“Tell me, I entreat, madame, where is this girl now?”
“How should I know? She ran away after you sailed.”
“Ran away? where? Where?”
“You needn’t ask me. How should I know? What carries a wild girl into the streets?”
“The streets!” cried the young man, in a husky whisper. “The streets!”
“I believe,” said the old woman, unfeelingly, “she brought up at the prison or Almshouse, at last.”
“Prison! Almshouse! Madame, woman, how dare you confess that she was so far deserted, the poor, poor girl. Was she ill? Was she wronged? Tell me why this destitution fell upon her!”
The old woman fixed her keen eyes on the excited and stern face of the young man, with a hard, determined look that made the heart tremble in his bosom; and he shrunk back with mortal dread, as if a rattlesnake were about to spring upon him.
“She had disgraced my house, sir, and I sent her out of it.” The young man started back, and turned white to the very lips.
“Not, not!—woman, tell me what this means!”