Zuleime looked in vain for her return, and finally concluded that her mother had detained her. But if the child did not come, somebody else did. Wilhelmina entered, and kindly inquired after her lodger’s success in seeking work. When she learned her failure, she begged Zuleime not to be troubled, for that there was work in the house for her if she would take it. That the new boarder, Mrs. Knight, the leading lady of the Richmond Theatre, wanted assistance in making up some dresses, that were to be ready in a few days. That she, Wilhelmina, had recommended their lodger, and if the young lady pleased, she would conduct her down and introduce her to Mrs. Knight. Zuleime thanked the kind-hearted girl, and prepared to accompany her—sensible amid all her other emotions of a rustic’s curiosity to see a really living actress, for she had never in her life seen one off the boards. She followed Wilhelmina down the stairs into the passage. Near the foot of the stairs was a door leading into the first floor back room. At this door Wilhelmina rapped. It was opened by Ida, who, as soon as she saw Zuleime, exclaimed— “Oh! it’s you! Come in. Mother! here is the baby’s mother!” “It is I, Mrs. Knight, with the person I spoke of. May we come in?” inquired Wilhelmina. “Assuredly. Do so,” replied the sweetest, deepest voice Zuleime thought she had ever heard. And they entered the room. Wilhelmina introduced Mrs. Fairfax, and withdrew. The apartment in which Zuleime found herself, was the best furnished room in the house—decidedly—having a good warm, hued carpet on the floor, crimson stuff curtains at the only back window, a grate with a coal fire, a four-post bedstead, with tester, net valance and a white counterpane, a bureau with tall dressing-glass, and wash-stand, with china toilet service. But it was in a state of confusion only less than that of the adjoining shop. Trunks, boxes, and band boxes of all sizes, forms and colors, some corded and piled up one above the other, and some open and boiling up and over with all sorts of finery and tinsel, satins, silks and velvets, feathers, flowers and fustian, which also trailed upon the carpet, and strewed the chairs. An oil painting, in a large heavy gilt frame, leaned with its face against the wall. On the bed, a black mantle and bonnet, with a widow’s veil, lay side by side with a gorgeous scarlet velvet train, embroidered with gold, an imitation ermine robe, a crown of gilt and paste, a plume of feathers, and great bunches of sham pearls. On a low trunk, in the midst of this sad chaos of poverty and glitter, mummery and mourning, sat one who immediately drew and fixed Zuleime’s attention. A tall, noble looking woman, of perhaps thirty years of age, clothed in deep mourning, with her heavy black hair banded around her forehead and temples, and shading a countenance dark and cavernous, with its large hollow eyes and hollow cheeks, but majestic with power,