“And that he walks with her in the street?” “I have seen him join her not a block from your own door, and never leave her till she reached that which leads to her rooms in the garret of a tenement-house where she now resides.” “Where is this house?” Miss Eliza reluctantly gave the street and number where Anna Burns lived. “Thank you,” said Mrs. Savage; “you have done me a great service. I will think what steps had best be taken in the matter.” “And you will keep my visit a secret? Situated as we are, he might think it indelicate for me to interfere.” “I will not mention your name in the matter,” answered Mrs. Savage, wearily. Miss Eliza arose, shook out the drapery of her dress, kissed Mrs. Savage with elaborate affection, and left the room, well satisfied with the work she had done. Mrs. Savage was a proud, impetuous woman, well calculated for a leader in social life, and in all respects the mistress of her own house. Such women are usually ardent in their attachments; willing to die for those they love; ready to turn the world over in their behalf; but well disposed to regulate and control the happiness they are so earnest in securing. There was no being in the world to whom young Savage was so much attached as his mother. There was something chivalric in his admiration of her talent, and in the loving pride that he felt in her womanliness. He saw her by the graceful force of a superior will governing other women, and charming strong men into her service. He knew that she was grand in her magnanimity when it was once aroused; but sometimes more disposed to be generous than just, when the tide of her strong prejudices set in against the truth. She was, indeed, a woman of whom any son might well have been proud—full of faults, and rich in magnificent virtues. For the world he would not have given this woman pain; for he, above all others, knew what a cruel thing pain was to her. For this reason he had, perhaps, unconsciously kept his knowledge of Anna Burns a secret from her until quite assured that this feeling, which seemed so like love, was an enduring passion; he would not disturb his mother by confessing it. There was nothing like domestic treason in this. The young man was not quite sure of himself. Refined, fastidious, and over-educated as he was, the feelings which sprang up in his heart regarding this girl were a wonder to his own mind. They were so opposed to all his relations in life that he could not believe in them; yet they were there strong as his life.