“No,” replied Jane Kelly, with quiet deliberation. “There was some marriage lines between George De Marke and Catharine Lacy.”
Though her face was repulsive and dull from want of washing, Madame De Marke turned pale, and her eyes began to gleam with fierce desire when Jane told what the papers were of which she had become possessed. She stretched forth her hand, and commenced eagerly working the fingers, as a hungry parrot gropes for his food.
“Give me the lines. They belong to me. My name was Catharine, and De Marke’s name was George. Give me the lines. She stole them.”
“Haven’t got them with me,” said Jane, folding the cloak more closely around her, with real fear that the witch-like woman would tear them from her bosom, if she knew that they were about her person.
“But you will bring them?—say to-morrow night.”
Jane Kelly laughed, and looking into the eyes of the eager woman, muttered,—
“Nothing for nothing.”
“I—I will give you the—that is, a hundred dollars for the paper,” urged the woman, still working her fingers eagerly.
“To-night?”
“Well, yes, if you give up the paper; but then for cash down there’ll be a discount,—say fifty dollars. Times are very hard.”