the strange, almost incredible, and yet evidently truthful confession of old peter, fell upon the heart of mr. mordecai with a weight that broke its stubbornness, and at once softened his wrath toward his unhappy and unfortunate daughter.

the thought that she was alone in the world, alone since the mysterious disappearance of her husband from his cuban home-alone and undoubtedly struggling with life for existence, grew upon him with maddening intensity. his heart became tender, and he resolved to seek her face, and once again assure her of his love. immediately carrying out this good resolve, he sought her, first in cuba, but did not find her; and to his bitter disappointment, all his subsequent efforts proved unavailing. months passed, and grieving from day to day over the unfilled hope of meeting her and atoning for his severity by a manifold manifestation of tenderness, mr. mordecai lived on in sorrow as the months slowly passed by.

he little dreamt that, not many leagues from his door, his lovely daughter was performing, in weakness, in sorrow, even broken-hearted, the wearisome task that gave daily bread to herself and child.

and yet leah had often seen her father, so changed by sorrow since she last embraced him; seen him only to creep away into deeper obscurity, dreading to confront his anger, and determined not to meet his coldness. and so changed indeed was she, that not a single soul among the scores she often passed, and who were once friends, had ever suspected her identity. such were the workings of sorrow and misfortune.

in quiet bellevue street in the queen city, still stood the only monument erected there during the war, that was worthy of perpetuation. it was the bellevue street home for the friendless. during the war, this institution was known as the bellevue street hospital, and there many brave soldiers perished, and many recovered from ghastly wounds under the kindly care and attention of its efficient managers.

after the first shock of her grief was passed, eliza heartwell marshall had been called to the position of matron in this institution of mercy.

it should be mentioned that, by the death of a maternal uncle during her married life, this noble woman had inherited a handsome estate, consisting largely of valuable lands upon some of the fertile islands adjacent to the coast.

much of this land the government had appropriated to its own uses, during the war; but upon the restoration of peace, by dint of skilful negotiation the rightful owner had regained possession of the confiscated property.

thus mrs. marshall was enabled to carry on her noble work of charity, after the carnage had ceased and the hospital was no longer needed for the soldiers. so, endowing the bellevue hospital from her own private funds, she transformed it at once into a home for receiving those who, by reason of misfortune, were unable to help themselves.

here, during the two years of peace that had smiled upon the desolate waste left by the war, she had toiled, prayed, and wept over the sufferings of humanity, till she was deemed, and rightly so, an angel of mercy.

time passed on. though the queen city had not regained its former prosperity the home prospered. its charitable walls were full, crowded even to their utmost capacity; its business pressing, its necessities great.

"miss lizzie," said maum isbel one day, as the vigilant matron was performing her accustomed round of duty, "mrs. moses, de lady who do de small washin', have sent word that she is sick an' can't do it dis week. de chile who came said she were wery sick, an' would like to see you."

"do you know where she lives, maum isbel?"

"no. 15 market street, ma'am, de chile said; please remember."

"get me another woman, maum isbel, to fill her place; the work cannot stop. i will go at once to see her. poor creature! she has looked pale and delicate ever since she sought work at the home."

without delay, mrs. marshall hurried out on her mission of charity, and tarried not until she stood confronting a low, miserable looking tenement house on market street. her knock at the designated door was answered by an untidy, rough-looking woman, who came into the narrow dingy entry, and after eyeing the matron sharply, said coarsely:

"what do you want?"

"does mrs. moses live here?"

"yes; but she's very poorly to-day; ain't been up at all. indeed she's been poorly for a week or more."

"can i see her?"

"yes, come in; she's in thar," pointing to a small room cut off from the end of the narrow hall-way.

mrs. marshall approached the small room, and answered the summons of a feeble voice that said, "come in."

on entering the room, she found the woman prostrated on a low, comfortless bed; pale, feeble, and exhausted. by the bed-side, on a chair, were a phial and a hebrew prayer-book.

"i am so glad you have come," said the sick woman, "i am so weak this morning. you see i coughed all night. i felt that i must see you. i hope it gave you no trouble to come."

"none whatever. why have you not sent for me before?"

"i hoped, from day to day, to be strong enough to do the washing for the home again. but instead of growing better, i have grown worse daily. heaven only knows what i'll do when i cannot work."

"where is your little daughter?"

"gone to the baker's, to get me a warm bun. she fancied i could eat one, dear child!"

touched by these surroundings of poverty and distress, mrs. marshall could scarcely repress her tears; but said:

"if you will allow me, i'll give you some brandy; that will revive you."

"indeed, i have none; i used the last drop yesterday."

"then i beg that you will allow me to remove you to the home till you are recovered. there, under dr. gibbs's kind care, you may convalesce rapidly. here, you are suffering for every comfort, and cannot hope to recover soon. i beg you to go."

for a moment, the sick woman made no reply, but her lips trembled with emotion, and at length she said sadly:

"i fear i shall never be well again."

"oh, yes; be cheerful. i promise that you shall want for nothing at the home."

"can my child go with me there?"

"yes, you will need her there, as you do here."

"but i have no money."

"there is none needed. just promise to go, and i'll see that you are removed at once."

reluctantly and tearfully mrs. moses at last yielded to the matron's entreaties, repeatedly assuring her that she would endeavor to pay her, when she should regain her health and strength.

mrs. marshall remained a while, awaiting the return of the little child. at length she came bounding in with a bright, happy face, holding aloft the coveted bun, and exclaiming wildly, "see, mamma! here it is, nice and warm. eat it, mamma!"

the matron then departed, promising to make immediate preparations for the mother's speedy removal.