"You shall see--come up-stairs. She is not up yet. She has been distressingly sick--she is better now, almost well, though very feeble. The doctor says, she was poisoned." "No doubt, if drunk, of course she was. Every drop of drunkenness-producing liquor is poison, of the most subtle kind--slow, but sure." She was still in bed. Her kind protector had furnished her with a clean, white bed-gown and cap, and a prettier face, indicating about sixteen or seventeen years, never looked up smilingly from a downy pillow. "She is very pale now. She vomited terribly all the latter part of the night. Her color will soon come again." "Oh, yes, ma'am, I feel quite well now. Do let me get up and dress myself, and go home--I cannot bear to be a trouble to you any longer. Oh, sir, she has been a mother to me--more than a mother--if I had such a mother----." "Well, well, my girl, never mind now. You cannot get up yet. You must keep quiet to-day. To-morrow, we will see you safe home." "Oh, sir, I cannot possibly wait till to-morrow. What will Mrs. Meltrand think?" "She shall know all about it before night." "Oh, no, no, no! not all, not all! I should die with shame." "Well, then, only that you have been to see a friend, and was taken very sick." "Yes, I have been to see a friend, a dear friend, a poor unfortunate woman. Indeed, I must get up. She is sicker than I am, and besides, I promised to go, too, and see a friend for her. It is a gentleman that she thinks a great deal of, sir,--one who was very kind to her when she was very bad, and lived very miserably, and she thinks he was sent by Providence to save her from total ruin. That, sir, was before her little daughter died. Did you ever read about that, sir? it was published in 'the New York Tribune.'" "I do not know; that paper publishes so many stories. I read the most of them. Then, you want to see Mr. Greeley. You need not go there for that, you can----" "Oh, are you Mr. Greeley, then?" "No, but I shall see him soon, and I will tell him what you want. If it is to assist some poor distressed widow, you may depend upon it, he will do all he can afford, for he is a good man; his worst enemies acknowledge that." "No, sir, it is not Mr. Greeley, that I am to go and see, it is another gentleman in the office of his paper." "Who is it? What is his name? I know all of the gentlemen in that office; I can take your message to any one of them, and will do so with pleasure. Is it Mr. Dana? he is the next principal editor to Mr. Greeley." "No, that is not the name. I cannot recollect it, now. But he is one of the editors." "One of the editors! Why, my girl, that paper has a dozen editors. Perhaps, it is one of the assistants. Is it Mr. Cleveland?--no--Mr. Snow?--no--Mr. Fry, Mr. Thayer?--no--Mr. Ripley?--no--Mr. Ottarson?" "No, I think not, but that sounds something like it."