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Peter Spä th

Learn Kotlin for Android Development

The Next Generation Language for Modern Android
Apps Programming
Peter Spä th
Leipzig, Germany

Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the

author in this book is available to readers on GitHub via the book’s
product page, located at www.​apress.​com/​9781484244661 . For more
detailed information, please visit http://​www.​apress.​com/​source-code
.

ISBN 978-1-4842-4466-1 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-4467-8

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-4467-8

© Peter Spä th 2019

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the

Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned,
specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations,
recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other
physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar
methodology now known or hereafter developed.

Trademarked names, logos, and images may appear in this book. Rather
than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a trademarked
name, logo, or image we use the names, logos, and images only in an
editorial fashion and to the benefit of the trademark owner, with no
intention of infringement of the trademark. The use in this publication
of trade names, trademarks, service marks, and similar terms, even if
they are not identified as such, is not to be taken as an expression of
opinion as to whether or not they are subject to proprietary rights.

While the advice and information in this book are believed to be true
and accurate at the date of publication, neither the authors nor the
editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for any
errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no
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To Alina
Introduction
Computer programs are for executing operations using input data to
produce output data, sometimes by manipulating data taken from a
database during that operation. The word database here is used in the
most general sense: It could be a file, some memory storage, or a full-
fledged database product.
Many different programming languages exist nowadays, each with
its own merits and drawbacks. Some of them aim at execution stability,
some at high performance, some are tailored to solve specific tasks, and
some exist only because a company wants to establish a strong market
position. Looking at the way programming languages have developed
over time is an interesting subject in and of itself, and it has
implications for various aspects of information technology. One could
write a separate book about that, but for this book I simply want to
stress one important fact about computer language development,
which I think has a direct effect on the way modern computer programs
are written. If you are looking at the historical development of
computer languages, you will notice a substantial change in the
abstraction level the languages exhibit. Whereas in the infancy of the
industry a programmer needed to have a fairly good knowledge of
computer hardware, now different levels of abstraction have been
introduced into the languages, meaning an increased conceptional and
linguistic distance from hardware features. This has increasingly
alleviated the requirement that software developers know what is
occurring in a computer’s central processing unit (CPU).
Along with an increasing level of abstraction, modern computer
languages—sometimes implicitly, sometimes explicitly—exhibit a
prominent new feature: the expressiveness of language constructs. Let
me try to illustrate this using an example written in pseudo-code. Let’s
say you have a list of items and want to perform an operation on each of
the items. With some knowledge of the internal functioning of
computers, a programmer might write a code snippet like this:
Create some array of data in the memory.
Assign a pointer to the first element.
Loop over the array.
 Dereference the pointer, retrieving a list
element.
Do something with the element (example.g.,
print it).
Increment the pointer, let it point to the next
item.
If we are beyond the last element, exit the
loop.
End loop.
Although this looks a little bit complex, it closely relates to what
computers are doing under the hood, and early languages looked more
or less like this. As a first abstraction and a way to improve readability,
we can try to get rid of the “pointer” element and instead write:
variable theList = [somehow create the list of
items]
loop over "theList", assigning each item to an
iteration variable "item":
do something with "item", for example print it
end loop
This already looks more expressive compared to the first version,
and a lot of current programming languages allow for this kind of
programming style. We can do even better, though: You can see the
definition of the list being written in one line, separated from the list
processing in the loop. There’s nothing preventing us from writing a lot
of overly complex code between the list definition and the loop, and this
is what you see quite often, making the program hard to read and
understand. Wouldn’t it be better to have it all in one statement? Using
a more expressive snippet allows us to write such a combined
statement. In pseudo-code, it could look like this:

[somehow create the list of items].

[maybe add some filter].
forEach { item ->
 do something with "item", for example
print it
}
This is about the maximum of expressiveness you can get, if you see
the dot “ . ” as some kind of “do something with it” command and “{ … }”
as a block of code doing something, with the identifier in front of the ->
in this case designating a loop variable.

Note Making your code expressive from the very beginning will
not only help you to write good code, it will also help you to develop
your programming skills beyond average. Expressive code is easier
to maintain and extend, easier to reuse, easier to understand for
others, and easier to debug if the program shows some deficiencies.

The programming language Kotlin is capable of getting us to such an

extent of expressiveness, and in this book I want to introduce Kotlin as
a programming language for Android that allows you to accomplish
things in an expressive and concise way. As a matter of fact, in Kotlin
the little looping example, with a filter added, reads:

arrayOf("Blue", "Green", "Yellow", "Gray").

filter { it.startsWith("G") }.
forEach { item ->
println(item)
}

If you run this, it will print the text Green Gray on two lines of the
console. With the notion of parameters being placed inside round
brackets, you should be able to understand this snippet without
knowing a single Kotlin idiom.

Note Don’t worry if you don’t know how to write and run this, we’ll
be getting our feet wet very soon in the first chapter of the book.

Once you reach the end of the book, you should be an advanced
developer able to address problems in the Kotlin language, with
particular attention on Android matters. Of course, you will not know
all possible libraries that are out there in the wild for solving specific
problems, as only experience will help you there. Knowing most of the
language constructs and having good ideas concerning programming
techniques, however, will set you on the way to become an expert
programmer for Android.
The Kotlin version referred to in this book is 1.3. Most of the
examples and most of what gets explained here is likely valid for later
versions as well.

The Book’s Target Audience

The book is for beginning software developers with little or no
knowledge of programming, and for developers with knowledge of
other languages who are interested in using Kotlin for future Android
projects. The target platforms are Android devices. The book is not
meant to present a thorough introduction into Android; instead, it uses
Android as a platform as is and thoroughly introduces the Kotlin
programming language and how it gets used for Android.
Basic knowledge of how to use a desktop or laptop computer,
including the installation and starting of programs, is expected. The
operating system you want to use plays no major role, but because we
are using Android Studio as a development environment, you must
choose an operating system able to run this integrated development
environment (IDE). This is the case for Linux, Windows, and Mac OS.
Screenshots are taken from an Ubuntu Linux installation.
In the end, you will be able to write and run Kotlin programs for
Android of beginning to midlevel complexity.

