The reply was as ready as usual; but it was spoken rather absently. Only that moment, he had decided on informing Phoebe (to some extent, at least) of the purpose which he was then meditating. He would infinitely have preferred using Mrs. Sowler as his sole accomplice. But he knew the girl too well to run that risk. If he refused to satisfy her curiosity, she would be deterred by no scruples of delicacy from privately watching him; and she might say something (either by word of month or by writing) to the kind young mistress who was in correspondence with her, which might lead to disastrous results. It was of the last importance to him, so far to associate Phoebe with his projected enterprise, as to give her an interest of her own in keeping his secrets. “I have not the least wish,” he resumed, “to conceal any thing from you. So far as I can see my way at present, you shall see it too.” Reserving in this dexterous manner the freedom of lying, whenever he found it necessary to depart from the truth, he smiled encouragingly, and waited to be questioned. Phoebe repeated the inquiry she had made at the tavern. “Why do you want to know where Mr. Ronald is buried?” she asked bluntly. “Mr. Ronald’s tombstone, my dear, will tell me the date of Mr. Ronald’s death,” Jervy rejoined. “When I have got the date, I shall go to a place near St. Paul’s, called Doctors’ Commons; I shall pay a shilling fee, and I shall have the privilege of looking at Mr. Ronald’s will.” “And what good will that do you?” “Very properly put, Phoebe! Even shillings are not to be wasted, in our position. But my shilling will buy two sixpennyworths of information. I shall find out what sum of money Mr. Ronald has left to his daughter; and I shall know for certain whether Mrs. Farnaby’s husband has any power over it, or not.” “Well?” said Phoebe, not much interested so far--“and what then?” Jervy looked about him. They were in a crowded thoroughfare at the time. He preserved a discreet silence, until they had arrived at the first turning which led down a quiet street. “What I have to tell you,” he said, “must not be accidentally heard by anybody. Here, my dear, we are all but out of the world--and here I can speak to you safely. I promise you two good things. You shall bring Mrs. Farnaby to that day of reckoning; and we will find money enough to marry on comfortably as soon as you like.” Phoebe’s languid interest in the subject began to revive: she insisted on having a clearer explanation than this. “Do you mean to get the money out of Mr. Farnaby?” she inquired. “I will have nothing to do with Mr. Farnaby--unless I find that his wife’s money is not at her own disposal. What you heard in the kitchen has altered all my plans. Wait a minute--and you will see what I am driving at. How much do you think Mrs. Farnaby would give me, if I found that lost daughter of hers?” Phoebe suddenly stood still, and looked at the sordid scoundrel who was tempting her in blank amazement.