“Won’t I?” replied Jane, with a taunting laugh, “won’t I? It may save you, but you can’t save it: here goes, my fine old lady.”
Jane Kelly turned back to utter the last tormenting words, and left the old woman in a pitiable state of distress.
“My crucifix, my crucifix, oh! she has carried off my soul. My strength is gone. The blessed mother of God has seen them carry off her son. I am nothing, I am crushed here in my own bed. She has given me over to purgatory, while there is breath in my body. I cannot live, and without the blessed crucifix I cannot die! Woe, woe, they have left me at last, a poor, miserable, weak old woman.”
Here the cracked voice broke into moans and unequal sobs, between which came forth the plaint of “My crucifix—my crucifix!”
CHAPTER LXII.
BEGGING FOR FOOD.
In about half an hour, Jane Kelly returned with a basket of food upon her arm, and full of malicious cheerfulness. “There, old woman, do you see this? plenty to eat and a sharp appetite. When would that miserable old image have brought so much in your hands, I should like to know?”
“But where is my crucifix? You have not sold it?”
“No—no—spouted it, that’s all.”
“What do you mean? Who has got my crucifix?” shouted Madame, wild with terror and grief.
“A nice old Jew, who turned up his nose at your image, as if it had been a leg of pork; wouldn’t believe it was genuine gold at first, and made a reduction of twenty-five per cent. extra on the value, because of the insult I had offered in bringing the image to him. I told him you would redeem it with a thousand dollars, rather than lose it. A thousand dollars, you hear, old lady!”