Source Code
All source code shown or referred to in this book can be found at
https://github.com/Apress/learn-kotlin-for-
android-development

How to Read This Book

Reading this book sequentially from the beginning to the end will
provide the maximum benefit. If you already have some basic
development knowledge, you can skip sections and chapters at will, and
of course you can always take a step back and reread sections and
chapters while you are advancing through the book.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1:​Your First Kotlin Application:​Hello Kotlin
Setting Up an IDE:​Android Studio
Connecting Your Android Device
Starting Your First Kotlin App
Setting Up and Using Emulators
Continuing with the HelloKotlin App
Using the Command Line
Chapter 2:​Classes and Objects:​Object Orientation Philosophy
Kotlin and Object-Oriented Programming
Class Declaration
Exercise 1
Property Declaration
Exercise 2
Exercise 3
Class Initialization
Exercise 4
Exercise 5
An Invoice in Kotlin
More Invoice Properties
Invoice Initialization
Exercise 6
Instantiation in Kotlin
Adding Functions to Invoices
Exercise 7
The Complete Invoice Class
A Simple Number Guessing Game
Constructors
Exercise 8
Constructor Invocation
Exercise 9
Exercise 10
Named Constructor Parameters
Exercise 11
Exercise 12
Constructor Default Values
Exercise 13
Exercise 14
Secondary Constructors
Exercise 15
If Classes Are Not Needed:​Singleton Objects
Exercise 16
Exercise 17
If State Doesn’t Matter:​Companion Objects
Exercise 18
Exercise 19
Describing a Contract:​Interfaces
Exercise 20
Exercise 21
Exercise 22
Structuring and Packages
A Structured Project
 Exercise 23
Namespaces and Importing
Exercise 24
Chapter 3:​Classes at Work:​Properties and Functions
Properties and Their Types
Simple Properties
Exercise 1
Property Types
Property Value Assignment
Exercise 2
Literals
Exercise 3
Property Visibility
Null Values
Exercise 4
Property Declaration Modifiers
Member Functions
Functions Not Returning Values
Exercise 5
Exercise 6
Functions Returning Values
Exercise 7
Exercise 8
Exercise 9
Accessing Masked Properties
Exercise 10
 Function Invocation
Exercise 11
Function Named Parameters
Exercise 12
Function Default Parameters
Exercise 13
Function Vararg Parameters
Exercise 14
Abstract Functions
Polymorphism
Local Functions
Inheritance
Classes Inheriting from Other Classes
Constructor Inheritance
Exercise 15
Overriding Functions
Overriding Properties
Exercise 16
Exercise 17
Accessing Superclass Assets
Local Variables
Exercise 18
Visibility of Classes and Class Members
Self-Reference:​This
Converting Classes to Strings
Exercise 19
Chapter 4:​Classes and Objects:​Extended Features
Anonymous Classes
Inner Classes
Functions and Properties Outside Classes
Exercise 1
Importing Functions and Properties
Exercise 2
Data Classes
Exercise 3
Exercise 4
Enumerations
Exercise 5
Custom Property Accessors
Exercise 6
Exercise 7
Exercise 8
Kotlin Extensions
Extension Functions
Extension Properties
Extensions with Nullable Receivers
Encapsulating Extensions
Functions with Tail Recursion
Infix Operators
Operator Overloading
Exercise 9
Delegation
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 These words were uttered in so decided a tone, that Reginald
dared not persist in his attempt to thrust himself into the young
lady's confidence.
An awkward silence ensued; and the rector was thinking how he
should break it, when the door opened.
Almost at the same moment, a female voice was heard outside
the room, saying, in tender playfulness, "Come to mamma! come to
mamma!"
Then, immediately afterwards, Marian entered the apartment,
bearing an infant in her arms.
Whittingham had neglected to tell her that there was a visitor in
the drawing-room.
Poor Marian, astounded at the presence of the rector, could
neither advance nor retreat for some moments.
At length she turned abruptly away.
Ellen sank back upon the sofa, overcome with shame and grief.
The rector threw upon her a glance full of meaning; but she saw it
not—for her own eyes were cast down.
This depression, however, lasted only for a moment. Suddenly
raising her head, she exclaimed with that boldness and firm
frankness which had been taught her by the various circumstances
of the last few years of her life, "You now know my secret, sir: but
you are a man of honour. I need say no more."
"Who has been base enough to leave this grievous wrong
unrepaired?" asked Reginald, taking her hand—that soft, warm,
delicate hand.
"Nay—seek to know no more," returned Ellen, withdrawing her
hand hastily from what she however conceived to be only the
pressure of a friendly or fraternal interest; "you have learnt too
much already. For God's sake, let not my father know that you have
discovered his daughter's shame!"
"Not for worlds would I do aught to cause you pain!" cried the
rector, enthusiastically.
"Thank you—thank you," murmured Ellen, completely deceived in
respect to the cause of Tracy's warmth, and mistaking for friendly
interest an ebullition of feeling which was in reality gross and
sensual.
With these words Ellen hurried from the room.
"I have discovered her secret!" said the rector triumphantly to
himself, as he rose and paced the apartment, mad passions raging in
his breast; "and that discovery shall make her mine. Oh! no sacrifice
were too great to obtain possession of that charming creature! I
would give the ten best years of my life to clasp her in my arms, in
the revels of love! Happy—thrice happy should I be to feel that
lovely form become supple and yielding in my embrace! But my
brain burns—my heart beats—my eyes throb—my blood seems liquid
fire!"
Reginald threw himself, exhausted by the indomitable violence of
his passions, upon the sofa.
Scarcely had he time to compose himself, when Markham entered
the room.
The rector communicated to him the particulars of his interview
with Katherine Wilmot, and concluded by saying that, as the girl was
known to his housekeeper, he had determined upon taking her into
his service.
"With regard to the fragment of the letter," observed Richard,
"allusion must have been made to some person of the name of
Markham who is totally unconnected with our family. We have no
relations of that name. I feel convinced that the mention of the
name could not in any way refer to my father; and my brother and
myself were children at the time when that letter must have been
written."
"It is a coincidence—and that is all," observed the rector. "But as
you have to some extent constituted yourself the benefactor of this
young person, do you approve of the arrangement which I have
made for her to enter my household?"
"My dear sir, how can I object?" exclaimed Richard, who, in the
natural generosity of his heart, gave the rector credit for the most
worthy motives. "I consider myself your debtor for your noble
conduct in this instance. Under your roof, Mr. Tracy, the breath of
calumny cannot reach that poor creature; and there no one will dare
to make her family connexions a subject of reproach."
Some farther conversation took place between Reginald Tracy and
Richard Markham upon this subject, and when the former rose to
depart, they both observed, for the first time during their interview,
that a violent shower of rain was pouring down.

