She had heard of people perishing from cold and hunger, and to such an end she thought her life seemed tending. Yet miserable as was the condition of Zuleime, there were many then, are many now, in much worse situations. She at least was starving in a tolerably clean room, in privacy and in peace. Far happier than some who perish in the midst of vice and filth and squalor. Yes, reader, there are such things; they _do_ exist in my neighborhood, and yours, and it is just as well that they should sometimes be remembered. Zuleime was dying of want. And did the people of the house know nothing of this? Yes, they knew something of it, and her German landlord trembled for his rent, his wife wished that they had never seen the poor thing, and the two girls pitied her very deeply. And Mrs. Knight saw it all, and suffered in sympathy, and gave the poor, dying girl, all the work she had to give, and paid her for doing it as liberally as she could afford. But Mrs. Knight was not able, from her scanty salary, to keep up her expensive, professional wardrobe, and support two families besides. The greater part of the money Zuleime made, by sewing for the poor actress, was paid for rent, to keep the roof over her head that bitter weather, and to supply the daily two pence worth of milk for the child. If a few pence were left over, they were spent in cheap pilot bread, sparingly eaten by herself. For weeks together she had no fire, no fuel, but would manage to keep her child warm by seating her in the middle of the bed, well wrapped up. By the side of the head of the bedstead, and looking to the south, was the only back window of her room. When she had work, she would sit by this window and sew, while her child sat wrapped up in the bed. When she had no work, she would still sit there and rock her child upon her bosom, singing to her all the while. Unearthly and spiritual was the wan, moonlight face, with its large, luminous eyes—unearthly and spiritual was the voice in which she sang her child to rest, as she sat by the south window. She found room in her burdened heart to love that sunny window, with its glimpses of a river landscape, with waterfalls and hills and forests, and nearer, lying between her and the water, the pleasure-grounds around a fair mansion of white freestone, that fronted on the river. That fine place took in nearly a whole square, and was separated from this poor house and lot, first, by a broad, back alley, then a tall brick wall, with capacious stables and coach-houses, then the garden, with terraces and conservatory, and so up to the Venetian back piazza of the mansion. Every day, and all day long through the glowing autumn weather, she had sat and feasted her eyes and mind upon these pleasure-grounds, with their gorgeous flowers and magnificent trees, and the palace-home in the midst, a picture of beauty and glory, telling besides of plenty, elegance, refinement, leisure, artistic taste, intellectual pursuits,