CHAPTER VI.

A LONG narrow street ran diagonally from the fashionable square of aristocratic dwellings in which was situated the house of the Honorable Richard Merton. It was not a business street, but was filled up with lines of less pretentious houses; plain tall brick buildings, lacking the massive stone facings and quaint carvings, the pretty glimpses of flowing lace and stiff brocade, of glittering chandeliers and gilded panellings. And yet, possibly the common slated roofs arched over far happier homes than those which covered the magnificent display in the grand square.

One of these houses, overtopping its neighbors by a story, commanded a good view of the rear entrance of Merton House. In fact, it was hardly possible for an attentive observer at any of the upper windows to fail to gain pretty accurate knowledge of all the movements in the little courtyard beneath.

That there was such an observer, Richard Merton, least of any one, suspected. Why, indeed, should he have concerned himself about the servants' premises, he whose privilege it was to enter by the massive stone steps and beneath the grandlycarved portal as the lord and master? Nevertheless, it might have troubled him had he noted the pair of vigilant eyes keeping watch from that upper window of the tall brick house. He might have queried, somewhat angrily, what could be the explanation of sundry manoeuvres that took place there almost daily. For instance, when one of his servants, wearing the Merton livery, came out and walked up and down the paved yard, flourishing his white handkerchief in a somewhat extraordinary manner, now and then casting apprehensive glances toward the mansion from which he had emerged, and again eyeing expectantly that humble upper window, which surely in no wise need concern a member of the Merton family. If, all at once, a look of relief and satisfaction came over the man's face,

and, replacing the handkerchief in his pocket, he slowly sauntered back to his home, who would have suspected it had any connection with the simple act of the inmate of the neighboring upper windows, when, for a moment the sash was raised, and a towel or handkerchief hung out to dry ?

Still more unlikely of significance was the immediate appearance of Old Moll, hobbling around the corner into the wide spacious square, just in time to meet the visitor slowly descending the stone steps of Merton House. Nevertheless, it was Old Moll who inhabited that upper chamber.

"A harmless quiet creature, for all her strange looks and ways," pronounced the worthy tradesman and his wife of whom the old woman rented the chamber. "And ready to pay her weekly bill the minute you show it to her. What's the use of worrying her by trying to find out what she don't choose to tell? She's a right to keep her business to herself, so long as it's honest."

With which latter opinion Moll evidently coincided. She went out into the street whenever she chose, without explanation or comment. She had a civil word and a nod for her landlady whenever they met in the hall or landing; but beyond that she seldom ventured.

Now and then she had visitors, humble people like herself, evidently. One in a footman's livery was the most constant. The good people of the house had decided he was either a son or brother, such goodwill seemed to exist between them.

He came to the house that very night when Philip Leigh, in the great mansion beyond, decided to go down into the drawing-room on the morrow, and face out the difficulties he suspected lay in the path of his desires. H entered quietly, this man in the footman's livery, just tapping at the chamber door to announce his coming, and then pushing it open without further ceremony. The old woman sat in the dimness, at her post by the window. The green ca

lash was still on her head, which drooped forward dejectedly to her clasped hands. She turned around with a quick nervous start, but recognizing the form of her visitor at the first glance, fell back into her former attitude, while she said, quietly:

"It is you, is it, Tim ?"

The footman took off his hat and bowed respectfully for answer.

"Is there anything new?-any hope of getting the longed-for clue ?"

"Nothing new; that is, nothing special. I thought I'd drop in, as perhaps you may need me for something, or maybe you'll be glad of ever so poor company. It must be mighty dreary here for you."

"Dreary enough," answered Moll, in a deep dejected voice; "but dreary because everything baffles me so-because I seem further off than ever from the goal. Tim, Tim, my heart almost fails me to-night."

"I was afeard of it. It's master strange, anyhow, that everything is so blind. You are sure you aint mistaken ?"

The tone had a questioning inflection. Moll struck her hands together fiercely.

"As sure as that I am living, breathing, speaking now! As certain as if an angel had come down from the white throne up there above and proclaimed it! O, why can I not force the truth from these stubborn facts ?"

Her head drooped again upon her breast. Tim looked on some little time in silence, and then tried to speak in a cheerful voice. "I've brought the list of his letters, but I'm thinking there's no good; leastways, not as I can see. There's none for Scotland, and not a reverend among them all." Moll stretched out her hand.

