"I sought Elsa Matherson,—are you she?"
The girl—for she could certainly have been little more—started perceptibly at the name, and bent eagerly forward, peering with new interest into my face.
"Elsa Matherson?" she questioned, dwelling upon the words as though they awoke memories. "It is indeed long since I have heard the name. Where knew you her?"
"I have never known her; but her father was my father's friend, and I sought her because of that friendship."
"Here?"
"At Fort Dearborn, where she was left an orphan."
"How strange! how very strange indeed! 'T is a small world. Elsa
Matherson!—and at Dearborn?"
Was it acting, for some purpose unknown to me,—or what might be the secret of these strange expressions?
"Then you are not the one I seek?"
She hesitated, looking keenly toward me through the dim light.