assemblage, soon slipped away unnoticed and took his way home to Jackson Square. The old cathedral, the court-houses, the bronze figure of Jackson on his impossible war-horse were better company to him than that which he had just left. The Pontalba buildings were without sign of life. He lit a match and made his way to his eyry in the roof. As he reached the top floor he thought he saw a figure lying before his door. Bending down, he found it that of a man apparently asleep. Rondelet shook the sleeper and demanded his business. The man opened his eyes, stared about him, and rose slowly to his feet. He was a rough-looking fellow, and Rondelet touched his revolver to see if it was in order.
"What do you want with me?" he asked for a second time. The man nodded; and after fumbling in his pockets, produced a note from the breast of his shirt, which he handed to the Doctor.
"Wait here, and I will see if there is any answer," said Philip.
He entered the room, secured the door, and by the light of the embers on the hearth perused the letter, written in a woman's hand. He read the words carefully, burned the letter, and then, after examining his revolver, left the house in company with the stranger, who was to serve as his guide. They had not far to go. The
