"There is some dreadful mistake!" sobbed Mildred. "My uncle was to meet
me here, and I do not know what to do!" She buried her face in her
handkerchief, and the next minute "Muffit's" mother had her arms around
her. Then she found that the girl's name was not Muffit, but Mildred,
like her own, Mildred Rowland.

When Mildred Stanhope told Mrs. Rowland her name, that motherly woman
exclaimed, "Oh, Edward! What if it were our daughter left in such a
trying position! She shall just come to the hotel with us and stay until
we hear from her uncle. Wasn't it fortunate that that old trunk delayed
us so long! We might have hurried off and never known anything about
you. Well, it's all right now. Mr. Rowland shall telegraph to your
uncle, and we will keep you with us until he comes."

The next two days were full of strange experiences to Mildred. The rush
and roar of the great city, the life in the palatial hotel, with its
seeming miles of corridors and hundreds of servants, bewildered her. In
response to Mr. Rowland's telegram the reply came: "Joseph Barnard died
last Wednesday. Call for letter Blank Hotel." The message was signed
Derrick Jaynes. The letter, which was brought up an hour later, bore the
same signature. It had been written at the request of Mrs. Barnard by
her minister. It told Mildred of her uncle's sudden death, occurring the
day that she left Liverpool, and had been sent to the hotel to which Mr.
Barnard had intended to take his niece, Mrs. Barnard supposing that her
husband had given Mildred that address in case of any slip in making
connections.

The kindly old minister seemed to realize the unhappy position in which
the young girl was placed, and gave minute directions regarding the