Mr. Selwyn, the lawyer who has already been introduced to the reader, sat in his office with a pile of papers before him, when a knock was heard at the door. His clerk being absent, he arose and opened it. A lady stood before him.

“Will you enter, madam?” he said.

“Is this Mr. Selwyn?” she asked.

“That is my name, madam.”

“My name will probably be familiar to you. I am Mrs. Lindsay.”

“I am glad to see you, madam. Will you be seated?”

She sat down, and the lawyer regarded with interest the client whom he now saw for the first time. She was still young, less than forty probably, and, though her face bore the impress of sorrow, she was still beautiful.

“I suppose you have no news for me,” she said.

“I am sorry to say that I have as yet no trace of the child. Margaret Walsh is on the lookout for her, and, as you have made it worth her while, I do not doubt that she will eventually find her for you.”

“Do you think my child is still in the city?” asked Mrs. Lindsay, anxiously.

“I have no doubt of it. A child, bred as she has been, does not often leave the city voluntarily, unless in the case of those children who are from time to time carried away to homes in the West, through the agency of the Children’s Aid Society.”

“But may she not be of the number of these?”

“I thought it possible, and have accordingly inquired particularly of the officers of the society whether any child answering to her description has been under their charge, and I am assured that this is not the case. She is probably earning a living for herself somewhere in the streets, though we cannot tell in what way, or in what part of the city. Having run away from Mrs. Walsh, whom I suspect she did not like, she probably keeps out of the way, to avoid falling again into her hands.”

“It is terrible to think that my dear child is compelled to wander about the streets homeless, and no doubt often suffering severe privations,” said Mrs. Lindsay, with a sigh.

“Have good courage, madam,” said the lawyer. “I am convinced that we shall find her very soon.”

“I hope indeed that your anticipations may be realized,” said the mother. “But I have not yet told you what brings me to New York at this time.”

Mr. Selwyn bowed and assumed an air of attention.

“It is not pleasant,” said Mrs. Lindsay, after a slight pause, “to speak ill of a relative; but I am obliged to tell you that the worst foe I have is my brother-in-law, a younger brother of my late husband. It was he who in the first place contrived the abduction of the child, and, though he witnessed my distress, he has never relented, though it was doubtless in his power, at any time, to restore her to me.”

“How lately have you become aware of his connection with the affair?”

“Only a few months since. One day I opened a desk belonging to him, in search of an envelope, when I accidentally came upon a letter from Margaret Walsh, written some years since, giving an account of her arrival in New York with my dear child, and claiming from him a sum of money which it appears he had promised as a compensation for her services. This discovery astounded me. It was the first intimation I had of my brother-in-law’s perfidy. He had always offered me such a delicate and unobtrusive sympathy, and appeared to share so sincerely in my sorrow, that I could scarcely believe the testimony of my senses. I read the letter three times before I could realize his treachery. Of course I did not make known to him the discovery I had made, but, calling on a lawyer, I asked him to recommend to me some trustworthy gentleman in his profession in this city. Your name was suggested, and I at once authorized him to communicate with you, and employ you in the matter.”

“I trust I shall prove worthy of the recommendation,” said the lawyer, inclining his head.

“There is one question which I should like to ask,” he continued. “In what manner would your brother-in-law be likely to derive advantage from your child’s disappearance?”

“My husband left a large property,” said Mrs. Lindsay. “Half of this was bequeathed to me, the remaining half I was to hold in trust for my child. If, however, she should die before reaching her majority, my brother-in-law, Mr. James Lindsay, was to receive my child’s portion.”

“That constitutes a very powerful motive,” said the lawyer. “The love of money is the root of all evil, you know.”

“I do not like to suspect my brother-in-law of such baseness,” said Mrs. Lindsay, “but I fear I must.”

“How are his own means? Has he considerable property?”

“He had. Both my husband and himself inherited a large property; but I have reason to think that, at the time I speak of, he had lost large sums by gambling. He had passed two years abroad, and I heard from acquaintances, who met him there, that he played for high stakes at Baden Baden and other German gambling resorts, and lost very heavily. I suspect that he must have reduced his means very much in this way.”

