Time passed on. Though the Queen City had not regained its former prosperity the Home prospered. Its charitable walls were full, crowded even to their utmost capacity; its business pressing, its necessities great.

"Miss Lizzie," said Maum Isbel one day, as the vigilant matron was performing her accustomed round of duty, "Mrs. Moses, de lady who do de small washin', have sent word that she is sick an' can't do it dis week. De chile who came said she were wery sick, an' would like to see you."

"Do you know where she lives, Maum Isbel?"

"No. 15 Market street, ma'am, de chile said; please remember."

"Get me another woman, Maum Isbel, to fill her place; the work cannot stop. I will go at once to see her. Poor creature! She has looked pale and delicate ever since she sought work at the Home."

Without delay, Mrs. Marshall hurried out on her mission of charity, and tarried not until she stood confronting a low, miserable looking tenement house on Market street. Her knock at the designated door was answered by an untidy, rough-looking woman, who came into the narrow dingy entry, and after eyeing the matron sharply, said coarsely:

"What do you want?"

"Does Mrs. Moses live here?"

"Yes; but she's very poorly to-day; ain't been up at all. Indeed she's been poorly for a week or more."

"Can I see her?"

"Yes, come in; she's in thar," pointing to a small room cut off from the end of the narrow hall-way.

Mrs. Marshall approached the small room, and answered the summons of a feeble voice that said, "Come in."

On entering the room, she found the woman prostrated on a low, comfortless bed; pale, feeble, and exhausted. By the bed-side, on a chair, were a phial and a Hebrew prayer-book.

"I am so glad you have come," said the sick woman, "I am so weak this morning. You see I coughed all night. I felt that I must see you. I hope it gave you no trouble to come."

"None whatever. Why have you not sent for me before?"

"I hoped, from day to day, to be strong enough to do the washing for the Home again. But instead of growing better, I have grown worse daily. Heaven only knows what I'll do when I cannot work."

"Where is your little daughter?"

"Gone to the baker's, to get me a warm bun. She fancied I could eat one, dear child!"

Touched by these surroundings of poverty and distress, Mrs. Marshall could scarcely repress her tears; but said:

"If you will allow me, I'll give you some brandy; that will revive you."

"Indeed, I have none; I used the last drop yesterday."

"Then I beg that you will allow me to remove you to the Home till you are recovered. There, under Dr. Gibbs's kind care, you may convalesce rapidly. Here, you are suffering for every comfort, and cannot hope to recover soon. I beg you to go."

For a moment, the sick woman made no reply, but her lips trembled with emotion, and at length she said sadly:

"I fear I shall never be well again."

"Oh, yes; be cheerful. I promise that you shall want for nothing at the Home."

"Can my child go with me there?"

"Yes, you will need her there, as you do here."

"But I have no money."

"There is none needed. Just promise to go, and I'll see that you are removed at once."

Reluctantly and tearfully Mrs. Moses at last yielded to the matron's entreaties, repeatedly assuring her that she would endeavor to pay her, when she should regain her health and strength.

Mrs. Marshall remained a while, awaiting the return of the little child. At length she came bounding in with a bright, happy face, holding aloft the coveted bun, and exclaiming wildly, "See, mamma!

here it is, nice and warm. Eat it, mamma!"

The matron then departed, promising to make immediate preparations for the mother's speedy removal.

CHAPTER XLIV.

IT was only two months after the kind matron of the Bellevue Home had the invalid Mrs. Moses removed to its hospitable walls, before she saw, with regret, that the life she sought to save was fast passing away. The delicate frame was rapidly yielding to the devastation of consumption. All the skill and attention of kind Dr.

Gibbs had proved unavailing. It was too evident that she must soon die.

On the afternoon of a soft June day, succeeding a terrible night with the invalid, Mrs. Marshall had withdrawn for a moment's rest from the fatigue of watching and nursing. Her slumber was soon broken, however, by Maum Isbel, who, unceremoniously thrusting her head into her chamber, said in an excited tone:

"Miss Lizzie! Miss Lizzie! Mis' Moses says she would like to see you at once. She seem werry bad to me, ma'am, werry bad indeed; she's so weak!"

"Hasn't the doctor come yet, maum Isbel? I have been expecting him this hour," replied Mrs. Marshall, arising and preparing to go at once to her patient.

"Not yet, ma'am."

"If he comes, send him in at once; but I feel sure he can do the poor woman no good now. Her life is nearly done." Maum Isbel sighed, and dropped a tear at these ominous words; and then she shambled along into ward number two, to inspect the washing that Mark Antony Briggs, a colored man of her acquaintance, was doing there. There she grew garrulous over the demerits of the work, and soon forgot her emotion and her sympathy for the invalid. In the meantime, Mrs.

Marshall hastened to the sick-room, and softly entered.

By the bedside sat the pale-faced little child, holding her mother's hand, and bestowing upon it kiss after kiss of fervent love.

"Mamma, here is good Mrs. Marshall come in again. Mamma! mamma! wake up," said the little girl as Mrs. Marshall entered.

Startled by the sound, the sick woman roused from her uneasy slumber, and turned her heavenly dark eyes, so lustrous and bright, full upon the face of the matron. Her eyes for an instant flashed, then filled with tears, and dropped again. There was a strange, mysterious expression in that one gaze, that thrilled the heart of Eliza, and filled it with sorrow. "What can I do for you now, dear Mrs. Moses?" she said with feeling. "The doctor will be here soon."

Lifting her emaciated arms, her body shaking convulsively, the invalid said, in a tone shrill with emotion, "Come here! Come near to me, Lizzie Heartwell! Come to these dying arms of mine! I can hold out no longer!" Confounded at these singular words, and the more singular demonstration of an undemonstrative woman, Mrs.

Marshall shrank back, and the invalid continued, "Come to me; nearer! nearer! I can hold out no longer. God knows how hard I've struggled! Lizzie Heartwell, don't you know me? Have you never suspected your long-lost Leah? Have my disgrace and degradation wiped out my identity? In Heaven's name, is there not one trace of resemblance left to the friend who loved you so much in our happy school days? O Lizzie Heartwell, I am indeed your long-lost Leah!

Your unfortunate, heart-broken Leah! Your forsaken, despised Leah!

Your dying, dying Leah Mordecai! Is there no trace left, not one?