"Let me have it. There's no harm in my making sure." The light was too dim for her to decipher the characters upon the slip of paper she held in her hand. "There's matches on the shelf, Tim; light the candle for me."

There was an air of quiet authority about her gesture and in her tone; but Tim did not seem to resent it in the least. He obeyed her readily, and set the candle upon the small table, dropping the curtain behind her the next moment, without waiting to be bidden.

managed. Holding so many clues in my hand, it seems impossible for me to get an inch further. Which way to turn for further light I cannot tell."

"Maybe the Lord will send light when we don't think it," observed Tim, bringing forward some of her own sayings, and her favorite argument to combat this unwonted dismay and discouragement.

Moll clasped her hands, and exclaimed, fervently, May those blessed angels who have gone before us plead for such a welcome revelation! It seems to me I never felt so weak and powerless, so ashamed and mortified at my own vain-glorious promises, as I do to-night. I set out to do such swift work at unravelling the tangle, and behold the meshes seem to have grown stronger and more puzzling, until I am like to lose my wits. O Tim, what shall I do if I fail? Tim, Tim, I must not fail! For the sake of the dead, as much as for the welfare of the living, I must not fail! Help me pray for light, Tim."

The honest eyes of Tim grew moist beneath that frantic imploring gaze.

"Indeed, indeed, I will pray for nothing else to-night. They tell about its being the darkest just before the dawn. Who knows but we'll find it so ?"

"Hush!' exclaimed Moll, abruptly. "Some one is coming up the stairs."

Both listened eagerly. The old woman was right. Firm but slow steps were even then crossing the landing. In another moment came a low knock at the door. Tim opened it at once.

The new-comer looked embarrassed at beholding him, and, with a discomposed face, turned toward Moll.

'You need not fear him," said the latter, quietly. "If you have anything to say, speak freely. Tim is my trusted confidant, and works in the same service."

The young man, evidently a clerk or secretary, turned around with an air of great relief.

"I beg pardon. I was afraid I had made a mistake in coming in, when I recognized his livery."

"He is in the Merton service, but he is true as gold for all that," answered Moll. "But what news do you bring me? for I

"Strange!" muttered she. "It is beyond belief how adroitly this man has

"It may be a very insignificant fact-indeed, I am afraid it will prove so-but I

judged it best to present it to you at once. I have had the opportunity to-day of looking over his banker's old books, and I find yearly a regular entry of so many pounds in the purchase of a draft for America."

"Ha!" exclaimed Moll, sharply, "to America? Did you ascertain in whose favor it was made out?"

"Not by the books, but I think I shall be able to tell you in a few days. I am slightly acquainted with the confidential clerk there. But he is down in Wales now-is expected back this week.”

"Every year!" repeated Moll, in a musing voice. That circumstance is certainly significant, and must be followed up. You were right to come to me at once. There is something to show you that I appreciate your readiness to follow my suggestions."

She thrust her hand into her pocket, drew out a glittering piece of gold, and flung it over to him. The young fellow eyed her rather questioningly. It was certainly somewhat incongruous, this princely munificence, with the coarse poverty-stricken appearance of the donor. But he pocketed the coin, and rose to his feet to make his adieu, without giving voice to his misgivings.

"You will be wary and vigilant, and report all discoveries," said Moll, smiling rather satirically, as her keen eye read on his face the thoughts within.

He bowed again, and was putting on his hat, when he suddenly paused.

"There was a woman standing opposite the house of Mr. Merton when I came by. She was so absorbed I nearly stumbled over her. I should not have thought of it but for the strange expression on her face. It almost frightened me, it was so wild, and sad, and utterly wretched. And she was looking straight into the parlor windows, where the lights were just flashing up, and the curtains undrawn."

"Was she tall and slight, with a gray shawl all around her?" asked Tim, suddenly.

Moll listened attentively.

"It is worth following up," said she, slowly. "Young man, you shall not regret your service in my cause, be assured of that. Continue as faithful and zealous."

The youth bowed, and made his way out of the chamber, drawing a long breath of relief, as if thankful to escape from uncanny influences, the moment he gained the street again.

"Tim," said Moll, "have we gained the longed-for ray of light?"

