ge of the home of his
childhood swept away. It was like the body without the soul. The
flowers, and stones, and well-known forms were there; but she who had
given animation to the whole was gone. Sitting down on the door-step,
Martin buried his face in his hands and wept.

He was quickly aroused by the bugle of the approaching coach. Springing
up, he dashed the tears away and hurried towards the highroad. In a few
minutes Barney and he were seated on the top of the coach, and dashing,
at the rate of ten miles an hour, along the road to Liverpool.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

THE OLD GARRET.

Days, and weeks, and months, passed away, and Martin had searched every
nook and corner of the great sea-port without discovering his old aunt,
or obtaining the slightest information regarding her. At first he and
Barney went about the search together, but after a time he sent his old
companion forcibly away to visit his own relatives, who dwelt not far
from Bilton, at the same time promising that if he had any good news to
tell he would immediately write and let him know.

One morning, as Martin was sitting beside the little fire in his
lodging, a tap came to the door, and the servant girl told him that a
policeman wished to see him.

"Show him in," said Martin, who was not in the least surprised, for he
had had much intercourse with these guardians of the public peace during
the course of his unavailing search.

"I think, sir," said the man on entering, "that we've got scent of an
old woman wich is as like the one that you're arter as hanythink."

Martin rose in haste, "have you, my man? Are you sure?"

"'Bout as sure as a man can be who never seed her. But it won't take
you long to walk. You'd better come and see for yourself."

Without uttering another word, Martin put on his hat, and followed the
policeman. They passed through several streets and lanes, and at length
came to one of the poorest districts of the city, not far-distant from
the shipping. Turning down a narrow alley, and crossing a low
dirty-looking court, Martin's guide stopped before a door, which he
pushed open and mounted by a flight of rickety wooden stairs to a
garret. He opened the door and entered.

"There she is," said the man in a tone of pity, as he pointed to a
corner of the apartment, "an' I'm afeer'd she's goin' fast."

Martin stepped towards a low truckle-bed on which lay the emaciated form
of a woman covered with a scanty and