“That is not at all unnatural,” said the stranger; “the man, though utterly without religion, was nevertheless both hesitating and timid; precisely the character to do a just act from a wrong motive.”

“Be that as it may,” continued the priest, “I have a message from him to you.”

“To me!” replied the other.  “I am much obliged to him, but it is now too late.  We have ascertained where Lady Gourlay’s son is, without any assistance from him; and in the course of this very day we shall furnish ourselves with proper authority for claiming and producing him.”

“I am delighted to hear it,” said the priest.  “God be praised that the heart of that charitable and Christian woman will be relieved at last, and made happy; but still I say, see old Anthony.  He is as deep as a draw-well, and as close as an oyster.  See him, sir.  Take my advice, now that the drame has frightened him, and call upon the old sinner.  He may serve you in more ways than you know.”

“Well, as you advise me to do so, I shall; but I do not relish the old fellow at all.”

“Nobody does, nor ever did.  He and all his family lived as if every one of them carried a little world of their own within them.  Maybe they do; and God forgive me for saying it, but I don’t think if its secrets were known, that it would be found a very pleasant world.  May the Lord change them, and turn their hearts!”

After some further chat, the priest took his departure, but promised to see his friend from time to time, before he should leave town.

The stranger felt that the priest’s advice to see old Corbet again was a good one.  The interview could do no harm, and might be productive of some good, provided he could be prevailed on to speak out.  He accordingly directed his steps once more to Constitution Hill, where he found the old man at his usual post behind the counter.

“Well, Corbet,” said he, “alive still?”

“Alive still, sir,” he replied; “but can’t be so always; the best of us must go.”

“Very true, Corbet, if we could think of it as we ought; but, somehow, it happens that most people live in this world as if they were never to die.”

“That’s too true, sir—­unfortunately too true, God help us!”

“Corbet,” proceeded the stranger, “nothing can convince me that you don’t know something about—­”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said the old man; “we had betther go into the next room.  Here, Polly,” he shouted to his wife, who was inside, “will you come and stand the shop awhile?”

“To be sure I will,” replied the old woman, making her appearance.  “How do you do, sir,” she added, addressing the stranger; “I am glad to see you looking so well.”

“Thank you, madam,” replied the stranger:  “I can return the compliment, as they say.”

“Keep the shop, Polly,” said the old man sharply, “and don’t make the same mistake you made awhile ago—­give away a stone o’ meal for half a stone.  No wondher for us to be poor at sich a rate of doin’ things as that.  Walk in, if you plaise, sir.”