As the clock on the Presbyterian church struck nine, Mark stood knocking at the door of the little cottage hard by.

The door was opened by a comely woman of middle age, who, not recognizing Mark, looked at him inquiringly.

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"My name is Mark Manning," said Mark, introducing himself. "I have been directed to you as likely to give me some information about Mrs. Ransom, who—"

"Yes, yes," interrupted Mrs. Finn, not waiting for Mark to finish his sentence. "Poor dear! I know all about her. Come in, do!"

She led the way into the neat sitting-room, where she invited Mark to be seated. Then she changed parts with Mark and began to ask questions.

"Are you related to Mrs. Ransom?" she asked.

"No," answered Mark, "but I come from one who is."

"Alas, it is too late! The poor woman is dead."

"I know that, but did she leave a child?"

"Yes, a little boy. She sat great store by little Jack."

"And what has become of him?" asked Mark, eagerly.

"That is more than I can tell. A tall gentleman—I don't rightly know his name—appeared at the funeral, said he was a relation, and took off little Jack to St. Louis, I think."

"A tall gentleman—a relation!" repeated Mark, surprised. "What was his appearance?"

Mark was destined to be surprised, for Mrs. Finn's description tallied exactly with the appearance of Lyman Taylor. This was a surprising discovery. Mark was sharp enough to guess that Lyman's object was to remove from his path any rival claimant to his uncle's property, supposing him to possess any.

"I think I know who you mean," he said, after a pause.

"Was it really a relation of Mrs. Ransom?"

"If it was the one I suppose, it was her cousin."

"I am glad to hear it. Then poor Jack was taken care of."

"I am not sure about that," said Mark, gravely. "Though a relative, he is a selfish, bad man, and I am afraid he meant the poor boy no good."

"Good gracious!" exclaimed Mrs. Finn, startled, "you don't think he would murder the innocent child?"

"No, I don't think that, but I think he wanted to put him where his grandfather would never find him."

"Is it his grandfather you come from, then?"

"Yes; he does not even know of his grandchild's existence, but if I find him, the boy will never need any other protector. Can you tell me anything of Mrs. Ransom—of her husband?"

"Poor Mrs. Ransom was a sweet woman, who deserved a better fate. As for her husband, he was a drunkard, and a loafer. Those are hard words, but he deserved them both. They hadn't much money, but what there was he spent for liquor at the hotel yonder. More than once his poor wife and little child wouldn't have had any breakfast if I hadn't taken some over."

And warm-hearted Mrs. Finn wiped away a tear.

"Did her husband treat her very badly? Did he beat her?"

"I am afraid he did when he was very far gone, but, poor thing! she never complained. She always looked sad, though, and she didn't enjoy her life very much."

"Did she ever speak of her father?"

"Once only. She told me she had ill-treated, him, and been a disobedient daughter. I think it was in marrying Ransom."

"Did she ever write to him?"

"She told me she did once, but never received an answer. 'He won't forgive me,' she said, with a sigh, and never wrote again."

"I am sure he did not receive the letter, Mrs. Finn. If he had, he would have noticed it."

"I hope so; at any rate she was sadder than ever when no letter came to her in return. Finally, her husband took sick with a fe............