Approaching the window, whence a bright glare streamed forth, Mrs. Mortimer examined the card that had been placed in her hands, and, to her astonishment, found that the hero of her most recent adventure was Lord William Trevelyan, and that his residence was in Park Square. She knew enough of the English peerage to be well aware that the nobleman whom chance had thus thrown in her way was the second son of the Marquis of Curzon, a peer of immense wealth, and who permitted his three male children—all fine young men—to enjoy each a separate establishment for himself, for which purpose he allowed them handsome incomes.
Mrs. Mortimer was therefore well pleased at the encounter which she had that evening made; and in more ways than one was she rejoiced at having visited the cottage in the neighbourhood of Streatham,—especially as the purse which Lord William had given her contained thirty guineas.
An omnibus passing at this moment, the old woman entered the vehicle, and alighted in the Borough. She was speeding homeward—that is to say, to the coffee-house where she had fixed her temporary abode—when, as she was threading a narrow street that offered her a short cut to the place of destination, she was suddenly struck by the certainty that a man who was walking slowly in advance, and whom she had nearly overtaken, was neither more nor less than the object of her search!
For, as he had turned to cast a rapid, stealthy glance around, the light of a lamp had beamed fully upon his countenance;—and that countenance, altered though it were, was too well known to the old woman not to be immediately recognised.
Yes: there indeed was Torrens,—there—in her power—within a few paces of her;—and thus had accident once more materially served his malignant, evil-intentioned pursuer.
Mrs. Mortimer was so excited by this sudden discovery, that she was compelled to pause for a moment and lean against a wall for support. But, almost immediately afterwards recovering her energy and presence of mind, she hastened on, and came near enough up with Torrens to behold him enter a house of mean and miserable appearance.
“Now you are in my power!” muttered the old woman to herself, but in reality apostrophising the individual who was still her husband: and, without another moment’s hesitation, she knocked at the door of the dwelling.
Some minutes elapsed before it was opened; and at length a dirty, slipshod drab of a girl made her appearance.
“I wish to speak to the man who has just entered here,” said Mrs. Mortimer, unceremoniously pushing her way into the narrow, dark, and unpleasantly smelling passage.
“Oh! you means old Mr. Smith what lives down stairs, I des say,” observed the girl.