Ryder was dejected for a time, and, though not honestly penitent, suffered some remorse at the miserable issue of her intrigues. But her elastic nature soon shook it off, and she felt a certain satisfaction at having reduced Mrs. Gaunt to her own level. This disarmed, her hostility: she watched her as keenly as ever, but out of pure curiosity.
One thing puzzled her strangely. Leonard did not visit the house; nor could she even detect any communication between the parties.
At last, one day, her mistress told her to put on her hat and go to Father Leonard.
Ryder's eyes sparkled; and she was soon equipped. Mrs. Gaunt put a parcel and a letter into her hands. Ryder no sooner got out of her sight than she proceeded to tamper with the letter. But to her just indignation she found it so ingeniously folded and sealed that she could not read a word.
The parcel, however, she easily undid, and it contained forty pounds in gold and small notes. "Oho! my lady," said Ryder.
She was received by Leonard with a tender emotion he in vain tried to conceal.
On reading the letter his features contracted sharply, and he seemed to suffer agony. He would not even open the parcel. "You will take that hack," said he, bitterly.
"What, without a word?"
"Without a word. But I will write, when I am able."
"Don't be long, sir," suggested Ryder. "I am sure my mistress is wearying for you. Consider, sir, she is all alone now."