As the clocks of the city struck eleven Robert and his friend Palmer turned into Lemore street. It was a small, narrow street, lined with brick houses, and evidently far from fashionable. The house indicated by the singer was no better than its neighbors.
"I wonder which is her room?" murmured Palmer. "There seems to be no light in any of the windows."
But as he spoke, one of the windows was lighted up by a lamp, which was lighted from within.
"That's her room," said Palmer joyfully. "She is expecting me."
The curtain was lifted, and the fair face of Alameda peered out. She looked across the street and smiled, as she caught sight of Palmer and his young companion.
"You see?"
"Yes. Perhaps I had better go now."
"No; stay till she opens the window and speaks to me."
"Very well, if you wish it."