"You had better look out," concluded he; "I'm watching you both, and will find out all your secrets by-and-by." "Learn all our secrets! Ah, my brother!" thought she, as he disappeared into his room, "you need not desire to have their fearful weight upon you, or you will soon grow as anxious, thin, and pale as I am." The next day at noon Lizzie started on her journey, after a short conference with her father.
Night had settled upon her native city, when she was driven through its straight and seemingly interminable thoroughfares.

The long straight rows of lamps, the snowy steps, the scrupulously clean streets, the signs over the stores, were like the faces of old acquaintances, and at any other time would have caused agreeable recollections; but the object of her visit pre-occupied her mind, to the exclusion of any other and more pleasant associations.
She ordered the coachman to take her to an obscure hotel, and, after having engaged a room, she left her baggage and started in search of the residence of McCloskey.
She drew her veil down over her face very closely, and walked quickly through the familiar streets, until she arrived at the place indicated in his letter.

It was a small, mean tenement, in a by street, in which there were but one or two other houses.

The shutters were closed from the upper story to the lowest, and the whole place wore an uninhabited appearance.
After knocking several times, she was about to give up in despair, when she discovered through the glass above the door the faint glimmer of a light, and shortly after a female voice demanded from the inside, "Who is there ?" "Does Mr.McCloskey live here ?" asked Lizzie.
Hearing a voice not more formidable than her own, the person within partially opened the door; and, whilst shading with one hand the candle she held in the other, gazed out upon the speaker.
"Does Mr.McCloskey live here ?" repeated Lizzie.
"Yes, he does," answered the woman, in a weak voice; "but he's got the typers." "Has the what ?" inquired Lizzie, who did not exactly understand her.
"Got the typers--got the fever, you know." "The typhus fever!" said Lizzie, with a start; "then he is really sick." "Really sick!" repeated the woman--"really sick! Well, I should think he was! Why, he's been a raving and swearing awful for days; he stormed and screamed so loud that the neighbours complained.

Law! they had to even shave his head." "Is he any better ?" asked Lizzie, with a sinking heart.