The Lord send!' answered faithful Tim. It goes to my heart to think of you, fretting and pining in this dreary place, and he so triumphant, and honored, and successful."

Moll stretched out her hand to grasp his. "Tim, Tim, we shall count it all as wellspent, if only the end is gained. I feel encouraged and hopeful. Anything, even a false clue, is better than this dreary stagnation. I think something will come of the American draft, but I cannot imagine what the woman has to do with our affair; but we cannot afford to neglect either."

"Perhaps the woman is still there. I know she always came back in a short time."

"Let us go out into the street and see," said Moll, rising at once. "We need not keep together, to draw the attention of any of the servants yonder, but you may go a little in advance of me."

They went down into the street, and quietly turned the corner. In a moment after reaching the square, Tim slackened his steps, and coming to Moll's side, whispered:

"Look yonder, just in the shade of that column. There is a woman there. Let us cross over and walk on the same side."

Moll, falling again in the rear, picked her way across on the stone flagging.

The light from the lamps set thickly along the street streamed full upon the shrinking figure, which, half crouching behind the stone column upholding a heavy portico roof, seemed to feel itself obscured and hidden.

Tim walked softly, and so did Moll, and both had full view of the upturned face ere the woman became aware of their scrutiny. The shawl had half fallen, for the small hands which had held it were clasped together as if in agonized entreaty. The eyes-the youth was right, they were won

derfully large and full of wild piteous grief -were fixed with intense and absorbed interest on a single window of the house opposite. What were they searching for? What was there in the brilliant room, of which one undrawn shade gave a glimpse, to stir the heart of the unhappy creature? Moll questioned this eagerly, and followed that glance almost as searchingly.

The gilded picture-frame looming out from the warm brown tints of the wall, half of a statue-crowned Etagerie, a crimson velvet chair, with a rim of dark wood bursting into a rich garland of leaves and acorns, and the thin stern profile of Richard Merton. This was what that one window gave to the outside gaze, and that but for a moment, for even while Moll was watching the living picture, there was a radiant figure sweeping between. The bright glare of the gas shone on the glistening folds of her purple satin dress, and caught in a glittering line on the gold bracelet on her arm, and the jet necklace about her throat. Annabel Merton lifted her fair white arm. blank.

The curtain fell. It was all a

A low shuddering sigh came hoarsely from beneath the gray shawl. The eyes withdrew, O how slowly and reluctantly. The lips quivered sadly, and Moll caught the words:

"Not to-night, not to-night. O Heaven have pity upon my wretchedness!"

In a moment the woman glanced back suspiciously at the two figures hesitating on the pavement, and wrapping the shawl once more about her, hurried away at a pace which Moll could not attain. Tim, however, understood the meaning of her emphatic gesture, and hurried on after her. It was nearly two hours ere he returned to the chamber to which Moll had retired to wait for him.

"Did you trace her? Have you learned anything?" demanded the old woman.

Tim shook his head rather dubiously. "I gave chase, but it was a tough match, and I was pretty well used up when I overhauled her. No clipper ever showed a lighter heel, and twice I made sure she had outsailed me; but we brought up alongside at last, and where do you think she put in for harbor? As nice and pretty a place as ever you see; and when I asked the folks on the other side who lived there, they said Mr. Philip Leigh."

"Philip Leigh!" ejaculated Old Moll. "So then it's another affair entirely. Poor creature! Was she watching for him? I am grieved to think it. I have only heard good reports of him. So, then, there is one hope wrenched away. But the other is left. Tim, I am restless and uneasy tonight. I wish I might learn something more about that draft."

"If there was anything I could do," said Tim, doubtfully.

"But there is not, I know it well. Faithful Tim, go back and rest; you are tired. I cannot dispense with your services, and I must be careful that you do not overtask your strength. Go home, Tim. Sleep peacefully. Would there were more faithful hearts like yours in this deceitful world. My blessing accompanies you wherever you go."

Tim seized the outstretched hand and wrung it affectionately, and then slowly wended his way back to the footman's narrow chamber in the upper story of Merton House.

