"You cherish a miserable delusion, my child," said the hag; "and I am surprised at your confidence in the good feelings of a man of whom you have already seen so much."
"Ah! there is a higher power that often sways the human heart," observed Ellen; and, as she spoke, her eyes were fixed upon the inscriptions on the tree, while her heart beat with emotions unintelligible to the old hag.
"You will then allow this man of whom I have spoken, and who has formed so enthusiastic an attachment towards you, to languish without a hope?" demanded the woman.
"Men do not die of love," said Ellen, with a smile.
"But he is rich—and he would enrich you," continued the old harridan: "he would place your father in so happy a position that the old man should not even experience a regret for the prosperity which he has lost."
"My father dwells with a friend, and is happy," observed Ellen.
"But he is dependant," exclaimed the old hag: "for you yourself once said to me, 'We are dependant upon one who cannot afford to maintain us in idleness.' How happy would you be—for I know your heart—to be enabled to place your father in a state of independence!"
"Would he be happy did he know that he owed the revival of his prosperity to his daughter's infamy?"
"Did he divine whence came the bread that was purchased by your services to the statuary, the artist, the sculptor, and the photographer? You yourself assured me that you kept your avocations a profound secret."