Richard pressed the rector to remain to dinner—an invitation

which he, whose head was filled with Ellen, did not hesitate to
accept.
The rector's carriage and horses were accordingly housed in the
stables attached to Markham Place; and Whittingham was desired to
make Mr. Tracy's coachman and livery-servant as comfortable as
possible—instructions with which the hospitable old butler did not
fail to comply.
Dinner was served up at five o'clock; and Reginald had the felicity
of sitting next to Miss Monroe.
The more he saw of this young lady, the more did he become
enraptured with her,—not, however, experiencing a pure and chaste
affection, but one whose ingredients were completely sensual.
The evening passed rapidly away;—the rain continued to pour in
torrents.
As a matter of courtesy—indeed, of hospitality, for Richard's
nature was generosity itself—the rector was pressed to stay the
night at the Place; and, although he had a good close carriage to
convey him home (and persons who have such equipages are
seldom over careful of their servants), he accepted the invitation.
There was something so pleasing—so intoxicating in the idea of
passing the night under the same roof with Ellen!
 CHAPTER CXLVI.

THE BATH.—THE HOUSEKEEPER.

It was scarcely light when the rector of Saint David's rose from a
couch where visions of a most voluptuous nature had filled his sleep.
Having hastily dressed himself, he descended from his room with
the intention of seeking the fine frosty air of the garden to cool his
heated brain.
But as he proceeded along a passage leading to the landing of the
first flight of stairs, he heard a light step slowly descending the
upper flight; and the next moment, the voice of Ellen speaking
fondly to her child, fell upon his ear.
For nurses and mothers will talk to babes of even a few months
old—although the innocents comprehend them not!
Reginald stepped into the recess formed by the door of one of the
bed-chambers in that spacious mansion; and scarcely had he
concealed himself there when he saw Ellen, with the child in her
arms, pass across the landing at the end of the passage, and enter a
room on the other side.
She wore a loose dressing-gown of snowy whiteness, which was
confined by a band round her delicate waist, and was fastened up to
the throat: her little feet had been hastily thrust into a pair of buff
morocco slippers; and her long shining hair flowed over her
shoulders and down her back.
The licentious eyes of the clergyman followed her from the foot of
the stairs to the room which she entered; and even plunged with
eager curiosity into that chamber during the moment that the door
was open as she went in.
 That glance enabled him to perceive that there was a bath in the
apartment to which Ellen had proceeded with her child.
Indeed, the young lady, ever since her residence at Markham
Place, had availed herself of the luxury of the bathing-room which
that mansion possessed: and every morning she immersed her
beautiful person in the refreshing element, which she enjoyed in its
natural state in summer, but which was rendered slightly tepid for
her in winter.
When the rector beheld her descend in that bewitching negligee,
—her hair unconfined, and floating at will—her small, round,
polished ankles glancing between the white drapery and the little
slippers,—and the child, with merely a thick shawl thrown about it,
in her arms,—and when he observed the bath in that chamber which
she entered, he immediately comprehended her intention.
Without a moment's hesitation he stole softly from the recess
where he had concealed himself, and approached the door of the
bath-room.
His greedy eyes were applied to the key-hole; and his licentious
glance plunged into the depths of that sacred privacy.
The unsuspecting Ellen was warbling cheerfully to her child.
She dipped her hand into the water, which Marian had prepared
for her, and found the degree of heat agreeable to her wishes.
Then she placed the towels near the fire to warm.
Reginald watched her proceedings with the most ardent curiosity:
the very luxury of the unhallowed enjoyment which he experienced
caused an oppression at his chest; his heart beat quickly; his brain
seemed to throb with violence.
The fires of gross sensuality raged madly in his breast.
Ellen's preparations were now completed.
With her charming white hand she put back her hair from her
forehead.
Then, as she still retained the child on her left arm, with her right
hand she loosened the strings which closed her dressing-gown
round the neck and the band which confined it at the waist.
While thus occupied, she was partly turned towards the door; and
all the treasures of her bosom were revealed to the ardent gaze of
the rector.
His desires were now inflamed to that pitch when they almost
become ungovernable. He felt that could he possess that charming
creature, he would care not for the result—even though he forced
her to compliance with his wishes, and murder and suicide followed,
—the murder of her, and the suicide of himself!
He was about to grasp the handle of the door, when he
remembered that he had heard the key turn in the lock immediately
after she had entered the room.
He gnashed his teeth with rage.
And now the drapery had fallen from her shoulders, and the whole
of her voluptuous form, naked to the waist, was exposed to his view.
He could have broken down the door, had he not feared to alarm
the other inmates of the house.
He literally trembled under the influence of his fierce desires.
How he envied—Oh! how he envied the innocent babe which the
fond mother pressed to that bosom—swelling, warm, and glowing!
And now she prepared to step into the bath: but, while he was
waiting with fervent avidity for the moment when the whole of the
drapery should fall from her form, a step suddenly resounded upon
the stairs.
He started like a guilty wretch away from the door: and,
perceiving that the footsteps descended the upper flight, he
precipitated himself down the stairs.
Rushing across the hall, he sought the garden, where he
wandered up and down, a thousand wild feelings agitating his
breast.
He determined that Ellen should be his; but he was not collected
enough to deliberate upon the means of accomplishing his
resolution,—so busy was his imagination in conjuring up the most
