head at night rested
on his shoulder.

But there was no need that one woman's breath should sicken him even
now with the whole world; and again he stopped in his walk to look at
Kitty.

The fresh wind blowing on her wakened her presently. The mulatto was
anxious to serve her: it was always the case with people of her class
after Kitty had once spoken to them.

"I should like fresh water and towels," she said coolly, as though
toilet appurtenances were to be found at every street corner. The
woman paused, and then with a queer smile brought them. In a a few
moments McCall saw her come out fresher than before.

"Where is this house?" showing a name and number to the mulatto, who
read it once or twice, and then looked steadily at Kitty.

"Are you going alone to that place?"

"Certainly."

The woman gave her the directions without further parley, adding that
it was about six miles distant, and turned away. Catharine followed
her to thank her, and put a dollar note in her hand. It was all the
money she had.

She walked on down the rapidly filling streets--for miles, as she
thought. The hurry and rush of the day had begun. The sense of
nothingness in the midst of this great multitude came upon Kitty. The
fear, the excitement began to tell on her: yesterday she had eaten
but little in her pity for Muller. "Which was very foolish of me,"
she said to herself. "Now I've no money to buy anything to eat. I have
acted in this matter without common sense." The sun lighted up the
yellow leaves of the maples along the sidewalk. The wind blew strongly
up from the rivers. She passed a stand with some withered apples and
stale cakes, and put her hand in her pocket, then with a wistful look
went on.

It was late in the morning before she reached her journey's end.
Showing her paper now and then, she had noticed the curious inquiring
look which both men and women gave her on reading it. She found
herself at last under a long gray stone wall pierced by an
iron-knobbed gate. By the side of it a man was setting out on an
eating-stand a half-eaten ham, chaffy rolls and pies yellow with
age. The man was an old, cleanly shaven fellow, whose aquiline nose
reminded her with a twinge of conscience of Mr. Muller.

"Am I near to this house?" showing her paper.

"Here," nodding back at the stone wall, cutting his pies.

"This! What is this place, sir?"

"Moyamensing Prison." He finished cutting the pies carefully, and
then, wiping th