I knew this wretch to be wholly selfish and mercenary, from my experience of her on the raft—­for that she was the same negress I had long ceased to doubt—­and I determined, while I had an opportunity of doing so, to enter a wedge of confidence between us in the only possible way.

“Sabra,” I whispered, “what became of the young girl, Ada Lee, and the deformed child?  It surely can do no harm to tell me this, and I know you understand me perfectly.”

“No, honey, sartinly not; ‘sides, I is tired out of speakin’ Spanish,” in low, mumbling accents.  “Well, den, dat young gal gone to ’tend on Mrs. Raymond, and, as fur de chile, dey pays me to take kear of dat in dis very house ware you is disposed of.  Dat boy gits me a heap of trouble and onrest of nights, dough, I tells you, honey; but I is well paid, and dey all has der reasons for letting him stay here, I spec’”—­shaking her head sagaciously—­“dough dey may be disappinted yit, when de time comes to testify and swar!  De biggest price will carry de day den, chile; I tells you all,” eying the gold held closely in her palm.

I caught eagerly at the idea of the child’s presence, though the rest was Greek to my comprehension until long afterward, when, in untangling a chain of iniquity difficult to match, it formed one important but additional link.

“Poor little Ernie!  I would give so much to see him,” I said.  “Ask Dr. Englehart to let him come to see me, Sabra, and some day I will reward you”—­all this in the faintest whisper.  “But Mrs. Raymond—­where is she?  Does she never come here?  I desire earnestly to speak with her.  Can’t you let her know this?  Try, Sabra, for humanity’s sake.”

At this juncture the head of Mrs. Clayton was thrust forth from its shell, turtle-wise, and appeared peering at the door-cheek.

“You have been there long enough to make these clothes instead of putting them away, old woman,” was the sharp rebuke that startled the pretended Dinah to a condition of bustling agitation, and induced her to shut up one of her own shrivelled hands in closing the drawer, with a force that made her cry aloud, and, when released, wring it with agony, that drew some words in the vernacular.  “What makes you suppose Miss Monfort wants to hear your chattering, old magpie that you are?” continued Mrs. Clayton, throwing off her mask.  “Now walk very straight, or the police shall have you next time you steal from a companion.  Remember who rescued you on the Latona, and on what conditions, and take care how you conduct yourself in the future.  Do you understand me?”

After this tirade, which sorely exhausted her, Mrs. Clayton relapsed into silence; and now it was my time to speak and even scold.  I said: 

“Now that the Spanish farce is thrown aside, it is hard indeed that I cannot even be allowed to exchange a few words with a laundress in my solitary condition—­hard that I should be pressed to the wall in this fiendish fashion.  This woman was telling me of the presence of a little child in the house, and I have desired permission to see it by way of diversion and occupation.  I have asked her to apply to Dr. Englehart.”