The daughter smiled incredulously.
“I know of his brother, Alice,” said the old woman, stretching out her neck with a leer of malice absolutely frightful, “who might have been where you have been—for stealing money—and who lives with his sister, over yonder, by the north road out of London.”
“Where?”
“By the north road out of London, deary. You shall see the house if you like. It ain’t much to boast of, genteel as his own is. No, no, no,” cried the old woman, shaking her head and laughing; for her daughter had started up, “not now; it’s too far off; it’s by the milestone, where the stones are heaped;—to-morrow, deary, if it’s fine, and you are in the humour. But I’ll go spend—”
“Stop!” and the daughter flung herself upon her, with her former passion raging like a fire. “The sister is a fair-faced Devil, with brown hair?”
The old woman, amazed and terrified, nodded her head.
“I see the shadow of him in her face! It’s a red house standing by itself. Before the door there is a small green porch.”
Again the old woman nodded.
“In which I sat today! Give me back the money.”
“Alice! Deary!”