With these questions in his brain, he tore the envelope, took from it some closely-written pages, and began to read. CHAPTER XXIV. WHICH RIVER. “My Friend—One night, while on my beat in the upper part of the city, a young woman, carrying something in her arms, which a large and very rich shawl completely covered, passed me, more than once, in a wild, distracted way, as if looking for something, or some place, which she could not find. I watched her, carefully, as she went back and forth in this strange fashion and at last saw her sink down on a doorstep, when the faint wail of a child came from beneath her shawl. I was about to speak to her, when she lifted her head, saw my uniform, and starting up, came toward me. “‘Will you tell me, sir, where I can find the river?’ “The voice in which these words were spoken was low and timid. The female who uttered them seemed very young, in the light of that street lamp, which was near enough to reveal her features, as faces are seen in a dream. She was utterly unlike any woman who might have been expected out of doors that time of night, and I looked at her keenly before I made answer to her question; but her head drooped forward on her breast, and I could only discern that the face was both young and fair. “‘Which river do you ask for?’ I questioned, wondering that a young creature with the address and language of a highly-bred person, could be there to make an inquiry so vague and strange. “‘Any—no matter which. To find one, shall I turn to the right or left?’ “I was standing above Fiftieth Street on the west, where many vacant lots lay between us and the Hudson, which was not very far off; but shrunk from saying this, and only answered, “‘If you turn either way there is a river—but this is so strange——’ “The girl did not hear my closing words, but turned to the left, where the houses were scattered and a grove of trees loomed up in the distance, flinging their shadows against the sky. I could not leave my beat, but followed her anxiously with my eyes, and saw that she walked with a slow step, which bespoke great fatigue, if not absolute despair. “‘This is strange,’ I thought, ‘that voice had a desperate meaning in it. I wonder if she really thinks of _that_; poor soul!—poor soul, she will surely come to grief. If she were not drifting out of my beat, I would follow her!’ “The moon was up, but clouded, and but few stars appeared; so it was mostly by the street-lamps that I kept her in sight, until she passed out of my beat. When I lost sight of her, she was making straight for the river, and hurried on as if urged forward by the fright my face had given her. “The clock from a far-off steeple struck the hour.