The young girl went slowly back to her room to disrobe and lie down, and the haggard woman flitted rapidly from street to street, on her way to the dreary lodgings she called home.
Two days after, running her eyes greedily over the morning paper, Miriam read, heading the list of "Personals:"
BLACK MASK.—I wish to see you soon, and alone. There is no deception meant. Appoint time and place, and I will meet you. WHITE MASK.
"So," said the woman to herself, "she has kept her word. Brave little Mollie! Oh! that it may be the man she loves! I should be almost happy, I think, to see her happy—Mary's child!"
Miriam waited impatiently for the response. In two days it came:
WHITE MASK.—To-morrow, Friday night, ten o'clock. Corner Fourteenth Street and Broadway. BLACK MASK.
"I, too, will be there," said Miriam. "It can do no harm; it may, possibly, do some good."