“You are probably correct, and this supplies what we lawyers always seek—the motive. I can quite understand that to a man so situated a hundred thousand dollars must have been a powerful temptation. I must ask you another question. Has Mr. James Lindsay derived any advantage from your child’s property thus far?”

“He has, though it was legally decided that he could not come into absolute possession, since my child’s death was not definitely ascertained; at least, until such time as, if living, she would have attained her majority, it was decreed that the income derived from the property should be paid to him, this payment to cease only in case of Jenny’s restoration.”

“And has this been done?”

“It has.”

“Then Mr. James Lindsay has for the last six years received the income of a hundred thousand dollars.”

Mrs. Lindsay inclined her head.

“And you never suspected his agency in the affair, in spite of all this?”

“Never. I knew James profited by my dear child’s loss, but I was not prepared to suspect him of such baseness.”

“I should have thought of it at once; but then we lawyers see so much of the bad side of human nature that we are prone to suspect evil.”

“Then I should not wish to be a lawyer. It pains me to think ill of others.”

“I respect you for the sentiment, madam, though in my profession I am compelled to repudiate it. May I inquire whether your brother-in-law yet suspects that you have discovered his complicity in the plot against your child?”

“It is that which brings me to see you to-day. I feel sure that in some way he has gained a knowledge of my secret, though I endeavored to conceal it from him.”

“That is not surprising. He might accidentally have seen the advertisement for Margaret Walsh, which, under your directions, I inserted in the leading New York daily papers.”

“He must have found out in this way.”

“He will now doubtless do what he can to prevent your recovering possession of her.”

“I fear he has already commenced. Three days since, he told me that he was about to go to Washington, and possibly further south for a few weeks. He added that, having much business to occupy him, he doubted if he should be able to write often. I supposed this to be true, until yesterday I heard that, instead of taking the cars to Baltimore, he had bought a ticket for New York. This attempt to deceive me convinces me that he has penetrated my secret.”

“Do you know where he is staying in New York?”

“No, I do not. I only reached the city to-day, and came at once to your office to inform you of the new danger which menaced our cause.”

“The information is important, Mrs. Lindsay,” said the lawyer, thoughtfully. “I must endeavor to guard against his machinations. No doubt he will first try to find out Margaret Walsh, and when he has found her will seek to buy her over to his interest. From what I know of the woman, he will have no difficulty in succeeding.”

“What can we do?” asked Mrs. Lindsay, anxiously.

“I don’t care to bid against him, for, having such large interests at stake, he will take care to go as high as we. We must do what we can to keep them apart.”

“Will that be possible?”

“We can at least try. I must have time to think what methods are to be used.”

“When shall you see Margaret?”

“To-morrow, probably. That is the day on which she has been accustomed to come for her weekly allowance, and I must do her the justice to say that she has never yet failed to present herself punctually. You will remain in New York?”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Lindsay. “In my present state of mind I could not be contented away from here.”

“What will be your address?”

“I have not thought.”

“Let me advise you not to stop at a hotel. Your arrival would in that way become known to Mr. James Lindsay, as it would probably be published in the ‘Evening Express.’”

“Can you recommend me a good boarding-house, Mr. Selwyn?”

“I know an excellent one on West Twenty-Fifth Street, where you will have a fine room and every comfort. I will, if you desire it, give you a letter to Mrs. Thurston, with whom I once boarded myself.”

“I shall feel much indebted to you, Mr. Selwyn, if you will do so.”

The lawyer turned to his desk, and wrote a brief note, which he handed to his client. She took it, and rose from her seat, saying, “May I hope to see you this evening, Mr. Selwyn? I am sorry to trespass upon your time to such an extent, but you will appreciate a mother’s anxiety.”

“I can and I do,” said the lawyer; “and you may rest assured that my best energies shall be devoted to your service.”

Within two hours Mrs. Lindsay found herself installed in a handsome apartment at Mrs. Thurston’s boarding-house.

“I shall feel better,” she reflected, “now that I am in the city where my child in all probability is leading a life of poverty and privation. God grant that she may be restored to me, and that I may be able to make up to her the care of which she has so cruelly been deprived for six long years!”