ore than one head from the neighboring windows. Had it been
earlier, he would have found himself surrounded by a dozen ragged and
importunate children; had it been later, he would have run the risk of
being garroted by some skulking assassin; as it was, he stood there
unmolested, eying the structure that held within its gloomy recesses the
once handsome and captivating lover of Jacqueline Japha. He was not the
only man who would have hesitated before entering there. Low and
insignificant as the building appeared--and its two stories certainly
looked dwarfish enough in comparison with the two lofty tenement houses
that pressed it upon either side--there was something in its quiet,
almost uninhabited aspect that awakened a vague apprehension of lurking
danger. A face at a window would have been a relief; even the sight of a
customer in the noisome groggery that occupied the ground floor. From
the dwellings about, came the hum of voices and now and then the sound
of a shrill laugh or a smothered cry, but from this house came nothing,
unless it was the slow ooze of a stream of half-melted snow that found
its way from under the broken-down door-way to the gutter beyond.

Stepping bravely forward, Mr. Sylvester entered the open door. A flight
of bare and rickety steps met his eye. Ascending them, he found himself
in a hall which must have been poorly lighted at any time, but which at
this late hour was almost dark. It was not very encouraging, but
pressing on, he stopped at a door and was about to knock, when his eyes
becoming accustomed to the darkness, he detected standing at the foot of
the stairs leading to the story above, the tall and silent figure of a
woman. It was no common apparition. Like a sentinel at his post, or a
spy on the outskirts of the enemy's camp, she stood drawn up against the
wall, her whole wasted form quivering with eagerness or some other
secret passion; darkness on her brow and uncertainty on her lip. She was
listening, or waiting, or both, and that with an entire absorption that
prevented her from heeding the approach of a stranger's step. Struck by
so sinister a presence in a place so dark and desolate, Mr. Sylvester
unconsciously drew back. As he did so, the woman thrilled and looked up,
but not at him. A lame child's hesitating and uneven step was heard
crossing the floor above, and it was towards it she turned, and for it
she composed her whole form into a strange but evil calmness.

"Ah, he l