ed up Chatham
street towards the Bowery. As he was passing a house of humble but
respectable exterior, he observed the street door to open, and a female
voice said, in a low tone--'Young gentleman I wish to speak to you.'

Frank was not much surprised at being thus accosted, for his long
residence in New York had made him aware of the fact that courtezans
often resorted to that mode of procuring 'patronage' from such midnight
pedestrians as might happen to be passing their doors. His first impulse
was to walk on without noticing the invitation--but then the thought
suggested itself to his mind: 'Might I not possibly be of some use or
benefit to that frail one? I will see what she has to say.'

Reasoning thus, he stepped up to the door, when the female who had
accosted him took him gently by the hand, and drawing him into the
entry, closed the door. A lamp was burning upon a table which stood in
the passage, and by its light Frank perceived that the lady was both
young and pretty; she was wrapped in a large shawl, so that the outlines
of her form were not plainly visible, yet it was easy to be seen that
she was of good figure and graceful carriage.

'Madame, or Miss,' said Frank, 'be good enough to tell me why--'

'We cannot converse here in the cold,' interrupted the lady, smiling
archly. 'Pray, sir, accompany me up-stairs to my room, and your
curiosity shall be satisfied.'

Frank (who had his own reasons) motioned her to lead the way; she took
the lamp from the table, and ascended the staircase, followed by the
young gentleman. The lady entered a room upon the second floor, in which
stood a bed and other conveniences denoting it to be a sleeping chamber;
a cheerful fire was glowing in the grate. The apartment was neatly and
plainly furnished, containing nothing of a character to indicate that
its occupant was other than a perfectly virtuous female. No obscene
pictures or immodest images were to be seen--all was unexceptionable in
point of propriety.

The lady closed and locked the chamber door; then placing two chairs
before the fire, she seated herself in one, and requested Frank to
occupy the other. Throwing off her shawl, she displayed a fine form and
voluptuous bust--the latter very liberally displayed, as she was arrayed
in nothing but a loose dressing gown, which concealed neither her plump
shoulders, nor the two fair and ample globes, whiter than alabaster,
that gave her form a luxurious fullness.

'You