in the great city.

On the evening before the day he had settled to return with the
captain of the passage-boat, Ib lost himself in the streets, and
took quite a different turning to the one he wished to follow. He
wandered on till he found himself in a poor street of the suburb
called Christian's Haven. Not a creature could be seen. At last a very
little girl came out of one of the wretched-looking houses, and Ib
asked her to tell him the way to the street he wanted; she looked up
timidly at him, and began to cry bitterly. He asked her what was the
matter; but what she said he could not understand. So he went along
the street with her; and as they passed under a lamp, the light fell
on the little girl's face. A strange sensation came over Ib, as he
caught sight of it. The living, breathing embodiment of Little
Christina stood before him, just as he remembered her in the days of
her childhood. He followed the child to the wretched house, and
ascended the narrow, crazy staircase which led to a little garret in
the roof. The air in the room was heavy and stifling, no light was
burning, and from one corner came sounds of moaning and sighing. It
was the mother of the child who lay there on a miserable bed. With the
help of a match, Ib struck a light, and approached her.

"Can I be of any service to you?" he asked. "This little girl
brought me up here; but I am a stranger in this city. Are there no
neighbors or any one whom I can call?"

Then he raised the head of the sick woman, and smoothed her
pillow. He started as he did so. It was Christina of the heath! No one
had mentioned her name to Ib for years; it would have disturbed his
peace of mind, especially as the reports respecting her were not good.
The wealth which her husband had inherited from his parents had made
him proud and arrogant. He had given up his certain appointment, and
travelled for six months in foreign lands, and, on his return, had
lived in great style, and got into terrible debt. For a time he had
trembled on the high pedestal on which he had placed himself, till
at last he toppled over, and ruin came. His numerous merry companions,
and the visitors at his table, said it served him right, for he had
kept house like a madman. One morning his corpse was found in the
canal. The cold hand of death had already touched the heart of
Christina. Her youngest child, looked for in the midst of
prosperity, had sunk into the grave when only a few weeks old; and