The hag was literally a fiend.
And a fiend in human form at that.
We speak of the natural love that resides in the human heart, that is an indestructible part of it, that is born with it, and never departs until the member has ceased to pulse, and lies silent and heavy in the heart that contains it.
This fancy is a pretty one.
Few of us are there who do not try to paint humanity as more humane than it really is.
Instead of love being the natural resident of the human heart, it is something that is cultivated.
Left to itself, the feelings of the human heart are as savage and fierce as those that reside in the hearts of the Indians of the plains, or of the tigers in the Eastern jungles.
The old hag was one in whose heart tender feelings had never been cultivated, and she was not burdened with sensations of sympathy or pity.
On the contrary, the natural inclinations of a cruel nature had been cultivated until it had become callous to all sensations of pleasure save at the sight of the sufferings of some living, breathing thing.
There is money in a private mad-house run by unscrupulous persons, and several evil men had advanced the money and set this human fiend up in business.