known this two hours sooner!  Why, I’ve just come from that very locality, and it’s way up in Harlem.”

As he reached for his hat there was a sharp ring at his door-bell.

“Dat’s Dr. Graham, sah; I knows dat ring ob his,” said the valet quickly.  “Dat mean, sah, you doan’ call on no sister dis ebenin’.”

CHAPTER IX.

The plea of miss Jennings.

When Faith Marvin entered her mother’s four-room flat on the top floor of a dingy brick building she was almost out of breath from indignation and rapid walking.

She tried to calm herself a little before her mother saw her, for Mrs. Marvin was on the verge of nervous prostration.

When Faith looked into the little parlor she saw what she dreaded most, her mother lying on the sofa suffering from a terrible headache.

“I must say absolutely nothing,” whispered Faith to herself; “but what if that fellow should follow me home!  Oh, it would be terrible!  Terrible!  I am sure it would kill her!”

She washed her face and hands and smoothed her hair, then went quietly into the parlor and kissed her mother.

“Oh, Faith,” cried the sick woman, sharply.

“How did you get along, dear?  Were they kind to you in that dreadful store, or will they kill my daughter, as they did my husband?”

“Hush, mother; don’t say anything like that, there’s a dear,” said Faith quickly.  “Don’t let your mind dwell so steadily on unpleasant things, and just as soon as your head is better I’ll tell you all about it.”

“Tell me now, Faith, I insist,” cried her mother, irritably.  “I must know the truth at once.  Just think, dear, I have lain here all day worrying about you, my child!  It has been the hardest day of your life!  I feel it and I can see it.”