At length a tow-headed boy came out of a swinging door
suggestive of illicit conviviality, and to him Ann Eliza ventured
to confide her difficulty. The offer of five cents fired him with
an instant willingness to lead her to Mrs. Hochmuller, and he was
soon trotting past the stone-cutter's yard with Ann Eliza in his wake.

Another turn in the road brought them to the little red house,
and having rewarded her guide Ann Eliza unlatched the gate and
walked up to the door. Her heart was beating violently, and she
had to lean against the door-post to compose her twitching lips:
she had not known till that moment how much it was going to hurt
her to speak of Evelina to Mrs. Hochmuller. As her agitation
subsided she began to notice how much the appearance of the house
had changed. It was not only that winter had stripped the elm, and
blackened the flower-borders: the house itself had a debased and
deserted air. The window-panes were cracked and dirty, and one or
two shutters swung dismally on loosened hinges.

She rang several times before the door was opened. At length
an Irish woman with a shawl over her head and a baby in her arms
appeared on the threshold, and glancing past her into the narrow
passage Ann Eliza saw that Mrs. Hochmuller's neat abode had
deteriorated as much within as without.

At the mention of the name the woman stared. "Mrs. who, did
ye say?"

"Mrs. Hochmuller. This is surely her house?"