“If your business with me be of importance, madam,” said Charles, “no apology can be necessary on your part.” “Yes--my business is indeed of importance,” returned Mrs. Fitzhardinge, with mysterious emphasis. “But I cannot speak to you here----” “I have already requested you to accompany me to the house where I am residing with my relatives and friends,” said Charles, with the least indication of impatience in his manner. “And I have already assured you that I am anxious to converse with you alone,” responded the old woman, nothing daunted. “Do not mistrust me, sir--do not suppose that I have accosted you for the purpose of soliciting any assistance of a pecuniary kind----” “Then, madam, what _do_ you require of me?” asked Charles, hastily. “Ten minutes’ private conversation--on matters of importance--of deep importance to yourself!” replied Mrs. Fitzhardinge, as rapidly and as firmly as the other had spoken: then, before he had time to make any rejoinder, she added, “For your own sake, Mr. Hatfield--if for no other consideration--you will accompany me to my own dwelling, which is close at hand. What! you hesitate? Then continue to cherish the secret grief which weighs upon your mind----” “Ah! what did you say?” ejaculated the young man, starting as if a chord had been touched so as to vibrate to his very heart’s core. “I mean that if you refuse to accompany me, you will repent the loss of an opportunity to receive revelations nearly concerning yourself, and which opportunity may not speedily occur again.” As Mrs. Fitzhardinge uttered these words, she fixed a strange, mysterious, and almost ominous look upon Charles Hatfield, who was bewildered and amazed by her language. The old woman had dealt her random shots with good effect; and she experienced an inward triumph at her skill, and a sure conviction of its success. “Who are you? and what do you know of me?” demanded Charles, breaking silence abruptly after more than a minute’s pause, and speaking in a tone of earnestness denoting mingled suspense, wonder, and curiosity. “My name is Fitzhardinge,” replied the old woman; “and I know all--every thing concerning you,--aye, much more than you can possibly suspect. But not another word of explanation will I utter here; and you may now decide whether you will at once accompany me----” “I _will_ accompany you, madam,” interrupted Charles Hatfield, in a decided manner. “In which direction does your abode lie?” “Five minutes will take us thither,” was the answer.