Then Justin started out on foot to visit his uncle, Friedrich Rosenthal, the great importer, at his place of business in Chambers street. Besides his earnest desire to see a kinsman whom he sincerely loved and esteemed, he felt a great anxiety to hear such news of his father and sister as Mr. Friedrich Rosenthal would probably be able to give him, and also he needed funds to defray his hotel bill and his expenses to Washington, and which his wealthy uncle would readily advance to him. Justin walked rapidly down the street, sharply turning the corners at the imminent risk of upsetting old ladies and running over little children, until he turned into Chambers street, where every step that brought him nearer to his uncle’s house, and to certain news of his beloved relatives, increased his anxiety and took away his breath. He came in sight of the house and looked up. A strange name occupied the signboard: Steinfeldt. There was a sudden pause in all his pulses, and then he hurried into the house, and glanced up and down the long lines of bales upon bales of goods, and upon the strange array of faces behind them. One of the strangers advanced to meet him. “What would you look at, sir?” “Is—has Mr. Friedrich Rosenthal retired from business?” faltered Justin. “Mr. Friedrich Rosenthal? I am not able to say, sir.” “How long have you been here?” “Nearly a year, sir,” replied the young man, looking surprised at the question. “Is the—is Mr. Steinfeldt in?” “Yes, sir; in the countingroom, back.” Justin had no cards, but he took a scrap of paper from a writing-table near, and wrote his name, and handed it to the young man, saying: “Will you take this to Mr. Steinfeldt?” The youth started off on the errand, and presently returned, accompanied by a stout, respectable-looking, middle-aged man, whose rubicund countenance expressed much concern. “You are a relative of the late Mr. Rosenthal, I presume?” said this gentleman. “The late!” echoed Justin, starting back. “Ah! I am very sorry, exceedingly sorry, to have spoken so thoughtlessly. But, bless my soul, I supposed—— And it has been so long—over a year!” stammered Mr. Steinfeldt, with a face full of sympathy. “I have been absent from the country for more than two years. I have just returned from India,” said Justin, not wishing then and there to enter upon the particulars of his shipwreck. “Bless my soul, yes! And yet knew nothing of what had happened here. Letters, perhaps, miscarried, or passed you. Dear me! yes, it must be a great shock. Come into my countingroom and recover yourself. Here, Perkins! wine—quick!” said Steinfeldt, leading the way to the back of the warerooms, followed by Justin, who accepted his invitation only that he might learn the particulars of his uncle’s death, and if possible, also, some news of his father and sister. The kind-hearted merchant made him sit down in an easy-chair, and, when the wine came, pressed upon him a glass of good old port.