"Broken heart!" exclaimed the Resurrection Man contemptuously: "who ever died of a broken heart? But never mind—go on."
"Harriet was alone in the world—an orphan—unprotected—and without friends or resources," continued the hag. "She was accordingly compelled to go out to service. A wealthy gentleman saw her, and fell in love with her—but I shall not tell you all about that! No—I shall not tell you about that! Harriet's was a strange fate—a sad fate; and I do not like to think of the part I acted in some respects towards her," added the old woman, shaking her head, as if it were in regret of the past.
"Go on," said the Resurrection Man. "If you have got any thing unpleasant in your memory, all the shakings of heads in the world won't drive it out."
"Alack! you speak the truth—you speak the truth," muttered the old woman. "It was the blackest deed I ever committed—I wish it had never occurred: it troubles me very often; and when I cannot sleep at night, I am constantly thinking of Harriet Wilmot."
"What is all this to lead to?" demanded Tidkins, impatiently.
"I shall not trouble you with many more of my reflections," said the hag. "Harriet became a mother: she had a daughter, on whom she bestowed the name of Katherine. Three or four years afterwards I lost sight of her, and never beheld her more. From that time all traces of herself and her child were gone until last year, when the murder of Reginald Tracy's housekeeper placed the name of Katherine Wilmot before the public. That name immediately struck me: the newspapers said she was sixteen years old—precisely the age that Harriet's daughter must have been. Then the name of Smithers was mixed up in the proceedings which ensued: I saw it all—Harriet must be dead, and Smithers had adopted her child as his niece! But, to convince myself still further, I went to the Old Bailey—I saw Katherine in the dock: you might have knocked me down with a feather, so strong was the resemblance between the young girl and her deceased mother! I came home—I was very ill: methought I had seen the ghost of one whom I had deeply, deeply injured!"
"And now you have so far forgotten your remorse that you are desirous to turn your knowledge of Katherine's parentage to a good account?" said the Resurrection Man, with a sneering laugh. "But how do you know that she is not well informed on that head already?"
"She cannot be—she cannot be," answered the old hag; "she would not bear the name of Wilmot if she was. Besides, I have since ascertained that her mother died when she was only four years old; and therefore Katherine was too young to receive any revelation from her parent's lips. No—no: I have good reason to believe that Katherine knows nothing of her paternal origin."
"I am now perfectly satisfied, from all you have told me, that Katherine Wilmot is the daughter of the Harriet whom you knew," said the Resurrection Man; "and as you seem so positive that she is unaware of many important particulars concerning her birth, I will proceed in the business you have proposed to me."
"Where is she living?" inquired the old woman.