It was without delay that Holden applied himself to the purpose of his visit to New York, in which he was seconded, to the best of his ability, by Pownal.  All the time the young man could spare from his own business he devoted to his friend, though fearful that there was little probability of succeeding in the search.  But who, however, convinced of the futility of the inquiries, could refuse his assistance to one engaged in an investigation of so deep and sacred an interest, and who believed with an implicit faith in ultimate success?  And such is the nature of enthusiasm, or a high-wrought faith, that Pownal himself could not refrain from entering with some degree of spirit into an inquiry, which he felt would probably be in vain.

Together they sought out, in the first place, the street indicated by Esther.  Formerly an obscure part of the city, it had now become, by those mutations which are constantly occurring, and nowhere with such rapidity as in this country, a considerable rendezvous of trade.  By rare good luck, the name of the street had been preserved, and by luck still rarer, the house itself, corresponding in all respects to the description by Esther.  It was one of those ancient Dutch houses, of which mention has been made, built of a yellowish brick, and standing with its gable-end toward the street, its steep-pointed roof, constituting at least one-half of the building, rising with an air of command, dominating the whole, and seeming, indeed, to be that portion to which all the other parts were only subsidiary, and constructed for its honor and glory.  Neither Holden nor Pownal had, for an instant, doubted the honesty and truth of Esther, and yet it must be confessed, that the discovery of a building, so exactly corresponding with her description, added fresh fuel to the hopes of the former, and was not without influence on the latter.  And yet, at a moment when, as it seemed to himself, he was about to realize his dear hopes—­for the imagination of the Solitary leaped over all intervening difficulties, and, in the confusion of his mind, it almost appeared as if when the door opened, he should see and recognize his son—­Holden laid his hand on Pownal’s arm, and arrested his steps.

“Stay,” he said, “let me pause a moment, and recover my wandering thoughts.  There is a sound as of a tempest in my brain, and a confused noise, as of a trampling of men and horses.”

He sat down on the stone step, as if unable to support himself, and rested his head on his hand.

“Here,” he said, speaking to himself, with a trembling voice, “the merciful savage whose heart the Lord touched, left my child.  Here his little feet trod, and against this wall his head rested.  Would that these inanimate things could know my gratitude!  But thou knowest it, O, all Merciful, my goodness, and my fortress, my high tower, and my deliverer, my shield, and he in whom I trust.  Lord, what is man that thou takest knowledge of him!