Some three weeks previous, a gentleman, of about fifty years, and calling himself Louis Raymond, had presented himself in his office, and inquired if he could give him any information regarding the late Albert Allandale's family.
He stated that he had spent most of his life abroad, but, his health beginning to fail, he had decided to return to his own country.
He had been quite ill since his arrival, and he began to fear that he had not long to live, and it behooved him to settle his affairs without further delay.
He stated that he had no relatives or family—he had never married; but, being possessed of large wealth, he wished to settle half of it upon Mrs. Allandale, if she could be found, or, if she was not living, upon her children. The remaining half he designed as a legacy to a certain charitable institution in the city.
He stated that he had been searching for the Allandales for several weeks; he had learned of Mr. Allandale's financial troubles and subsequent death, but could get no trace whatever of the other members of the family. He was wearied out with his search, and now wished to turn the matter over to some one stronger than himself, and better versed in conducting such affairs.
Mr. Bryant could not fail to regard it as a singular coincidence that this business should have been thrown into his hands, especially as he was also so anxious to find Edith; and it can well be understood that he at once entered into the gentleman's plans with all his heart and soul.
He, of course, related all he knew of her history, and when he spoke of Mrs. Allandale's death he was startled to see his client grow deathly white and become so unnerved that, for a moment, he feared the shock would prove more than he could sustain.
But he recovered himself after a few moments.
"So she is gone!" he murmured, with a look in his eyes that told the secret of a deathless but unrequited love. "Well, Death's scythe spares no one, and perhaps it is better so. But this girl—her daughter," he added, rousing himself from his sad reflections; "we must try to find her."
"We will do our utmost," said the young lawyer, with a heartiness which betrayed the deep interest he felt in the matter. "As I have told you, I have not the slightest knowledge of her whereabouts, but think she may possibly be in Boston. Her letter to me, written just previous to her departure, gave me not the slightest clew to her destination. She promised to write to a woman who had been kind to her, and I arranged with her to let me know when she received a letter; but I have never seen her since—I once went to the house where she lived, but she had moved, and no one could tell me anything about her."