“What has sent him here?”

Matthew winked knowingly.

“After the boys?” inquired Hammond.

“Yes.”

“Where are they?”

“Up-stairs.”

“Does he suspect this?”

“I can’t tell.  If he doesn’t think them here now, he is looking for them to come in.”

“Do they know he is after them?”

“Oh, yes.”

“All safe then?”

“As an iron chest.  If you want to see them, just rap at No. 4.”

Hammond stood for some minutes leaning on the bar, and then, not once again looking toward that part of the room where Mr. Harrison was seated, passed out through the door leading to the street.  Soon afterward Mr. Harrison departed.

Disgusted as on the night before, with the unceasing flow of vile, obscene, and profane language, I left my place of observation in the bar-room and sought the open air.  The sky was unobscured by a single cloud, and the moon, almost at the full, shone abroad with more than common brightness.  I had not been sitting long in the porch, when the same lady, whose movements had attracted my attention, came in sight, walking very slowly—­the deliberate pace assumed, evidently, for the purpose of better observation.  On coming opposite the tavern, she slightly paused, as on the evening before, and then kept on, passing down the street until she was beyond observation.

“Poor mother!” I was still repeating to myself, when her form again met my eyes.  Slowly she advanced, and now came in nearer to the house.  The interest excited in my mind was so strong, that I could not repress the desire I felt to address her, and so stepped from the shadow of the porch.  She seemed startled, and retreated backward several paces.

“Are you in search of any one?” I inquired, respectfully.

The woman now stood in a position that let the moon shine full upon her face, revealing every feature.  She was far past the meridian of life; and there were lines of suffering and sorrow on her fine countenance.  I saw that her lips moved, but it was some time before I distinguished the words.

“Have you seen my son to-night?  They say he comes here.”

The manner in which this was said caused a cold thrill to run over me.  I perceived that the woman’s mind wandered.  I answered: 

“No, ma’am; I haven’t seen any thing of him.”

My tone of voice seemed to inspire her with confidence, for she came up close to me, and bent her face toward mine.

“It is a dreadful place,” she whispered, huskily.  “And they say he comes here.  Poor boy!  He isn’t what he used to be.”

“It is a very bad place,” said I.  “Come”—­and I moved a step or two in the direction from which I had seen her approaching—­“come, you’d better go away as quickly as possible.”

“But if he’s here,” she answered, not moving from where she stood, “I might save him, you know.”