“You are very anxious, my man here tells me, that this girl should be found?” remarked Mr. Gryce; “so much so that you are willing to defray all the expenses of a search?”

She bowed.  “As far as I am able sir; I have a few hundreds in the bank, you are welcome to them.  I would not keep a dollar back if I had thousands, but I am poor, and can only promise you what I myself possess; though—­” and her cheeks grew flushed and hot with an unnatural agitation—­“I believe that thousands would not be lacking if they were found necessary.  I—­I could almost swear you shall have anything in reason which you require; only the girl must be found and soon.”

“Have you thought,” proceeded Mr. Gryce, utterly ignoring the wildness of these statements, “that the girl may come back herself if let alone?”

“She will come back if she can,” quoth Mrs. Daniels.

“Did she seem so well satisfied with her home as to warrant you in saying that?”

“She liked her home, but she loved me,” returned the woman steadily.  “She loved me so well she would never have gone as she did without being forced.  Yes,” said she, “though she made no outcry and stopped to put on her bonnet and shawl.  She was not a girl to make a fuss.  If they had killed her outright, she would never have uttered a cry.”

“Why do you say they?”

“Because I am confident I heard more than one man’s voice in her room.”

“Humph!  Would you know those voices if you heard them again?”

“No.”

There was a surprise in this last negative which Mr. Gryce evidently noticed.

“I ask,” said he, “because I have been told that Mr. Blake lately kept a body servant who has been seen to look at this girl more than once, when she has passed him on the stairs.”

Mrs. Daniels’ face turned scarlet with rage and she hastily rose from the chair.  “I don’t believe it,” said she; “Henry was a man who knew his place, and—­I won’t hear such things,” she suddenly exclaimed; “Emily was—­was a lady, and—­”

“Well, well,” interposed Mr. Gryce soothingly, “though the cat looks at the king, it is no sign the king looks at the cat.  We have to think of everything you know.”

“You must never think of anything like that.”

Mr. Gryce softly ran his thumb around the brim of the hat he held in his hand.  “Mrs. Daniels,” observed he, “it would greatly facilitate matters if you would kindly tell us why you take such an interest in this girl.  One glimpse at her real history would do more towards setting us on the right track than anything else you could offer.”

Her face assumed an unmistakable frown.  “Have I not told you,” said she, “what is known of it?  That she came to me about two years ago for work; that I liked her, and so hired her; that she has been with us ever since and—­”

“Then you will not tell us?” exclaimed Mr. Gryce.

Her face fell and a look of hesitation crossed it.