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" And I
added a lie, saying: "I am trying, on behalf of an aunt of hers, to
discover her."
"Well," responded the girl, "I have had only one or two letters. She's
in her uncle's hands, I believe, and he won't let her write, poor girl.
She dreaded leaving us."
"Why?"
"Ah! she would never say. She had some deep-rooted terror of her uncle,
Baron Oberg, who lived in St. Petersburg, and who came over at long
intervals to see her. But possibly you know the whole story?"
"I know nothing," I cried eagerly. "You will be furthering her
interests, as well as doing me a great personal favor, if you will tell
me what you know."
"It is very little," she answered, leaning back against the edge of the
table and regarding me seriously. "Poor Elma! Her people treated her
very badly indeed. They sent her no money, and allowed her no holidays,
and yet she was the sweetest-tempered and most patient girl in the whole
school."
"Well--and the story regarding her?"
"It was supposed that her people at Durham did not exist," she
explained.


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