considerably above the window-sill, and that
consequently, it was a most extraordinary thing
that its shadow had never caught my attention.
My eyes having in the course of this comparison
of the young lady with the window-sill been
directed towards this last part of the room, I
next observed that there was no birdcage hanging
in the window.

"Halloa!" I ejaculated, "you've taken down
the birdcage."

"Birdcage, sir?" whined the gaunt woman,
deferentially.

"We ain't got no birdcage," burst out the
small child of the door-step, " nor never haven't
had none—nor yet no bird neither."

"Will you hold your tongue, miss?"
interposed her mother.

There was an awkward pause. I looked again
about the room, I looked at the woman, I looked
at her husband—he had no beard, I now
observed. I had, however, presence of mind enough
not to ask after that missing appendage as I had
done after the birdcage. I determined to make
assurance doubly sure, and walking towards the
window and pulling aside the blind, observed, as
an excuse for looking out:

"I am afraid you must be a good deal choked
up at the back with houses. Isn't that rather
unwholesome?"

A voluble answer on the subject of confined
lodgings, their advantages and disadvantages,
followed, but I did not hear it. I was looking
for my own window in the house opposite. I
had left the lamp alight and the blind half drawn
up. The window before me, exactly in front
of that which I was looking from, was fastened
up and secured with shutters. Stretching my
neck, and glancing in a slanting direction towards
the next of the opposite houses, I saw that the
second-floor window was illuminated, and that
the blind was half lowered.

"Your supper is getting cold," I said, coming
back to the table, and exchanging a glance of
meaning with my companion; "my friend and I
only wished to come in and see how you were
enjoying yourselves, and so now we will leave
you to do better justice to the fowl than you
could if we remained here."

So saying, and resisting all entreaties to stay
and take a share of the good things, I made for
the door, and was soon on the staircase,
followed closely by Mr. Pycroft, who, speechless as
long as we remained in the room, did nothing now
but repeat, "Wrong people, eh?—been feeding
the wrong people, haven't we?" in a loud and
perfectly audible whisper. The gaunt woman
was, however, too loquacious herself to hear
what was said, and during the time that she
lighted us down the stairs, never ceased whining
out her gratitude for a single moment.

When we got into the street I turned round
and looked my companion in the face.

"It is some comfort, at any rate," I said, "to
think that you have been assisting people who
were really in need of help, but it is evident
that every penny of your bounty has gone to the
family we have just left."

"And how do you account for the mistake?"
asked my old friend.

"I can only conclude," was my answer, "that
by a curious coincidence there have been two
second-floor lodgers ill in two houses next door
to each other; that after my seeing Dr. Cordial
at the window opposite to mine, he had gone
from the one house to the other; that he had
had time to pay a short visit to the invalid we
have just left; and that then I had met him
coming away, as I thought, from attending on
our poor shadows, but in reality from the
deserving personage whose supper has been
supplied by your benevolence."

"And the shadows?" gasped Mr. Pycroft,
utterly aghast.

"Have, through my unfortunate mistake, not
received a single shilling," was my answer.

Mr. Pycroft stared at me for some time in
petrified amazement.

"We can never leave the thing like this," he
said, at last. " Do you think you could be sure
of the house this time?"

"I can understand your feeling some mistrust
about it," I said, "but I own that I feel none
myself. This is the house beyond a doubt." I
looked up as I spoke at No. 5.

"Then let's bring the matter to a conclusion
at once," said the old copper-plate printer,
stoutly; and with that we actually rang at the
second bell handle on the left hand door-post.

After the proper amount of delay the door
was opened by a slatternly woman.

"Second-floor back?" said I, in a mellifluous
voice.

"Front," replied the slatternly woman, in
rather an injured tone; "you should have rung
the bell on the right door-post."

I begged pardon with all humility, and the
slatternly woman relented a little.

"The two-pair-back's at home, I know," she
said, "and if you're coming up I may as well
light you."

We availed ourselves of this offer, and, in a
few seconds, we were on the second-floor landing.
The slatternly woman pointed out the
door at which we were to knock, and opening
her own, and letting out in so doing a blast of
onions that almost made my eyes water, she
disappeared into the refreshing vapour, and shut
herself in with it.

My curiosity was now powerfully piqued, and
I felt as if some great stake hinged upon the
opening of the door at which we stood and
knocked.

A clear, cheerful voice called to us to enter,
and in another moment we stood inside the
room.

Two people, a man and a woman, occupied the
apartment. One of them, the man, was at first
hidden from view, but in the other, as she rose
upon our entrance, I recognised at once the
shadow with which I was so familiar.

The room was a great contrast to that which
we had just left, which was tolerably well
provided with furniture. This room was utterly
bare, looking as if all available objects had been