"And you will lose no time, good woman?" said the rector, overjoyed at the hopes held out to him.
"I will not let the grass grow under my feet," returned the hag. "But you must have patience; for the girl is stubborn—sadly stubborn. Art, and not entreaties, will prevail with her."
"In any case, manage your matters in such a way that I cannot be compromised," said the rector; "and your reward shall be most liberal."
"Trust to me," murmured the hag.
Reginald Tracy once more enveloped himself in his cloak, and took his departure.
"And so I have made a discovery this evening!" mused the hag, when she was once more alone. "Miss Ellen is a mother—she has a child of six or seven months old! She never told me that when she came to seek my aid, and I gave her the card of the Mesmerist;—she never told me that when she sought me after that, and I sent her to the Manager;—she never told me that when I met her at Greenwood's house in the country, and from which she escaped by the window. The cunning puss! She does not even think that I know where she lives;—but Lafleur told me that—Lafleur told me that! He is the prince of French valets—worth a thousand such moody, reserved Italians as Filippo! So now the rector must possess Miss Ellen? Well—and he shall, too, if I have any skill left—if I have any ingenuity to aid him!"
Then the hag concealed the five pieces of glittering gold which the rector had given her, in her Dutch clock; and having thus secured the wages of her iniquity, she proceeded to mix herself a steaming glass of gin-and-water to assist her meditations concerning the business entrusted to her.
"Yes," she said, continuing her musings aloud, "I must not fail in this instance. The rector is a patron who will not spare his gold; and Ellen may not be the only one he may covet. I warrant he will not keep me unemployed! These parsons are terrible fellows when once they give way; and I should think the rector has not been long at this game, or he could scarcely have contrived to maintain his reputation as he has. How the world would be astonished did it know all! But I am astonished at nothing—not I! No—no—I have seen too much in my time. And if I repent of any thing—but no I do not repent:—still, if I did sometimes think of one more than another, 'tis of that poor Harriet Wilmot! I should like to know what became of her. It must be sixteen or seventeen years since that occurred;—but the mention of the name of Markham just now, brought it all fresh back again to my mind. Well—it cannot be helped: it was in the way of business like any thing else!"
Let us leave the horrible old hag at her musings, and relate a little incident which occurred elsewhere, and which, however trivial the reader may deem it now, is not without importance in respect to a future portion of our narrative.
The rector had reached the door of his own house, after his interview with the old hag, and was about to knock when he perceived, by the light of the gas lamp, a strange-looking being standing on the step.