“Let me break now a secret to you which I believe it is my duty to divulge.  You will recollect that your father mysteriously abandoned you.  He is now in this city, in—­street jail, awaiting his trial.  I am confident that he is innocent, and will be honorably acquitted; and I am as confident that it needs but your presence and your kind entreaty to bring him back once again to his family and friends.  I have spoken to him, but my words have had no effect except when I spoke of his family.  Then I could see how hard he strove to conceal a tear, and that I had found a tender chord, that needed but your touch to cause it to work out a reformatory resolution.

“I write because Mr. Lang was a friend of mine in his days of prosperity.  I know he has no heart for dishonesty; but, thinking himself deserted by those who should cling to him, he madly resolved to give himself up, and follow where fate should lead.  Yours, truly, “Charles B—.

N.B.  Others have also spoken with him; but their appeals have been in vain.  If you will be at the corner of L—­avenue and W—­street, at three o’clock to-day, a carriage will be in readiness to convey you to his presence.  C. B.

Anxiously did Mrs. Lang watch the features of her child as she stood perusing the letter; and as she sat down with it unfolded, apparently in deep thought, her inquisitiveness increased.  She inquired-she was told all.  “Go,” said she to her daughter, “and may the blessings of Heaven attend you!”

Julia stood wondering.  She had doubted before; she feared it might be the scheme of some base intriguer; but now her doubts vanished, and hope cheered her on.

Long seemed the intervening hours, and many were the predictions made concerning the success of her mission; yet she determined to go, in the spirit of Martin Luther, though every stone in the prison should arise to persecute her.

The appointed hour came, and, letter in hand, she left her room, and repaired to the spot.  There she found a carriage; and the driver, who, it appeared, was acquainted with her, inquired whether she desired to go to—­street jail.  Replying in the affirmative, she entered, and the carriage drove off.  When she had reached the street, and came in full view of the prison, her timidity almost overcame her; but, recollecting the object she had in view, she resisted a desire that involuntarily arose to return.

“Is the warden in?” inquired the driver of the gate-keeper.

“He is;—­another feast for the lion, eh?” and the keeper, who had more self-assurance than manners, having laughed at his own nonsense, pulled a bell-cord, and the warden appeared.

“The gentleman who came this morning to see Mr. Lang wished me to bring this young lady here, and introduce her to you as Mr. Lang’s daughter.”  Having said this, the hack-man let down the steps, and aided her out.  The gate-keeper retired into a sort of sentry-box, and amused himself by peeping over the window-curtain, laughing very immoderately when anything serious was said, and sustaining a very grave appearance when anything having a shade of comicality occurred.