ther is an acquaintance of his. I learned
that he was ill, and came to inquire after him."

Had the woman not been very indifferent or unobservant, she would have
noticed the striking difference between the manner and appearance of Lizzie
Stevens and the class who generally came to see McCloskey. She did not,
however, appear to observe it, nor did she manifest any curiosity greater
than that evidenced by her inquiring if he was a relative.

Lizzie walked with a lonely feeling through the quiet streets until she
arrived at the porter's lodge of the hospital. She pulled the bell with
trembling hands, and the door was opened by the little bald-headed man
whose loquacity was once (the reader will remember) so painful to Mrs.
Ellis. There was no perceptible change in his appearance, and he manifestly
took as warm an interest in frightful accidents as ever. "What is it--what
is it?" he asked eagerly, as Lizzie's pale face became visible in the
bright light that shone from the inner office. "Do you want a stretcher?"

The rapidity with which he asked these questions, and his eager manner,
quite startled her, and she was for a moment unable to tell her errand.

"Speak up, girl--speak up! Do you want a stretcher--is it burnt or run
over. Can't you speak, eh?"

It now flashed upon Lizzie that the venerable janitor was labouring under
the impression that she had come to make application for the admission of a
patient, and she quickly answered--

"Oh, no; it is nothing of the kind, I am glad to say."

"Glad to say," muttered the old man, the eager, expectant look disappearing
from his face, giving place to one of disappointment--"glad to say; why
there hasn't been an accident to-day, and here you've gone and rung the
bell, and brought me here to the door for nothing. What do you want then?"

"I wish to inquire after a person who is here."

"What's his number?" gruffly inquired he.

"That I cannot tell," answered she; "his name is McCloskey."

"I don't know anything about him. Couldn't tell who he is unless I go all
over the books to-night. We don't know people by their names here; come in
the morning--ten o'clock, and don't never ring that bell again," concluded
he, sharply, "unless you want a stretcher: ringing the bell, and no
accident;" and grumbling at being disturbed for nothing, he abruptly closed
the door in Lizzie's face.

Anxious and discomfited, she wandered back to her hotel; and after drinking
a weak cup of