voluptuous idealities, which were all prompted by the real scene the
contemplation whereof had been interrupted.
He fancied that he beheld the lovely young mother immersed in
the bath—the water agitated by her polished limbs—each ripple
kissing some charm, even as she herself kissed her babe!
 Then he imagined he saw her step forth like a Venus from the
ocean—her cheeks flushed with animation—her long glossy hair
floating in rich undulations over her ivory shoulders.
"My God!" he exclaimed, at length, "I shall grow mad under the
influence of this fascination! One kiss from her lips were worth ten
thousand of the meretricious embraces which Cecilia yields so
willingly. Oh! Ellen would not surrender herself without many prayers
—much entreaty—and, perhaps, force;—but Cecilia falls into my
arms without a struggle! Enjoyment with her is not increased by
previous bashfulness;—she does not fire the soul by one moment of
resistance. But Ellen—so coy, so difficult to win,—so full of
confidence in herself, in spite of that one fault which accident
betrayed to me,—Ellen, so young and inexperienced in the ways of
passion,—Oh! she were a conquest worth every sacrifice that man
could make!"
The rector's reverie was suddenly interrupted by the voice of
Whittingham summoning him to the breakfast-room.
Thither he proceeded; and there Ellen, now attired in a simple but
captivating morning-dress, presided.
Little did she imagine that the privacy of her bath had been
invaded—violated by the glance of that man who now seated himself
next to her, and whose sanctity was deemed to be above all
question.
Little, either, did her father and friend suppose that there was one
present who had vowed that she should be his, and who, in
connection with that determination, had entertained no thought of
marriage.
The ramble in the garden had so far cooled the rector's brain, that
nothing in his behaviour towards Ellen was calculated to excite
observation; but, from time to time, when unperceived, he cast upon
her a glance of fervent admiration—a long, fixed, devouring glance,
which denoted profound passion.
At length the hour for departure arrived; and his carriage drove
round to the front door.
The rain of the preceding evening had changed to frost during the
night;—the morning was fine, fresh, and healthy, though intensely
cold; there was hence no shadow of an excuse for a longer stay.
The rector expressed his thanks for the hospitality which he had
experienced, with that politeness which so eminently characterised
his manners; and when he shook hands with Ellen, he pressed hers
gently.
She thought that he intended to convey a sort of assurance that
the secret which he had detected on the previous day, was sacred
with him; and she cast upon him a rapid glance, expressive of
gratitude.
Reginald then stepped into the carriage, which immediately rolled
rapidly away towards London.
Upon his arrival at home, he proceeded straight to his study,
whither he was immediately followed by the old housekeeper.
"Leave me—leave me, Mrs. Kenrick," said the rector; "I wish to be
alone."
"I thought something had happened, sir," observed the old
woman, fidgetting about the room, for with senile pertinacity she
was resolved to say what she had upon her mind: "I thought so,"
she continued, "because this is the first time you ever stayed out all
night without sending me word what kept you."
"I am not aware that I owe you an account of my actions, Mrs.
Kenrick," said the rector, who, like all guilty persons, was half afraid
that his conduct was suspected by the old woman.
"Certainly not, sir; and I never asked it. But after all the years I
have been with you, and the confidence you have always reposed in
me—until within the last week or two," added the old housekeeper,
"I was afraid lest I had done something to offend you."
"No such thing," said the rector, somewhat softened. "But as the
cares of my ministry multiply upon me——"
"Ah! sir, they must have multiplied of late," interrupted the old
woman; "for you're not the same man you were."
"How do you mean?" demanded Reginald, now once more
irritated.
"You have seemed restless, unsettled, and unhappy, for some two
or three weeks past, sir," answered the housekeeper, wiping away a
tear from her eye. "And then you are not so regular in your habits as
you were: you go out and come in oftener;—sometimes you stay out
till very late; at others you come home, send me up to bed, and say
that you yourself are going to rest;—nevertheless, I hear you about
the house——"
"Nonsense!" ejaculated Reginald, struck by the imprudence of
which he had been guilty in admitting Lady Cecilia into his abode.
"Do not make yourself unhappy, Mrs. Kenrick: nothing ails me, I can
assure you. But—tell me," he added, half afraid to ask the question;
"have you heard any one else remark—I mean, make any
observation—that is, speak as you do about me——"
"Well, sir, if you wish for the truth," returned the housekeeper, "I
must say that the clerk questioned me yesterday morning about
you."
"The clerk!" ejaculated Reginald; "and what did he say?"
"Oh? he merely thought that you had something on your mind—
some annoyance which worried you——"
"He is an impertinent fellow!" cried the rector, thrown off his guard
by the alarming announcement that a change in his behaviour had
been observed.
"He only speaks out of kindness, sir—as I do," observed the
housekeeper, with a deep sigh.
"Well, well, Mrs. Kenrick," said the rector, vexed at his own
impatience: "I was wrong to mistrust the excellence of his motives.
To tell the truth, I have had some little cause of vexation—the loss
of a large sum—through the perfidy of a pretended friend—and——"
The rector floundered in the midst of his falsehood; but the old
housekeeper readily believed him, and was rejoiced to think that he
had at length honoured her with his confidence in respect to the
cause of that restlessness which she had mistaken for a secret grief.
"But no one else has made any remark, my dear Mrs. Kenrick?"
said the rector, in a tone of conciliation "I mean—no one has
questioned you—or——"
"Only Lady Cecilia Harborough sent yesterday afternoon to
request you to call upon her, sir."
"Ah!—well?"
 "And of course I said to her servant-maid that you were not at
home. She came back in the evening, and seemed much
