"But what can you do, Joseph, without hardly knowing a street in the city, and so much weaker than I am?" "Did you go to the Mayor's?" questioned the boy, without answering. "Did I go to the Mayor!--I to James Farnham!" exclaimed the artist almost sternly. "No, not for the whole universe." The artist checked himself, and added--"What could I have done with him?" "He is head of the police, Mrs. Chester told me, and might have put you in the way of tracking her, poor lady. I would not go to him after his cruelty; but that handsome young man, I know he would help me." "Yes, yes," exclaimed the artist with animation, "go to him; he is noble-hearted, God bless the boy, go to him, Joseph." "The last time he was here, father, you were not at home; but he made me promise to find him out if anything happened, especially if we found it hard to get along without your working too hard for your eyes." "Did he? Heaven bless the boy." "Why father, you seem to love him so much, almost more than you love me," said the boy with a faint pang. "Don't do that father, for he has so much, and I have nothing in the wide world but my father!" "No, no, I don't love him so much--not more than his bright goodness deserves, Joseph; but you are my son--my only son sent to me from your sweet mother's death-bed--how could I love anything so well!" "Forgive me, father," cried the boy, and his blue eyes sparkled through pendent tears. "Forgive me; I was jealous only a little, and it is all gone; I will go and tell Frederick that you want him to help me!" "But you are weak, my boy." "No, father, Mary Fuller has shamed my weakness all away. She is no stronger than I am, but what would that poor family do without her? I will never be so feeble again." "Yes I will go and rest, and these boys shall do my work," said the old man proudly; "they will find her, together, I think; I could do nothing." "We will find her, never fear," answered Joseph hopefully and putting on his straw hat he went out. CHAPTER XII. THE MAYOR AND HIS SON. Nature hath many voices, and the soul Speaks, with a power, when first it feels the thrill Of buried Love. Then breaking all control, She claims her own, against man's haughty will. The Mayor was alone in his office--alone with his conscience. Cold as he had seemed, the face of that murdered man haunted him. There was no subterfuge for his conscience; now it was wide awake, stinging him like a serpent. The sensation was so new, that the Mayor writhed under it in absolute anguish; his hand was lifted to his forehead unconsciously, as if to hide the brand of Cain, that seemed to be burning there.