"The young woman," said our Reporter, taking up the cue, and slipping sixpence into the woman's hand--(when do our poor refuse alms?)--"the young woman in the third-floor back--is she at home?" "Goodness only knows," replied the woman, who, having accepted the money, felt that she must earn it; "she's that quiet, is Blanche, that there's no telling when she's in or when she's out." "Let me see," said our Reporter, pretending to consider, "how long has Blanche lived in the house?" "About three months, I should say. Pretty, ain't she?" "Very. Young, too, to be the mother of little Fanny here." "Lord love you!" exclaimed the woman; "little Fanny's no relation of her'n. She's a single woman is Blanche. I thought you was a friend." "So I am. But this is the first time I've been here to see her." "You're the first I've ever seen come after her." "She has not many friends, then?" "Not one that I know of." "She has had an old friend with her to-day," said our Reporter, thinking he might by this question obtain some information of Antony Cowlrick. "Has she? I'm glad to hear it. I've wondered a good deal about the girl, and so has all of us in the street. She don't mix with us free like. Not that she ain't affable! But she keeps herself to herself. I must go in now," said the woman, with a giggle, "or my old man'll think I've run off with somebody." She entered the house, and our Reporter, with little Fanny asleep in his arms, followed. On the first floor the woman vanished, and he pursued his way to the third. The stairs were in utter darkness, and he had to exercise great care to save his shins and to avoid disturbing the lodgers in the house. In due time he reached the third floor, and struck a match. There were only two doors on the landing, and he saw at once which of the two led to the back room. He knocked, and received no response; and then he tried the handle of the door. It gave way, and he was in the room, in utter darkness. "I beg your pardon," he said, addressing, as he believed, the occupant, "but as no one answered"---- He did not finish the sentence, for the stillness of the room affected him. His position was certainly a perplexing one. He listened for the breathing of some person, but heard none. "Antony Cowlrick," he thought, "have you been playing me a trick?" He struck another match, and lit a candle which was on a small table. Then he looked around. The room was empty. "Now," thought our Reporter, "if this is not the room in which Antony Cowlrick led me to expect he would receive me, and the tenant proper _him_self or _her_self should suddenly appear, I shall scarcely be prepared to offer a reasonable excuse for my intrusion."