disappointed that you were still absent. Then she returned again,
saying that her mistress was ill and wished to consult you upon
business."
"And what did you tell her, Mrs. Kenrick?"
"That you had not returned, sir," answered the housekeeper,
surprised at the question, as if there were any thing else to tell save
the truth. "The servant-maid seemed more and more disappointed,
and called again as early as eight o'clock this morning."
"This morning!" echoed Reginald, seriously annoyed at this
repetition of visits from Lady Cecilia's confidential servant.
"Yes, sir; and when I said that you had not been home all night,
she appeared quite surprised," continued the housekeeper.
"And you told her that I had not been home all night?" mused
Reginald. "What must Lady Cecilia think?"
"Think, sir?" cried the housekeeper, more surprised still at her
master's observations. "You can owe no account of your actions, sir,
to Lady Cecilia Harborough."
"Oh! no—certainly not," stammered the rector, cruelly
embarrassed: "I only thought that evil tongues——"
"The Reverend Reginald Tracy is above calumny," said the
housekeeper, who was as proud of her master as she was attached
to him.
"True—true, Mrs. Kenrick," exclaimed the rector. "And yet—but,
after all no matter. I will go and call in Tavistock Square at once; and
then I can explain——"
Up to this moment the housekeeper had spoken in the full
conviction that annoyance alone was the cause of her master's
recent change of behaviour and present singularity of manners; but
his increasing embarrassment—the strangeness of his observations
relative to Lady Cecilia—his anxiety lest she should entertain an evil
idea concerning his absence from home,—added to a certain vague
rumour which had reached her ears relative to the lightness of that
lady's character,—all these circumstances, united with the fact of
Cecilia having sent so often to request Mr. Tracy to call upon her,
suddenly engendered a suspicion of the truth in the housekeeper's
mind.
"Before you go out again, sir," said the housekeeper, wishing to
discard that suspicion, and therefore hastening to change the
conversation to another topic, "I should mention to you that
yesterday afternoon—between one and two o'clock—Katherine
Wilmot arrived here——"
"Indeed! What, so soon?" exclaimed the rector.
"And as she assured me that you had only a few hours before
offered her a situation in your household," continued Mrs. Kenrick, "I
did not hesitate to take her in. Besides, she is a good girl, and I am
not sorry that she should leave her uncle's roof."
"Then you approve of my arrangement, Mrs. Kenrick?" said
Reginald.
"Certainly, sir—if I have the right to approve or disapprove,"
answered the old lady, who, in spite of the natural excellence of her
heart, was somewhat piqued at not having been previously
consulted upon the subject: then, ashamed of this littleness of
feeling, she hastily added, "But the poor girl has a sad story to tell,
sir, about the way in which she left her uncle; and, with your
permission, I will send her up to you."
"Do so," said the rector, not sorry to be relieved of the presence of
his housekeeper, in whose manner his guilty conscience made him
see a peculiarity which filled his mind with apprehension.
In a few minutes Katherine Wilmot entered the rector's study.
Her story was brief but painful.
"After you left, sir, I sate thinking upon your very great kindness
and that of Mr. Markham, and how happy I should be to have an
opportunity of convincing you both that I was anxious to deserve all
you proposed to do for me. The hours slipped away; and for the first
time I forgot to prepare my uncle's dinner punctually to the minute.
I know that I was wrong, sir—but I had so much to think about,
both past and future! Well, sir, one o'clock struck; and nothing was
ready. I started up, and did my best. But in a few minutes my uncle
and cousin came in. My uncle, sir, was rather cross—indeed, if I
must speak the truth, very cross; because his son had absolutely
refused to assist him in his morning's work. I need not say, sir,"
continued the girl, with a shudder, "what that work was. The first
thing my uncle did was to ask if his dinner was ready? I told him the
whole truth, but assured him that not many minutes would elapse
before it would be ready. You do not want to know, sir, all he said to
me; it is quite sufficient to say that he turned me out of doors. I
cried, and begged very hard to part from him in friendship—for, after
all, sir, he is my nearest relation on the face of the earth—and, then,
he brought me up! But he closed the door, and would not listen to
me."
Katherine ceased, and wiped her eyes.
The poor girl had said nothing of the terrific beating which the
executioner inflicted upon Gibbet the moment they returned home,
and then upon Katherine herself before he thrust her out of the
house.
"Have you brought away your mother's letter with you,
Katherine?" inquired the rector, who during the maiden's simple
narrative, had never taken his eyes off her.
"My uncle sent round all my things in the evening, by my
unfortunate cousin," replied Katherine; "and amongst the rest, my
work-box where I keep the letter. It is safe in my possession, sir."
"Take care of it, Kate," observed the rector; "who knows but that
it may some day be of service?"
"Oh! sir, and even if it should not," ejaculated the girl, "it is at all
events the only memento I possess of my poor mother."
"True—you told me so," said Reginald, prolonging the conversation
only because the presence of an interesting female had become his
sole enjoyment. "And now, my dear," continued the rector, rising
from his seat, and approaching her, "be steady—conduct yourself
well—and you will find me a good master."
"I will not be ungrateful, sir," returned Katherine.
"And you must endeavour to relieve Mrs. Kenrick of all onerous
duties as much as possible," said the rector. "Thus, you had better
always answer my bell yourself, when the footman is not in the
way."
"I will make a point of doing so, sir," was the artless reply.
 The rector gave some more trivial directions, and dismissed his
new domestic to her duties.
He then hastened to Tavistock Square, to appease Lady
Harborough, whose jealousy, he suspected, had been aroused by his
absence from home.
 CHAPTER CXLVII.

