“Dead—and little Bertha, too. All are gone—victims of cholera, while I have not known a well day since I had it,” the man answered, in a harsh, unnatural voice. Virgie felt the tears rise to her eyes, and her heart softened still more. Surely his punishment had begun, and in no light manner, if death had so quickly robbed him of all his family, ruining his own health also. “How did you know that I was here in San Francisco?” she asked, after another painful pause. He started at her question. “I saw you here more than three years ago. I was not quite sure it was you the first time I met you, and I followed you, hoping to learn where you lived; but you evaded me without knowing it, that time. The next day I haunted the place where I lost sight of you, and came upon you just as you turned the corner, you remember. You knew me, I was very sure, by the look of dismay that sprang to your eyes. I was more sure after your little strategy in that store. But I wanted to see you desperately, Virgie. Didn’t you see my advertisement among the personals?” “Yes; but I—could not meet you. I—could not forget,” faltered Virgie. The man shivered at her words. “Well, I cannot blame you. But never mind that now. I meant to find you if I could; but I made up my mind after a while that you and Abbot had left San Francisco—I had not a thought that he was dead—and so I went elsewhere to hunt for you. I have spent the last three years in wandering about, but finally came back here to end my days. I was in at Knight’s bookstore a day or two since. There was a pile of new books on the counter, and as I stood looking at one of them a gentleman came for one, and said to a boy, ‘I want you to take one of Mrs. Alexander’s new books around to her.’ The name startled me. I turned to the title page, and saw ‘Virginia Alexander’ printed there, as the author. I bought a copy, and followed the boy here. I should have come to see you yesterday, but I was not able to get out; I had hardly strength sufficient to-day, but to-night despair drove me out in spite of the storm.” “I am afraid you were imprudent. But what can I do for you, Uncle Mark?” Virgie asked, hardly knowing what to say to the returned fugitive. “I will tell you that by and by. Can I—will you let me stay here to-night?” he humbly asked. Virgie had but two beds, her own and her servant’s, but she had not the heart to send him forth again into the storm, he looked so ill and miserable; so she replied, with a look of pity: “Yes, if you wish.” The poor creature broke down and sobbed at her kindness, but he recovered himself after a moment, and turned away from her gaze. “It is my nerves,” he explained; “I am a total wreck; I am utterly shattered.” Mina now came in with a tempting little supper, and he was more composed and cheerful after he had eaten something and taken a cup of tea, and soon began to talk more freely of his past.