"What, another!" muttered the Mayor, with a pang of remorse. "Yes, go my son, I will help you; the whole police shall be put on the search if necessary." Joseph lifted his eyes to the Mayor as he was speaking, and as Farnham caught the look, a smile broke over his face, one of those powerful smiles that transfigure the very features of some men. "Thank you! oh! thank you!" exclaimed the boy, "we shall find her now." Here Judge Sharp stepped forward and held out his hand, for the Mayor had not seen him till then. "Let me go with these young people, perhaps I can help them better than the whole police," he said, kindly. "I wish you would," answered the Mayor, "for I feel very strangely to-day." He certainly was pale, and seemed much shaken, as if some powerful feeling had seized upon his vitality. "Then I will leave you to your wife, while I go with these boys on their merciful errand," said the Judge. "Come, my lads." "One moment," said the Mayor, taking Joseph by the hand, while he led him away from the group, and whispered in his ear. His lips were pale with intense feeling, as he listened for the answer. "My name is Joseph Esmond, that is his name also." "I knew it--I was sure of it," muttered Farnham, and he sat down in an easy chair, and watched the boy wistfully as he left the room. God had reached the conscience of that man at last, and his granite heart was breaking up with the force of old memories and sudden remorse. That day, his past and present life had been linked forcibly together. The shock made him look inward, and he saw clearly that the hard, barren track of politics had led him to become a murderer. The law did not recognize this, but his soul did. CHAPTER XIII JANE CHESTER AND THE STRANGER. Disease, thou art a fearful thing When, half disarmed by household care, Thou sweepest with thy poison wing, O'er the loved forms to which we cling, And bending to the sweet and fair, Leav'st thy corroding mildew there! But if thou treadst the plundered track, Where poverty has swept before, Leaving his victim on the rack, Then, then, thou art a demon black, That steals within the poor man's door. Crushing his hopes forevermore!