The night came at last, and I must decide what step to take next, that, my mind made up, I might perhaps get some sleep.  I turned restlessly in my narrow bed, got up, and stood at the window, tried first the upper shelf, and then the lower, but no possible plan presented itself.  I still saw before me that terrible city where I should be ten times lonelier than in the midst of our forests, where I should make mistakes at every turn, where I should not know one face out of the many thousands that crowded upon my nervous fancy.  I seemed to be afraid of nothing but human beings, and, at the thought of encountering them, my woman’s heart gave way.  In vain I reasoned with myself, “I shall not see all Cincinnati at once,—­not more at one time, perhaps, than I saw to-day at dinner.”  Still came up those endless streets, all filled with strange faces; still I saw myself pushed, jostled, by a succession of men and women who cared nothing for me.  Suddenly came the thought, “Tom Salyers is in Cincinnati.  There is one person there that I know.  If I could only find him, he would take care of me till I knew how to take care of myself.”

There came no remembrance of our last conversation to check my eager joy.  Indeed, it had never made much impression upon me, followed as it had been by so much of nearer interest.  I set myself to reflect on the means of finding him.  He had gone down in the employ of the coal company.  The captain could tell me where to look for him, and, satisfied with that, I laid my weary head on my pillow.

The next morning at breakfast I gained the needed information.  “Did I want to find one of the men in Mr. Hammond’s employment?  I must go to the coal-yard”; and the direction was written out for me.

And now we neared the city.  I stood on the guards and looked wondering at the steamboats that lined the river-bank, at the long rows of houses that stretched before me, the tall chimneys vomiting smoke which obscured the surrounding hills, at the crowd of men and drays on the landing through which I was to make my way; but my courage rose with the occasion, and, stepping resolutely from the plank, I walked up the hill and stood among the warehouses.  I had been told to “turn to the right and take the first street, I could not miss my way”; but somehow I did miss my way again and again, and wandered weary and bewildered, not daring at first to ask for directions, till, gathering strength from my very weariness, I at last saw before me the welcome sign.  It was something like home to see it; the familiar names cheered me while they moved me.  I entered the office trembling with a wild dread lest I should meet Mr. Hammond there, but the sight of a stranger’s face at the desk gave me courage to ask for Tom Salyers.

“He is in the yard now.  Here, Jim, tell Salyers there’s a person”—­he hesitated—­“a lady wants to see him.”

I sat down in a chair which was luckily near me, for my knees trembled so that I could not stand, and as the door opened and Tom’s familiar face was before me, my whole composure gave way and I burst into a violent fit of crying.