ering with some degree of
spirit into an inquiry, which he felt would probably be in vain.

Together they sought out, in the first place, the street indicated by
Esther. Formerly an obscure part of the city, it had now become, by
those mutations which are constantly occurring, and nowhere with such
rapidity as in this country, a considerable rendezvous of trade. By
rare good luck, the name of the street had been preserved, and by luck
still rarer, the house itself, corresponding in all respects to the
description by Esther. It was one of those ancient Dutch houses, of
which mention has been made, built of a yellowish brick, and standing
with its gable-end toward the street, its steep-pointed roof,
constituting at least one-half of the building, rising with an air of
command, dominating the whole, and seeming, indeed, to be that portion
to which all the other parts were only subsidiary, and constructed for
its honor and glory. Neither Holden nor Pownal had, for an instant,
doubted the honesty and truth of Esther, and yet it must be confessed,
that the discovery of a building, so exactly corresponding with her
description, added fresh fuel to the hopes of the former, and was
not without influence on the latter. And yet, at a moment when, as
it seemed to himself, he was about to realize his dear hopes--for the
imagination of the Solitary leaped over all intervening difficulties,
and, in the confusion of his mind, it almost appeared as if when the
door opened, he should see and recognize his son--Holden laid his hand
on Pownal's arm, and arrested his steps.

"Stay," he said, "let me pause a moment, and recover my wandering
thoughts. There is a sound as of a tempest in my brain, and a confused
noise, as of a trampling of men and horses."

He sat down on the stone step, as if unable to support himself, and
rested his head on his hand.

"Here," he said, speaking to himself, with a trembling voice, "the
merciful savage whose heart the Lord touched, left my child. Here his
little feet trod, and against this wall his head rested. Would that
these inanimate things could know my gratitude! But thou knowest it,
O, all Merciful, my goodness, and my fortress, my high tower, and my
deliverer, my shield, and he in whom I trust. Lord, what is man that
thou takest knowledge of him! or the son of man, that thou makest
account of him! Didst thou not, in the olden time, hear the voice
of the perishing child, Ishmael, and say, by thine an