evidently once been in the higher walks of life. As he passed her
dwelling, the remembrance of this woman sent a thrill of mingled pity
and disgust through his heart. The miserable destitution of her home,
the glimpses of refinement that broke through her outbursts of
passion, the state of revolting intoxication in which she was
plunged--all arose vividly to his mind. He paused before the house
with a feeling of vague interest. The night before, a scene of perfect
riot greeted him as he approached the door. Now the inmates seemed
numbed, silent and torpid with cold.

As Chester stood gazing on the house, he saw that the door was open,
and fancied that some object was moving in the hall. It seemed at
first like a lame animal creeping down the steps. As it came forth
into the moonlight, Chester saw that it was a child with a singular,
crouching appearance, muffled in an old red cloak that had belonged
to some grown person. With a slow and painful effort the child dragged
itself along the pavement, its face bent down, and stooping, as if
it had some burden to conceal. The old cloak brushed Chester's
garments, yet the child seemed quite unconscious of his presence,
but moved on, breathing hard and shuddering with the cold, till he
could hear her teeth knock together. Chester did not speak, but softly
followed the child.

The Mayor of New York at that time lived within Chester's beat, and
toward his dwelling the little wanderer bent her way. As she drew
near the steps, the child lifted her face for the first time, and
reaching forth a little wan hand, held herself up by the railing.
She was not seeking that particular house, but there her strength
gave way, and she clung to the cold iron, faint and trembling, with
her eyes lifted wildly towards the drawing-room windows.