Some of you know that I was caught in my traffic, and that the negro stealer Sullivan, was safely lodged in prison, from which he was released but two days since.

Fearing there might be some mistake, I wrote from my prison home to Adah herself, but suppose it did not reach New York till after she had left it.

My poor, dear little girl, thoughts of her have helped to make me a better man than I ever was before.

I am not perfect now, but I certainly am not as hard, as wicked, or bad as when I first wore the felon's dress." A casual observer would have said that Densie Densmore had heard less of that strange story than any one else, but her hearing faculties had been sharpened, and not a word was missed by her--not a link lost in the entire narrative, and when the narrator expressed his love for his daughter, she darted upon him again, shrieking wildly: "And that child whom you loved was the baby you stole, and I shall see her again--shall hear that blessed name of mother from her own sweet lips." A little apart from the others, his eyes fixed earnestly upon the convict, stood Hugh.

His mind, too, had gathered in every fact, but he had reached a widely different conclusion from what poor Densie had.
"Answer her," he said, gravely, as the convict did not reply.