f or some of her family. Before inserting
the advertisement Paul had visited Mrs. Legrand's house in East Tenth
Street; but, as he had expected, he found that the family had moved away
long previously, probably with a view to avoid detection, and to enable
Mrs. Legrand to obtain business elsewhere.

A week passed without any response to the advertisement. Paul spent his
days walking the streets of New York and Brooklyn at random, for the sake
of the chance, about one in ten billions, that he might meet Ida.
Anything was more endurable than sitting at home waiting, and by dint of
tramping all day long he was so dead tired when he reached home at night
that he could sleep, which otherwise would have been out of the question.

About the middle of the week a bundle arrived, containing the dress Ida
had worn away, with her hat and cloak, but without a word of writing;
Paul devoured them with kisses. A study of the express markings showed
that the package must have been sent from Brooklyn, which went to show
that Ida was in that city. Believing that she did not intend to respond
to the advertisement, Paul had determined, if he did not hear from her
within a few days, to employ a prominent New York detective firm to
search for her. If he could but once see her face to face, he was sure
that he could bring her back.

A week from the day on which she had fled he was starting out as usual,
early in the morning, for another day of hopeless, weary tramping in the
city, when the postman handed him a letter addressed in her handwriting.
It was to him like a voice from the grave, and read as follows:--

"I have seen your advertisement for me. I cannot believe that you have
forgiven me. You could not do it. It is impossible. Even if I could
believe it, I do not think I should ever have the courage to face you
after what you know of me. I should die of shame. Oh, Paul! if you could
see how my cheeks burn as I write this, and know that you will see it.
But I cannot deny myself the happiness of writing to you. There is no
reason why we should not write sometimes, is there? though we never see
each other. Does Miss Ludington really forgive me, or does she merely
consent to have me return because you still care for me? If you do still
care for me--Oh, Paul! I cannot believe it--do you forget what I have
done? Read over again the letter I left for you when I came away. You
must have forgotten it. Read it carefully. Think it all over. Oh, n