aling every feature. She was far past the meridian of life;
and there were lines of suffering and sorrow on her fine countenance. I
saw that her lips moved, but it was some time before I distinguished
the words.

"Have you seen my son to-night? They say he comes here."

The manner in which this was said caused a cold thrill to run over me.
I perceived that the woman's mind wandered. I answered:

"No, ma'am; I haven't seen any thing of him."

My tone of voice seemed to inspire her with confidence, for she came up
close to me, and bent her face toward mine.

"It is a dreadful place," she whispered, huskily. "And they say he
comes here. Poor boy! He isn't what he used to be."

"It is a very bad place," said I. "Come"--and I moved a step or two in
the direction from which I had seen her approaching--"come, you'd
better go away as quickly as possible."

"But if he's here," she answered, not moving from where she stood, "I
might save him, you know."

"I am sure you won't find him, ma'am," I urged. "Perhaps he is home,
now."

"Oh, no! no!" And she shook her head mournfully. "He never comes home
until long after midnight. I wish I could see inside of the bar-room.
I'm sure he must be there."

"If you will tell me his name, I will go in and search for him."

After a moment of hesitation she answered:

"His name is Willy Hammond."

How the name, uttered so sadly, and yet with such moving tenderness by
the mother's lips, caused me to start--almost to tremble.

"If he is in the house, ma'am," said I, firmly, "I will see him for
you." And I left her and went into the bar.

"In what room do you think I will find young Hammond?" I asked of the
bar-keeper. He looked at me curiously, but did not answer. The question
had come upon him unanticipated.

"In Harvey Green's room?" I pursued.

"I don't know, I am sure. He isn't in the house to my knowledge. I saw
him go out about half an hour since."

"Green's room is No.----?"

"Eleven," he answered.

"In the front part of the house?"

"Yes."

I asked no further question, but went to No. 11, and tapped on the
door. But no one answered the summons. I listened, but could not
distinguish the slightest sound within. Again I knocked; but louder. If
my ears did not deceive me, the chink of coin was heard. Still there
was neither voice nor movement.

I was disappointed. That the room had inmates, I felt sure.
Remembering, now, what I had heard about light being seen in