THE RECTOR'S NEW PASSION.

To make his peace with Lady Cecilia was by no means a difficult

matter; and it was accomplished rather by the aid of the rector's
purse than his caresses.
He remained to dinner with the syren who had first seduced him
from the paths of virtue, which he had pursued so brilliantly and
triumphantly—too brilliantly and triumphantly to ensure stability!
In the evening, when they were seated together upon the sofa,
Reginald implored her to be more cautious in her proceedings in
future.
"Such indiscretion as that of which you have been guilty," he said,
"would ruin me. Why send so often to request my presence? The
most unsuspicious would be excited; and my housekeeper has
spoken to me in a manner that has seriously alarmed me."
"Forgive me, Reginald," murmured Cecilia, casting her arms
around him; "but I was afraid you were unfaithful to me."
"And to set at rest your own selfish jealousies, you would
compromise me," said the rector. "Do you know that my
housekeeper has overheard me moving about at night when I have
admitted you, or descended the stairs to let you out before day-
light? and, although she attributes that fact to restlessness on my
part, it would require but little to excite her suspicions."
"Again I say forgive me, Reginald," whispered Cecilia,
accompanying her words with voluptuous kisses, so that in a short
time the rector's ill-humour was completely subdued. "Tell me," she
added, "may I not visit you again? say—shall I come to you to-
night?"
"No, Cecilia," answered the clergyman; "we must exercise some
caution. Let a week or a fortnight pass, so that my housekeeper may
cease to think upon the subject which has attracted her notice and
alarmed me; and then—then, dearest Cecilia, we will set no bounds
to our enjoyment."
Reginald Tracy now rose, embraced his mistress, and took his
leave.
But it was not to return home immediately.
His mind was filled with Ellen's image; and, even while in the
society of Lady Cecilia, he had been pondering upon the means of
gratifying his new passion—of possessing that lovely creature of
whose charms he had caught glimpses that had inflamed him to
madness.
Amongst a thousand vague plans, one had struck him. He
remembered the horrible old woman of Golden Lane, who had
enticed him to her house under a pretence of seeing a beautiful
statue, and had thereby led him back to the arms of Lady Cecilia
Harborough.
To her he was determined to proceed; for he thought that he
might be aided in his designs by that ingenuity of which he had
received so signal a proof.
Accordingly, wrapping himself up in his cloak, he repaired directly
from Lady Cecilia's house to the vile court in Golden Lane.
It was past seven o'clock in the evening when he reached the old
hag's abode.
She was dozing over a comfortable fire; and her huge cat slept
upon her lap. Even in the midst of her nap, the harridan
mechanically stretched forth her bony hand from time to time, and
stroked the animal down the back; and then it purred in
acknowledgment of that caress which to a human being would have
been hideous.
Suddenly a knock at the door awoke the hag.
"Business—business," murmured the old woman, as she rose,
placed the cat upon the rug, and hastened to answer the door: "no
idle visitor comes to me at this time."
The moment she opened the door the rector rushed in.
"Gently, gently," said the old hag: "there is nothing to alarm you in
this neighbourhood. Ah!" she cried, as Reginald Tracy laid aside his
hat and cloak; "is it you, sir? I am not surprised to see you again."
"And why not?" demanded the rector, as he threw himself into a
chair.
"Because all those who wander in the mazes of love, sooner or
later require my services," answered the hag; "be they men or
women."
"You have divined my object in seeking you," said the rector. "I
love a charming creature, and know not how to obtain possession of
her."
"You could not have come to a better place for aid and assistance,
sir," observed the harridan, with one of her most significant and,
therefore, most wicked leers.
"But can I trust you? will you be faithful? what guarantee have I
that you will not betray me to Lady Harborough, whose jealousy is
so soon excited?" cried Reginald.
"If you pay me well I am not likely to lose a good patron by my
misconduct," answered the old woman boldly. "In a word, my left
hand knows not what my right hand does."
"Well spoken," said the rector; and, taking gold from his purse, he
flung it upon the table, adding, "Be this your retaining fee; but it is
as nothing compared to what I will give you if you succeed in a
matter on which I have set my heart."
"You must be candid with me, and tell me every particular, sir,"
said the hag, as she gathered up the gold with avidity.
"I have seen the young lady to whom I allude, but on three or
four occasions," continued the rector; "and yet I have discovered
much concerning her. She has been weak already, and has a child of
some six or seven months old. That child was not born in wedlock;
nor, indeed, has its mother ever borne the name of wife."
"Then the conquest cannot be so difficult," murmured the hag.
"I am not sure of that," said Reginald Tracy. "Without knowing any
thing of her history, I am inclined to believe that some deep
treachery—some foul wrong must have entrapped that young lady
into error. She lives in the most respectable way; and neither by her
manner nor her looks could her secret be divined. Accident alone
revealed it to me."
"It may serve our purpose—it may serve our purpose," cried the
harridan, musing.
"She dwells with her father, at the house of a friend—a very young
man——"
"Ah!" cried the hag, struck by this information. "What is her
name?"
"Ellen Monroe," replied the rector.
"I thought so," exclaimed the old woman.
"You know her, then?" cried Reginald Tracy in astonishment. "Are
you sure she is the same whom you imagine her to be?"
"She resides at the house of Mr. Markham in Holloway—does she
not?"
"She does. But how came you to be acquainted with her? what
cause of intimacy could exist between you and her?" demanded the
rector.
"My left hand never knows what my right hand does," said the
hag. "If I reveal to you the affairs of another, how could you put
confidence in me when I declare that your own secrets shall not be
communicated to Lady Harborough or any one else who might
question me?"
"True!" said the rector: "I cannot blame your discretion. "But tell
me—have you any hope that I may succeed?"
"The business is a difficult one," answered the hag. "And yet
greater obstacles than I can here see have been overcome—aye,
and by me, too. Did I not tell Lady Harborough that I would bring
you back to her arms? and did I not succeed? Am I then to be foiled
now. Show me the weakness of a human being, and I direct all my
energies against that failing. Ellen Monroe has two vulnerable points
——"
"Which are they?" asked the rector eagerly.
"Her vanity and her love for her father," replied the harridan.
"Leave her to me: when I am ready for you I will call upon you."
 "And you will lose no time, good woman?" said the rector,
overjoyed at the hopes held out to him.
"I will not let the grass grow under my feet," returned the hag.
"But you must have patience; for the girl is stubborn—sadly
stubborn. Art, and not entreaties, will prevail with her."
"In any case, manage your matters in such a way that I cannot be
compromised," said the rector; "and your reward shall be most
liberal."
"Trust to me," murmured the hag.
Reginald Tracy once more enveloped himself in his cloak, and took
his departure.
"And so I have made a discovery this evening!" mused the hag,
when she was once more alone. "Miss Ellen is a mother—she has a
child of six or seven months old! She never told me that when she
came to seek my aid, and I gave her the card of the Mesmerist;—
she never told me that when she sought me after that, and I sent
her to the Manager;—she never told me that when I met her at
Greenwood's house in the country, and from which she escaped by
the window. The cunning puss! She does not even think that I know
where she lives;—but Lafleur told me that—Lafleur told me that! He
is the prince of French valets—worth a thousand such moody,
