Struck with wonder at such a choice of residence by the fastidious cripple, and with pity at the forlorn existence it implied, Annie hesitated about pressing her inquiries that day. But her anxiety to hear about her husband overbore all scruples, and, after allowing a short interval between his arrival and hers, she knocked at the door. A little girl opened it, and, upon being asked if Mr. Lawler lived here, nodded her head backward in the direction of the staircase, with the brief direction, “Third floor, right up top;” and, as she made no attempt at the ceremony of announcement, Annie only asked which was the door of the sitting-room, and, on being told “You go right straight into it soon as yer get up,” she showed herself up without further delay. When she reached the third floor, she found the door of the little sitting-room half open, and, after knocking twice and getting no answer, she went in. It was a meagerly furnished room, not much better than a garret, bearing evidences of Stephen’s occupation of it in its extreme tidiness--for he was always neat and orderly in his surroundings. The only thing which looked out of its place was a flat hamper, which stood with the lid open on one of the chairs. Annie stood for a few minutes in the middle of the room without hearing any sound; then, attracted by the scent of flowers and by the sight of the ferns and leaves which evidently covered them, she glanced again at the hamper, crossed the room, and saw, laid on the leaves, a visiting-card with her husband’s name and address upon it--“Mr. Harold Braithwaite, Kirby Park”--and penciled underneath the name, in his handwriting, were the words--“With love to my darling!” With a throb of mad hope she seized the lid and looked outside for the direction. Then she stood looking at that, as still and almost as white as stone, for the hamper was directed in a different handwriting to “Miss Muriel West, Victoria Street.” She was still standing by it when a little moan she uttered unconsciously brought Stephen from the next room. He started, and grew in an instant as white as she when he saw her. “Stephen, I did not mean to frighten you. What I came to ask you I have found out already--here;” and she glanced at her husband’s card. But the cripple began to tremble from head to foot, and to stammer out that it was the wrong address, that Harry was no longer there, that no letter sent there would reach him. “Tell me his right address then,” said Annie, recovering her calmness. “It is of no use to try to keep it from me any longer, for I will find him out, and I will stand face to face with him before another week is over!” “But you must not, Annie,” declared the cripple, his forehead damp with agitation. “He will not see you; he will threaten you, abuse you. If you attempt to force yourself upon him against his will, I will not answer for the consequences.”