The maid silently obeyed and as the detective took the flower from her hand he said: 

“Why, isn’t this Eliza Parsons?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, carelessly.

“Don’t you remember me, Eliza?”

She seemed a little surprised, but answered promptly: 

“No, sir.”

“I’m William Burke, your mother’s cousin.  How did you leave your brother Harry, and have you heard from Josephine lately?”

The girl gave him a startled look and shrank back.

“Why, how nice!” cried Louise.  “I did not know you knew Eliza’s family, Mr. Burke.”

“Yes, she is one of my relatives, and came from Roanoke, Virginia.  Isn’t that correct, Eliza?”

“Yes, sir—­no!  I—­I don’t remember!” she said, in a low tone.

“Don’t remember, Eliza?  That is strange.”

The girl stared at him half frightened, and drew her hand over her eyes with a gesture of bewilderment.

“I hope, my dear, you are not going to be like your mother,” said Mr. Burke, gently.  “My poor cousin Nora was subject to a strange lapse of memory at times,” he remarked to Louise.  “She always recovered in time, but for days she could remember nothing of her former life—­not even her own name.  Are you ever affected that way Eliza?”

She looked up at him pleadingly, and murmured in a low voice: 

“Let me go!  Please let me go!”

“In a moment, Eliza.”

Her hands were clasped together nervously and she had dropped her basket and scissors on the path before her.  The man looked intently into her eyes, in a shrewd yet kindly way, and she seemed as if fascinated by his gaze.

“Tell me, my dear, have you forgotten your old life?” he asked.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Poor girl!  And you are trying to keep this a secret and not let anyone know of your trouble?”

Suddenly she started and sprang away, uttering a cry of terror.

“You’re trying to trap me,” she panted.  “You know my name is not Eliza Parsons.  You—­you want to ruin me!”

From the position in which they stood in the corner of the garden, with high hedges behind the maid, and Mr. Burke and Louise blocking the path in front, there was little chance of escape.  But she looked around wildly, as if about to make the attempt, when Louise stepped forward and gently took Eliza’s hand in her own.

“Mr. Burke is a good man, my dear, and means well by you,” she said in her sweet, sympathetic tones.  “He shall not bother you if you are afraid of him.”

“I—­I’m not afraid,” said Eliza, with a resumption of her old manner and a toss of her head.

The detective gave Louise a look which she thought she understood.

“Will you finish cutting these roses, Mr. Burke?” she asked, with a smile.  “Eliza and I are going to my room.  Come, my dear,” and without waiting for a reply she led the girl, whose hand was still clasped in her own, along the path.