reserved Italians as Filippo! So now the rector must possess Miss
Ellen? Well—and he shall, too, if I have any skill left—if I have any
ingenuity to aid him!"
Then the hag concealed the five pieces of glittering gold which the
rector had given her, in her Dutch clock; and having thus secured
the wages of her iniquity, she proceeded to mix herself a steaming
glass of gin-and-water to assist her meditations concerning the
business entrusted to her.
"Yes," she said, continuing her musings aloud, "I must not fail in
this instance. The rector is a patron who will not spare his gold; and
Ellen may not be the only one he may covet. I warrant he will not
keep me unemployed! These parsons are terrible fellows when once
they give way; and I should think the rector has not been long at
this game, or he could scarcely have contrived to maintain his
reputation as he has. How the world would be astonished did it
know all! But I am astonished at nothing—not I! No—no—I have
seen too much in my time. And if I repent of any thing—but no I do
not repent:—still, if I did sometimes think of one more than another,
'tis of that poor Harriet Wilmot! I should like to know what became
of her. It must be sixteen or seventeen years since that occurred;—
but the mention of the name of Markham just now, brought it all
fresh back again to my mind. Well—it cannot be helped: it was in the
way of business like any thing else!"
Let us leave the horrible old hag at her musings, and relate a little
incident which occurred elsewhere, and which, however trivial the
reader may deem it now, is not without importance in respect to a
future portion of our narrative.
The rector had reached the door of his own house, after his
interview with the old hag, and was about to knock when he
perceived, by the light of the gas lamp, a strange-looking being
standing on the step.
"What do you want, my good lad?" asked Reginald.
"Please, sir, I want to speak to Kate Wilmot, my cousin," answered
Gibbet—for it was he.
"Indeed! I suppose, then, that you are the son of—of——" and
Reginald stopped; for he did not like to wound the hump-back's
feelings by saying "of the hangman," and at that moment he had
forgotten the name of Katherine's uncle.
"My name is Smithers, sir," said the lad.
"Ah! Smithers—so it is," cried the rector. "Well, my good lad, I
cannot think of preventing Katherine's relations from coming to see
her if they choose; but, as she is now in a good place and
respectably settled, it would perhaps be prudent that those visits
should occur as seldom as possible—I mean, not too often."
"I'm sure, sir, I'm very sorry if I have offended you, by coming,"
sobbed the poor hump-back; "and I would not for all the world
injure Kate in the opinion of those friends who have been so kind as
to provide for her."
"Yon have done no harm—I am not angry with you," said the
rector. "Only Mrs. Kenrick, my housekeeper, is very particular, and
does not like the servants to have many visitors."
 "Then I won't come any more, sir," murmured Gibbet, whose heart
was ready to break at this cruel announcement.
"Yes—you may come and see your cousin every Sunday evening."
"Oh! thank you, sir—thank you kindly, sir!" ejaculated the hump-
back, in a tone of touching sincerity.
"Every Sunday evening, then, let it be," continued the rector. "And
now go round by the back way, and see her to-night, since you wish
to do so."
The hump-back literally bounded with joy off the steps, and
hurried to the stable-yard, whence there was a means of
communication with the servants' offices attached to the rector's
house.
As he drew near the back-door, he observed lights through the
kitchen-windows; and he stopped for a moment to observe if
Katherine were within.
In order to see into the kitchen, which, with its offices, formed a
sort of out-house joining the main dwelling, the hump-back was
compelled to climb upon a covered dust-hole standing in an obscure
nook on the opposite side of the yard, and so shrouded in darkness
that no one passing through the yard could observe a person
concealed there.
The idea of ascertaining if Kate were in the kitchen at that
moment, was not a mere whim on the part of the hump-back: he
was afraid that, if she were not, he might not be allowed to return,
and was therefore apprehensive of not seeing her that evening at
all.
Accordingly, he clambered upon the dust-bin, which stood in a
nook formed by the irregularity of the high wall that separated the
yard of the rector's house from that of the stables; and from this
point of observation, which his quick eye had thus detected, he
commanded a full view of the interior of the kitchen.
Yes—Kate was there, seated at the table, and occupied with her
needle.
She was alone too.
Gibbet remained in his hiding-place for some minutes,
contemplating, with melancholy pleasure, the interesting
countenance of the young girl.
At length it struck him that it was growing late, and that his visit
must not last long.
He let himself gently down from the eminence to which he had
clambered; and as he was about to turn away, to cross the yard to
the kitchen door, he stopped short, as if an idea had suddenly
entered his mind.
Casting a look back upon the obscure place from which he had
just emerged, he muttered between his teeth, "No Kate—they shall
not prevent me from seeing you of an evening when I will—and
when, too, you will little suspect that I am so near."
He then walked over to the kitchen door, and knocked gently.
Kate herself rose to open it, and with unfeigned pleasure admitted
the hump-back.
"Mr. Tracy says that I may come and see you every Sunday
evening, Kate," were Gibbet's first words: "you won't say no—will
you, Kate?"
"Certainly not, John," answered the maiden. "I shall always be
glad to see you, my poor cousin," she added compassionately.
"Oh! I know you will, Kate," exclaimed the hump-back. "I have
missed you so all yesterday afternoon, and all to-day; and father is
more unkind to me than ever," he added, the tears trickling down his
cheeks.
"We must hope that better times await you, John," said Katherine,
in a soothing tone.
"Never for me," observed Gibbet, with a profound sigh. "Father
does not cease to upbraid me for my conduct yesterday morning.
But I could not help it. I went down to Newgate with the intention to
do my best; but when I got there, and found myself face to face
with the miserable wretch who was about to suffer,—when I saw his
awful pale face, his wild glaring eyes, his distorted features, his
quivering limbs,—and when I heard him murmur every other
moment, 'O Lord! O Lord!' in a tone scarcely audible and yet
expressive of such intense anguish,—I could not lay a finger upon
him! When my father gave me the twine to pinion him, it fell from
my hands; and I believe I felt as much as the unfortunate man
himself. Oh! heavens—his face will haunt me in my dreams as long
as I live. I never shall forget it—it was so ghastly, so dreadful! I
would not have had any thing to do with taking that man's life away
—no, not for all the world. I did not see a criminal before me—I only
saw a fellow-creature from whom his fellow-creatures were about to
take away something which God alone gave, and which God alone
should have the right to recall. I thought of all this; and I was
paralysed. And it was because my nature would not let me touch so
much as the hem of that man's garment to do him harm, that my
father upbraids and beats me. Oh! it is too cruel, Kate—it is too cruel
to bear!"
"It is, my poor cousin," answered the girl; "but let me entreat you
to submit patiently—as patiently as you can. Times must change for
you—as they have for me."
These last words she uttered in a half-tone of self-reproach, as if
she upbraided herself with having left her unfortunate cousin to the
mercy of his brutal father.
But how could she have done otherwise, poor girl?
The conversation between that interesting young creature and the
hump-back continued in pretty much the same strain for about half-
an-hour, when Gibbet took leave of his cousin.
"You will come and see me next Sunday, John," said Katharine, as
she shook him warmly by the hand.
"Next Sunday evening, dear Kate," he replied, and then departed.
 CHAPTER CXLVIII.

