eep, and staggered as he walked along the
wharf like a drunken man. He tried to get one of the men to go with him,
and carry his burden, but each wanted the time with his family, and
declined to serve him at any price. So he followed up the line of
shipping for a few blocks, went by the dens where drunken sailors and
river-thieves were carousing, and then turned up Fulton Street toward
Broadway. He knew that the city cars ran all night, but he did not dare
to enter one of them. Reaching the Astor, he crossed over, and, seeing
an up-town car starting off without a passenger, he stepped upon the
front platform, where he deposited his satchel, and sat down upon it.
People came into the car and stepped off, but they could not see him.
He was oppressed with drowsiness, yet he was painfully wide awake.

At length he reached the vicinity of his old splendors. The car was
stopped, and, resuming his burden, he crossed over to Fifth Avenue, and
stood in front of the palace which had been his home. It was dark at
every window. Where were his wife and children? Who had the house in
keeping? He was tired, and sat down on the curb-stone, under the very
window where Mr. Balfour was at that moment sleeping. He put his dizzy
head between his hands, and whimpered like a sick boy. "Played out!"
said he; "played out!"

He heard a measured step in the distance. He must not be seen by the
watch; so he rose and bent his steps toward Mrs. Dillingham's. Opposite
to her house, he sat down upon the curb-stone again, and recalled his
old passion for her. The thought of her treachery and of his own
fatuitous vanity--the reflection that he had been so blind in his
self-conceit that she had led him to his ruin, stung him to the quick.
He saw a stone at his feet. He picked it up, and, taking his satchel in
one hand, went half across the street, and hurled the little missile at
her window. He heard the crash of glass and a shrill scream, and then
walked rapidly off. Then he heard a watchman running from a distance;
for the noise was peculiar, and resounded along the street. The watchman
met him and made an inquiry, but passed on without suspecting the
fugitive's connection with the alarm.

As soon as he was out of the street, he quickened his pace, and went
directly to Talbot's. Then he rang the door-bell, once, twice, thrice.
Mr. Talbot put his head out of the window, looked down, and, in the
light of a street lamp, discovered the familiar figure of