into Canal street, he walked towards the Bowery, and not far from where
that broad thoroughfare joins Chatham street, he ascended the steps of a
dwelling-house, and knocked gently at the door; it was soon opened by
the young courtezan with whom Frank had passed the night at the
commencement of this tale. She did not recognize the visitor in his
altered garb, until he had whispered a few words in her ear, and then
uttering an exclamation of pleasure, she requested him to follow her
up-stairs.

Frank complied, and after seating himself in the well-remembered
chamber, related to the young woman, as briefly as possible, the
circumstances under which he had met her husband, Fred Archer, and the
share he was to take in the burglary. He concluded by saying--

'I am sure, Mrs. Archer, that you will rejoice in the prospect of
getting rid of such a husband. Once convicted and sent to the State
Prison, he has no further claim upon you. You will be as effectually
separated from him as though you were divorced.'

'I shall be most happy,' said Mrs. Archer--'to escape from the
tyrannical power of that bad man. He has used me brutally of late, and I
have often suffered for the common necessaries of life. Oh, how gladly
would I abandon the dreadful trade of prostitution and live a life of
virtue!'

'And so you shall, by Heavens!' cried Frank, in the warmth of his
generous nature. 'Take courage, madam, and after the affairs of tonight
are settled, your welfare shall be my special care. I will endeavor to
procure you a comfortable home in some respectable family, where--'

At this moment the street door was opened, and some one was heard
ascending the stairs.

'It is my husband!' whispered Mrs. Archer, and pointing to the bed, she
requested Frank to conceal himself behind the curtains; he did so, and
in a moment more, Fred Archer entered the room, and threw himself into a
chair.

'Well, by G----!' he exclaimed--'it seems impossible for a man to make a
living these times! Here I am, without a cursed cent in my pocket.
Maria, what money have you in the house?'

'I have no money, Frederick,' replied his wife.

'No money--you lie, cursed strumpet! What do you do with the gains of
your prostitution?'

'As God is my witness,' replied the wretched woman, bursting into
tears--'I have not received a cent for the past week; I have even
suffered for food; and the lady threatens to turn me out of doors this
very night, if the rent is not