“Sure, mum, I’ll do that same,” he returned, touching his horses with the whip.

“Where are you taking me?  What do you mean by bringing me into such a vile region as this?” she demanded presently, as the hack turned into a narrow and very dirty street.

“It’s the shortest cut to the place ye said ye wanted to go till, mum,” he answered shortly.

She sank back with a sigh and closed her eyes for a moment.  She was very weary with her long journey and more depressed than she had ever been in her life before.

The drive seemed the longest and most unpleasant she had ever undertaken; she began to wish she had been content to sail for Europe without trying to find Virginia.  But at last the vehicle stopped, the driver reached down from his seat and opened the door.

His passenger put out her head, glanced this way and that, scanned the house before her, and angrily demanded, “What are you stopping here for?”

“Bekase ye tould me to, mum; it’s the place ye said ye wanted to come till.”

Mrs. Conly looked at the number over the door, saw that it was the one she had given him, then in a voice she vainly tried to make coldly indifferent, inquired of some children who had gathered on the sidewalk to gaze in open-mouthed curiosity at her and the hack, if this were ——­ street.

The answer confirmed the driver’s assertion, and she hastily alighted.

The house was a large tenement swarming with inhabitants, as was evidenced by the number of heads in nearly every front window, drawn thither by the unusual event of the stopping of a hack before the door of entrance.  It stood wide open, giving a view of an unfurnished hall and stairway, both of which were in a very untidy condition.

“Does Mr. Henry Neuville live here?” Mrs. Conly asked, addressing the group of staring children.

“Dunno,” said one.  “Guess not,” said another.

“Mebbe thems the grand folks as moved intill the second story front t’other week,” observed a third.  “I’ll show ye the way, lady,” and he rushed past her into the house and ran nimbly up the dirty stairs.

Mrs. Conly lifted her skirts and followed, her heart sinking like lead in her bosom.  Could it be possible that Virginia had come to this?

Halting before the door of the front room on the second floor, the lad gave a thundering rap, then opened it, shouting, “Here’s a old lady to see ye, Mrs. Novel; if that’s yer name.”

“What do you mean by rushing in on me in this rude way, you young rascal?” demanded a shrill female voice, which Mrs. Conly instantly recognized as that of her daughter.  “Begone instantly! begone, I say!”

“Go, go!” Mrs. Conly said to the boy, in half smothered tones, putting a small coin into his hand; then staggering into the room she dropped into a chair, gasping for breath.

“Virginia, Virginia! can it be possible that I find you in such a place as this?” she cried, as the latter started up from a lounge on which she had been lying with a paper-covered novel in her hand.