“Let it be there, then.  You will see to the arrangements, Walters.  I shall have enough on my hands for the present, searching for that will:  I have already offered a large reward for it—­I trust it may turn up yet.”

“Perhaps it may,” rejoined Mr. Walters; “we must hope so, at least.  I’ve brought the children to my house, where they are under the care of a young lady who was a great friend of their mother’s; though it seems like putting too much upon the poor young creature, to throw them upon her for consolation, when she is almost distracted with her own griefs.  I think I mentioned to you yesterday, that her father is missing; and, to add to their anxieties, their property has been all destroyed by the rioters.  They have a home with me for the present, and may remain there as long as they please.”

“Oh!  I remember you told me something of them yesterday; and now I come to think of it, I saw in the Journal this morning, that a coloured man was lying at the hospital very much injured, whose name they could not ascertain.  Can it be possible that he is the man you are in search of?”

“Let me see the article,” asked Mr. Walters.  Mr. Balch handed him the paper, and pointed out the paragraph in question.

“I’ll go immediately to the hospital,” said he, as he finished reading, “and see if it is my poor friend; I have great fears that it is.  You’ll excuse my leaving so abruptly—­I must be off immediately.”

On hastening to the hospital, Mr. Walters arrived just in time to be admitted to the wards; and on being shown the person whose name they had been unable to discover, he immediately recognized his friend.

“Ellis, my poor fellow,” he exclaimed, springing forward.

“Stop, stop,” cried the attendant, laying his hand upon Mr. Walters’s shoulder; “he is hovering between life and death, the least agitation might be fatal to him.  The doctor says, if he survives the night, he may probably get better; but he has small chance of life.  I hardly think he will last twelve hours more, he’s been dreadfully beaten; there are two or three gashes on his head, his leg is broken, and his hands have been so much cut, that the surgeon thinks they’ll never be of any use to him, even if he recovers.”

“What awful intelligence for his family,” said Mr. Walters; “they are already half distracted about him.”

Mr. Ellis lay perfectly unconscious of what was passing around him, and his moans were deeply affecting to hear, unable to move but one limb—­he was the picture of helplessness and misery.

“It’s time to close; we don’t permit visitors to remain after this hour,” said the attendant; “come to-morrow, you can see your friend, and remain longer with him;” and bidding Mr. Walters good morning, he ushered him from the ward.

“How shall I ever find means to break this to the girls and their mother?” said he, as he left the gates of the hospital; “it will almost kill them; really I don’t know what I shall say to them.”