"She sent you to me then?" questioned Ada, with sparkling eyes; "bless her, she sent you!"
"No, she told me about you. I came of my own accord."
Ada's countenance fell; she was silent for a moment, subdued by a strange feeling of disappointment.
"But she is in that horrid place; no matter how you came; not another hour must she stay in prison, if money or influence can release her."
"But she is not in prison now!" said the woman.
"Not in prison!—how is this. What can you desire of me if she is not in prison?"
"But her grandfather—the good old man, he is in prison, helpless as a babe—innocent as a babe. It is the old man who is in prison."
"Why am I tormented with this old man? Do not mention him to me again—his crime is fearful; I am not the one to save him, the murderer of—of——"
"He is the young girl's grandfather!"
Ada had started from her chair, and was pacing rapidly up and down the room, her arms folded tightly under the loose sleeves of her dressing-gown, and the silken tassels swaying to and fro with the impetuosity of her movements. There seemed to be a venomous fascination in that old man's name that stung her whole being into action. She had not comprehended before that it was connected with that of the flower-girl; but the words "he is the young girl's grandfather," arrested her like the shaft from a bow. Her lips grew white, she stood motionless gazing almost fiercely upon the woman who had uttered these words.