The next morning the young lady was awakened at an early hour by an unusual noise outside her window, and called out to one of the men to know the meaning of it.

“It’s the boy, miss,” said he.

“Is he worse?” she asked.

“Gone, miss!”

“Dead?”

“Dead, miss?  No.  Gone clean off!”

At what time of the night he had gone, or how or why, it seemed hopeless ever to divine.  Every possible inquiry was made, and every place searched.  The brick-kilns were examined, the cottages were visited, the woman was particularly questioned, but she knew nothing of him; the weather had been for some time too wet, and the night itself had been too wet, to admit of any tracing of footsteps.  Hedge and ditch, and wall and rick, and stack were examined for a long distance round, lest the boy should be lying in such a place insensible or dead; but nothing was seen to indicate that he had ever been near.  From the time when he left the loft-room he vanished, and after five days the search was given up as hopeless.  Where had poor Jo moved on to now?

For some time it seemed that no one would ever know, but at last, not so very long after this, a physician, Allan Woodcourt by name—­who had known something of Jo and his story—­was wandering at night in the miserable streets of Tom-all-Alone’s, impelled by curiosity to see its haunts by gas-light.  After stopping to offer assistance to a woman sitting on a doorstep, who had evidently come a long distance, he walks away, and as he does so he sees a ragged figure coming very cautiously along, crouching close to the walls.  It is the figure of a youth whose face is hollow, and whose eyes have an emaciated glare.  He is so intent on getting along unseen, that even the apparition of a stranger in whole garments does not tempt him to look back.  Allan Woodcourt pauses to look after him, with a shadowy belief that he has seen the boy before.  He cannot recall how or where, but there is some association in his mind with such a form.

He is gradually emerging from Tom-all-Alone’s in the morning light, thinking about it, when he hears running feet behind him, and, looking around, sees the boy scouring toward him at a great speed, followed by the woman.

“Stop him! stop him!” cries the woman; “stop him, sir!”

Allan, not knowing but that he has just robbed her of her money, follows in chase, and runs so hard that he runs the boy down a dozen times; but each time the boy makes a curve, ducks, dives under his hands, and scours away again.  At last the fugitive, hard pressed, takes to a narrow passage which has no thoroughfare.  Here he is brought to bay, and tumbles down, lying down gasping at his pursuer until the woman comes up.

“Oh you Jo,” cries the woman, “what, I have found you at last!”

“Jo?” repeats Allan, looking at him with attention,—­“Jo?  Stay—­to be sure, I recollect this lad, some time ago, being brought before the coroner!”