as I have found lodgings. It is such a tramp
for us all to go together; you stay quietly till
I come and fetch you. Hurrah, Janet! we
are at home at last!"

He ran up on deck gaily, and flung himselt
into the first boat going off to shore. As long
as Janet could see him he stood in the stern,
waving his hand and then his handkerchief.

Hours—long, weary, endless hours passed
by, and no one returned for Janet. By
degrees and in time the whole vessel was
emptied, and only the wife and her two
children remained. It was against rules that
they should stay any longer, and the first mate
came and told her they must "clear out."

"My husband has gone for lodgings for us,
sir," said Janet, trembling. " He has not
come back yet, and I do not know where to
go to."

The first mate was very sorry— they should
have managed better—he would have allowed
her to stay if he could, but it was against
orders and he must obey his captain. He
was really very sorry for her; but she must
clear out in double quick time for all that.
Rules must be obeyed, and discipline kept up.

There was no help for it. Janet was put
on shore with her two children, and must fare
for herself as well as she could. She had five
shillings in her pocket, which she calculated
would give them all supper and a bed
tonight, and to-morrow she would find her
husband if he was alive in New York.

Wandering about, all bewildered at the
strange place, not knowing where she was or
where she must go, holding her children in
her hand, one of whom was crying bitterly
from weariness and dread, she met a motherly-
looking, handsome woman of middle age, with
a kind eye and positive brow; a woman that
made you love her and obey her at the same
moment. She looked hard at Janet and half
stopped. Janet, swayed by one of her usual
impulses, stopped to, and spoke to her.

"My husband left me in the ship this
morning." she said, " to look for lodgings for
me and the children. I am afraid that some
accident has happened to him, for he has
never come back; I was obliged to leave
the vessel; they would not let me sleep
there——"

"It is against orders," said the stranger
promptly.

"Yes, so the mate told me, ma'am. But
as I am a perfect stranger here, I don't know
where to go to, and my children are getting
tired and sleepy. Can you tell me where I
can find a respectable lodging for the night?"

"Come home with me," said the woman,
after a moment's pause. " I see that you are
a stranger, and I am sure you are respectable.
I will give you a bed to-night, and you can
look for your husband to-morrow. A fool!
to leave you in this manner. What was the
man about, I wonder?"

Janet thanked her gratefully, and the
woman took her home.

They had supper and beds prepared for
them; all done in a certain great-hearted,
motherly, majestic way, that impressed Janet
deeply. Not much conversation passed; for
the poor girl was both too tired and too
anxious to talk; but she kissed her hostess
in a child-like loving manner, and cried on
her neck, and clung to her tenderly, and
thanked her with an almost passionate gratitude.
"Not for herself so much," she said,
"as for her dear children." And the stranger
seemed to read right down to the bottom ot
her guest's heart, and to renew again and
again all the freshness of her motherly cares.
And so they parted for the night; Janet
holding the hand of her hostess long and
lingeringly, and wondering at herself
afterwards at the strength of the impulse which
attracted her.

She went to bed early as it was, but she
could not sleep. A thousand nervous fancies,
a thousand horrible fears, disturbed her. She
tried to hope there was some mistake on her
husband's part, but she failed sorely in her
attempt; and at last, abandoning herself to a
fit of despair—almost like madness—she gave
herself up to the terrible belief that she had
again trusted, and been again deserted.—
Deserted, robbed, left to starve and die, she
and her children, in this strange, wild city!
And this was the man she had loved so
trustingly; this was the man who had
perjured himself so fearfully!

A voice called cheerily through the hall—
"Bessie! Bessie! wife! come down." A
man's step strode rapidly through the
rooms, and Janet heard her husband laugh
as he met her hostess merrily, and called
her " wife," and " sweetheart." He was
laughing gaily, singing snatches of popular
ballads; and the mistress of the house was
laughing too.

"You ungrateful vagabond," said the
woman he had called Bessie. "Is this the
way you behave to your lawful wife the first
day of your return, after such a long absence?
What trick have you been playing now, I
wonder?"

Robert said something, but Janet could
not catch the words. He seemed, however,
to be giving the woman something, for she
laughed gently and cried, " How beautiful!"
and then she stifled her voice somehow, and
then they both laughed again gaily, gaily;
and in a short time they sat down to supper
so merry and happy! while that poor pale
girl lay like death between her children.

"What do you think I have done, Robert?"
said the woman after a short pause.

"What, Bess? I am no hand at riddles,
and cannot guess. Out with it, old lady."

"Why, I met a poor woman to-day with
her two children; she had just come from
England, and her fool of a husband had
left her on board, while he went to look
for lodgings for them. He left her so long
that she was obliged to clear out before he