"My sweet child," said the harridan, endeavouring to twist her wrinkled face into as pleasing an expression as possible, "a strange thing has come to my knowledge. What would you think if I told you that a man of pure and stainless life, who is virgin of all sin,—a man who to a handsome exterior unites a brilliant intellect,—a man whose eloquence can excite the aristocracy as well as produce a profound impression upon the middle classes,—a man possessed of a fine fortune and a high position,—what would you think, I say, if I told you that such a man has become enamoured of you?" "I should first wonder how such a phœnix of perfection came to select you as his intermediate," answered Ellen, with a smile, which displayed her brilliant teeth. "A mere accident made me acquainted with his passion," said the hag. "But surely you would not scorn the advances of a man who would sacrifice every thing for you—who would consent to fall from his high place for one single hour of your love—who would lay his whole fortune at your feet as a proof of his sincerity." "To cut short this conversation, I will answer you with sincerity," returned Ellen. "Mr. Greenwood is the only man who can boast of a favour which involves my shame: he is the father of my child. I do not love him—I have no reason to love him: nevertheless, he is—I repeat—the father of my child! That expresses every thing. Who knows but that, sooner or later, he may do me justice? And should such an idea ever enter his mind, must I not retain myself worthy of that repentant sentiment on his part?" [Illustration] "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?"