Past terrace after terrace they flew, till Mr. Hill was nearly faint and breathless, when a sudden turn to the right brought them to the foot of a hill, now Guy street, up which the carter walked his horse, and gave the half dead pedestrian time to recover his breath. When they had proceeded about a quarter of a mile up the hill, the carter drew up at the Nunnery on the left side of the road, and Mr. Bennett, alighting, rang the bell. A sliding panel was immediately pushed aside, and a hooded sister held a few moments conversation with the visitor, on which the door was opened, and he was admitted. Hill, who had been standing in the shadow of the porch, entered unnoticed at his brother’s heels, the janitor being under the impression that they had come in the sleigh together. Walking along a dark corridor they came to a stairway, down which their guide preceded them into the basement; here Hill took a favorable opportunity to turn aside, still keeping his eye on the others till they arrived at the end of the passage and entered a large room where several old men were congregated, some chatting in groups, others smoking or reading lazily. In one of these, with emotions which cannot be described, Hill recognized his father from whom he had so long been separated. His first impulse was to rush boldly in and make himself known, but, the first transport over, his American caution prevailed, and he slipped down another passage which commanded a view of the staircase, and watched from his point of vantage the many persons returning from visiting their friends. He felt relieved when he saw Bennett take his departure, and with one bound he rushed into the middle of the room where the old man was, and, throwing himself round his father’s neck, wept like a child. The old man did not recognize him at first, but when he did he went into hysterics, so great was the shock to his nervous system. Never was there such a commotion in the quiet Nunnery, and the inmates gathered round in excited groups to listen to Hill’s story. He told them that his father had left Boston some years before, and, becoming unable to support himself, had been placed by a heartless elder brother in the cold confines of the Nunnery, although the younger members of the family were both willing and anxious to support their aged parent. There being no reason why the old man should not leave the institution if so inclined, the Superior allowed him, after some hesitation, to take his departure, first receiving the grateful thanks both of himself and of his son for her kind and fostering care. Hill left a letter for his brother, informing him that, his father being willing, he had taken him away from the Nunnery, and that as they evidently did not want to keep him with their families, he was about to take him to live with _his_.