When he had gone, Moll took down a small well-worn Bible, and read quietly something like half an hour. Then she put the volume back upon the shelf, and began pacing to and fro across the floor. Twice she paused to lift the curtain and look over into the silent courtyard. It was quite evident one of those disquieting restless moods, which are so difficult for the calmest of us to resist, had come upon her. She glanced toward the couch uneasily, muttering:

"It's no use for me to think of going to bed. I shall not sleep at all. I will go out, down toward the docks. A good sniff of the river breeze will set me right."

So saying, she went down the stairs quietly, and, taking the latchkey with her, passed out into the street.

It was a gusty night, and troops of thin clouds were scudding across the sky, obscuring the stars, and the light of the young moon, whose slender thread of silver looked down upon her from between the high roofs, as she stepped out, but withdrew in an instant behind a dark mass of purple-gray cloud.

Old Moll shivered a little.

"Is it an omen ?" muttered she. "O, can it be possible this moon shall wax and wane, and I be still unsuccessful and discouraged?"

She was evidently familiar with the streets of the city, and a good pedestrian, for all her slow measured steps, and she took the shortest route from that retired and quiet neighborhood, toward the noisier business streets, and crossing them swiftly, turned down the long, dim, deserted way, lined on either side with tall warehouses.

There were still many people out. Some hurrying home from a long day of toil, others eagerly returning from an evening of amusement, and not a few idlers lounging around the doors of club, saloon and opera house. Moll's queer figure awoke no surprise here, where such varied and motley representatives of all nations and classes were seen daily. She went straight on her way, molesting no one and thus far undisturbed. Yet her sharp eyes took in more than one would have suspected of the different phases of life exhibited around her. She lost not a word of the wretched woman, who, with a thin shawl wrapped around her loosely enough to give a glimpse of her uncovered shoulders, with a smile that was horrible and revolting on her haggard features, touched lightly the arm of a young man who was swiftly turning the corner of a sidewalk.

Moll saw him shake her off with a low curse, and watched the miserable creature slink back into a dark doorway, and crept out again as a pair of noisy fellows came swaggering down the street. She stood just beneath the brilliant flood of light from a great lamp which gave the public invitation to a billiard-saloon, and the hollow despairing eye, and famished-looking face, were pitiful to see. But the two men shoved her away with a coarse jest.

Moll saw the great tear slip down upon the hollow cheek, and just as the woman pulled the shawl over her face, and was turning. to flee from the approach of a noisy crowd emerging from the saloon, a gentle hand was laid upon her shoulder.

"Poor wretch! pitiable sinner! why are you here?" demanded Moll.

The woman turned with a low sob, relieved from sudden terror of the policeman by the sight of Moll's calash and cloak.

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"I cannot help it. I never came before into the street, indeed, indeed I never did. But my child is starving. It drove me mad enough for anything to hear her crying for food."

"There are houses enough where chil

dren are fed and clothed and brought up in a Christian manner."

"O, you are one of that kind, are you?" answered the woman, with a fierce glare of her sunken eyes. "How would you like to have your child, all you have got in this miserable world to keep you from cursing, taken away from you, and made to work and be beat by ugly managers, and half starved, without a bit of love? She is hungry enough now, but she has somebody to love her. Go off. I tell you I have tried it, and they would not take her unless I agreed to keep away from her. There is but one place for us. We can go leap into the water. I think we shall not be hungry there!"

A low bitter laugh gurgled hoarsely over the thin blue lips.

"God help you, poor wretch !" ejaculated Moll, fumbling in her pocket with tremulous hands.

A look of almost delirious joy flashed into the hollow eyes as she saw the movement.

"You will give me something. O good woman, good woman! If there is a Great Ruler up above who sees all this, he will sure reward you."

Moll brought out a coin and thrust it into the outstretched shaking fingers.

The woman held it eagerly to the light.

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They will not believe me. If I have gold, they will say I stole it. O give me silver instead."

The pitying Moll drew out her hand filled with shining coin and held it under the light to search for silver.

"What! gold! all gold ?" cried the halfcrazed creature. "Who would believe you could be so rich ?"

"Keep the gold piece. Here is silver beside. Get your child bread and try to live a virtuous life," said Old Moll, in a shaking voice.

The woman snatched the money eagerly, and went flying toward a baker's shop on the opposite side of the street.

Moll walked on, murmuring, "It was not in vain that I came out to-night. At least I shall sleep sweeter for remembering this."