“We are in no hurry,” Helen said. “Let’s take a horse-hansom for old sake’s sake.” In it we were like boy and girl together until the jeweler’s was reached. There gloom, in spite of us, settled down over our hopes and feelings. Helen walked to the hansom like a gray ghost. Like the whisper of some far-off stranger I heard myself order the driver to take us home. In the hansom we sat silent, looking straight in front of us at nothing. I stole a glance at Helen and saw a tear in the corner of her eye. I sat choking. All at once she seized my hand. “Look!” she exclaimed, “Look!” I looked where she pointed, but discerned nothing to account for her excitement. “What is it?” I queried. “The old man!” she exclaimed. “What old man?” I asked bewildered. “The old man on the puzzle,” she told me. “The old man who was leading Amy.” Then I was sure she was demented. To humor her I asked: “The old man with the brown coat?” “Yes,” she said eagerly. “The old man with the long gray hair over his collar.” “With the walking stick?” I inquired. “Yes,” she answered. “With the crooked walking stick.” I saw him too! This was no figment of Helen’s imagination. It was absurd of course, but my eagerness caught fire from hers. I credited the absurdity. In what sort of vision it mattered not she had seen an old man like this leading our lost Amy. I spoke to the driver, pointed out to him the old man, told him to follow him without attracting his attention and offered him anything he asked to keep him in sight. Helen became possessed with the idea that we should lose sight of the old man in the crowds. Nothing would do but we must get out and follow him on foot. I remonstrated that we were much more likely to lose sight of him that way, and still more likely to attract his notice, which would be worse than losing him. She insisted and I told the man to keep us in view. A weary walk we had, though most of it was mere strolling after a tottering figure or loitering about shops he entered. It was near dusk and full time for us to be at home when he began to walk fast. So fast he drew away from us in spite of us. He turned a corner a half a square ahead of us. When we turned into that street he was nowhere to be seen. Helen was ready to faint with disappointment. With no hope of helping her, but some instinctive idea of postponing the evil moment I urged her to walk on, saying that perhaps we might see him. About the middle of the square I suddenly stood still. “What is the matter?” Helen asked. “The house!” I said. “What house?” she queried. “The house in the puzzle picture,” I explained. “The house where I saw Amy at the window.” Of course she had not seen any house on the puzzle, but she caught at the last straw of hope. It was a poor neighborhood of crowded tenements, not quite a slum, yet dirty and unkempt and full of poor folks.