It was past seven o'clock in the evening when he reached the old hag's abode.
She was dozing over a comfortable fire; and her huge cat slept upon her lap. Even in the midst of her nap, the harridan mechanically stretched forth her bony hand from time to time, and stroked the animal down the back; and then it purred in acknowledgment of that caress which to a human being would have been hideous.
Suddenly a knock at the door awoke the hag.
"Business—business," murmured the old woman, as she rose, placed the cat upon the rug, and hastened to answer the door: "no idle visitor comes to me at this time."
The moment she opened the door the rector rushed in.
"Gently, gently," said the old hag: "there is nothing to alarm you in this neighbourhood. Ah!" she cried, as Reginald Tracy laid aside his hat and cloak; "is it you, sir? I am not surprised to see you again."
"And why not?" demanded the rector, as he threw himself into a chair.
"Because all those who wander in the mazes of love, sooner or later require my services," answered the hag; "be they men or women."
"You have divined my object in seeking you," said the rector. "I love a charming creature, and know not how to obtain possession of her."
"You could not have come to a better place for aid and assistance, sir," observed the harridan, with one of her most significant and, therefore, most wicked leers.