winter's morning penetrated into the
narrow court, and struggled through the begrimed window of the wretched
room, Warden awoke from his heavy sleep, and found himself alone. He
rose, and looked round him; the old flock mattress on the floor was
undisturbed; everything was just as he remembered to have seen it last:
and there were no signs of any one, save himself, having occupied the
room during the night. He inquired of the other lodgers, and of the
neighbours; but his daughter had not been seen or heard of. He rambled
through the streets, and scrutinised each wretched face among the crowds
that thronged them, with anxious eyes. But his search was fruitless, and
he returned to his garret when night came on, desolate and weary.

For many days he occupied himself in the same manner, but no trace of his
daughter did he meet with, and no word of her reached his ears. At
length he gave up the pursuit as hopeless. He had long thought of the
probability of her leaving him, and endeavouring to gain her bread in
quiet, elsewhere. She had left him at last to starve alone. He ground
his teeth, and cursed her!

He begged his bread from door to door. Every halfpenny he could wring
from the pity or credulity of those to whom he addressed himself, was
spent in the old way. A year passed over his head; the roof of a jail
was the only one that had sheltered him for many months. He slept under
archways, and in brickfields--anywhere, where there was some warmth or
shelter from the cold and rain. But in the last stage of poverty,
disease, and houseless want, he was a drunkard still.

At last, one bitter night, he sunk down on a door-step faint and ill.
The premature decay of vice and profligacy had worn him to the bone. His
cheeks were hollow and livid; his eyes were sunken, and their sight was
dim. His legs trembled beneath his weight, and a cold shiver ran through
every limb.

And now the long-forgotten scenes of a misspent life crowded thick and
fast upon him. He thought of the time when he had a home--a happy,
cheerful home--and of those who peopled it, and flocked about him then,
until the forms of his elder children seemed to rise from the grave, and
stand about him--so plain, so clear, and so distinct they were that he
could touch and feel them. Looks that he had long forgotten were fixed
upon him once more; voices long since hushed in death sounded in his ears
like the music of village bells. But it was only f