ution of which he had again consecrated his life, but certain
it was that the clew Kitty had discovered had only strengthened his own
convictions. If the woman whom Kitty had picked up some months before,
and put to bed, were not his wife, she must certainly have been near
her person; which still meant not only poverty but the possibility of
Dalton's having abandoned her. Possibly, too, this woman, whose outside
garments had contrasted so strangely with her more sumptuous underwear,
might have been an inmate of the same house in which his wife was
living--some one, perhaps, in whom his wife had had confidence.
Perhaps--no! That was impossible. Whatever the depths of suffering into
which his wife had fallen, she had not yet reached the pit--of that
he was convinced. If he were mistaken--at the thought his fingers
tightened, and his heavy eyebrows and thin, drawn lips became two
parallel straight lines--then he would know exactly what to do.

These convictions filled his mind when, having bid good-by to Kitty--who
knew nothing of his interview with the priest--he buttoned his
mackintosh close up to his throat, tucked his blackthorn stick under his
arm, and, pressing his hat well on his head, bent his steps toward the
East Side. A light rain was falling and most of the passers-by were
carrying umbrellas. Overhead thundered the trains of the Elevated--a
continuous line of lights flashing through the clouds of mist.
Underneath stretched Third Avenue, its perspective dimmed in a slowly
gathering fog.

As he tramped on, the brim of his soft hat shadowing his brow, he
scanned without ceasing the faces of those he passed: the men with
collars turned up, the women under the umbrellas--especially those with
small feet. At 28th Street he entered a cheap restaurant, its bill of
fare, written on a pasteboard card and tacked on the outside, indicating
the modest prices of the several viands.

He had had no particular reason for selecting this eating-house from
among the others. He had passed several just like it, and was only
accustoming himself to his new line of search; for that purpose, one
eating-house was as good as another.

Drawing out a chair from a table, he sat down and ran his eye over the
interior.

What he saw was a collection of small tables, flanked by wooden chairs,
their tops covered with white cloths and surmounted by cheap casters,
a long bar with the usual glistening accessories, and a flight of steps
which l