THE OLD HAG'S INTRIGUE.

On the morning after she had received the visit from the Reverend
Reginald Tracy, the old hag rose early, muttering to herself, "I must
lose no time—I must lose no time."
She then proceeded to dress herself in her holiday attire, each
article of which was purchased with the wages of her infamous
trade.
Female frailty—female shame had clothed the hag: female
dishonour had produced her a warm gown, a fine shawl, and a new
bonnet.
When she was young she had lived by the sale of herself: now
that she was old she lived by the sale of others.
And she gloried in all the intrigues which she successfully worked
out for those who employed her, as much as a sharp diplomatist
triumphs in outwitting an astute antagonist.
It is said that when Perseus carried the hideous head of the
Gorgon Medusa through the air, the gore which dripped from it as he
passed over the desert of Libya turned into frightful serpents: so
does the moral filth which the corruption of great cities distils,
engender grovelling and venomous wretches like that old hag.
Well—she dressed herself in her best attire, and contemplated
herself with satisfaction in a little mirror cracked all across.
Then, having partaken of a hearty breakfast, she sallied forth.
By means of a public conveyance she soon reached the vicinity of
Markham Place.
 She had never been in that neighbourhood before; and when she
beheld the spacious mansion, with its heavy but imposing
architecture, she muttered to herself, "She is well lodged—she is well
lodged!"
The hag then strolled leisurely round Richard's miniature domain,
debating within herself whether she should knock boldly at the front
door and inquire for Miss Monroe, or wait in the neighbourhood to
see if that young lady might chance to walk out alone.
The day was fine, though cold; and the hag accordingly resolved
to abide by the latter alternative.
Perceiving a seat upon the summit of the hill, whereon stood the
two trees, she opened the gate at the foot of the path which led to
the top.
Then she toiled up the hill, and seated herself between the two
ash trees—now denuded of their foliage.
Presently, as her eyes wandered hither and thither, they fell upon
the inscriptions engraved on the stem of one of the trees. Thus they
stood:—
Eugene.

Dec. 25, 1836.

Eugene.

May 17th, 1838.

The old woman marvelled what that name, twice inscribed, and
those dates could mean.
But she did not trouble herself much with conjecture on that
point: she had other business on hand, and was growing impatient
because Ellen did not appear.
At length her penetrating eyes caught a glimpse of a female form
approaching from the direction of the garden at the back of the
mansion.
The hag watched that form attentively, and in a few moments
exclaimed joyfully, "It is she!"
 Ellen was indeed advancing up the hill. She had come forth for a
short ramble; and the clearness of the day had prompted her to
ascend the eminence which afforded so fine a view of the mighty
metropolis at a little distance.
When she was near the top, she caught sight of a female seated
upon the bench between the trees, and was about to retreat—fearful
that her presence might be deemed a reproach for what was in fact
an intrusion upon private property.
But, to her surprise, she observed the female beckoning familiarly
to her; and she continued her way to the summit.
Then, with profound astonishment and no little annoyance, she
recognised the old hag.
"What are you doing here?" demanded Ellen, hastily.
"Resting myself, as you see, miss," answered the harridan. "But
how charming you look this morning! That black velvet bonnet sets
off your beautiful complexion; and the fresh air has given a lovely
glow to your cheeks."
"You have not uttered that compliment without a motive," said
Ellen, vainly endeavouring to suppress a half-smile of satisfaction.
"But you must not suppose that your flattery will make me forget the
part which you played when Mr. Greenwood had me conveyed to his
house somewhere in the country."
"My dear child, do not be angry with me on that account," said the
old hag. "Mr. Greenwood thought that you would prefer me as your
servant instead of a stranger."
"Or rather, he hired you to talk me over to his wishes—or, perhaps,
because he knew that you would wink at any violence which he
might use. But I outwitted you both," added Ellen, laughing.
"Ah! now I see that you have forgiven me, my child," cried the
hag. "And when I behold your sweet lips, red as cherries—your
lovely blue eyes, so soft and languishing—and that small round chin,
with its charming dimple, I feel convinced——"
"Nay—you are determined to flatter me," interrupted Ellen; "but I
shall not forgive you the more readily on that account."
"How well this pelisse becomes your beautiful figure, my child,"
said the hag, affecting not to notice Ellen's last observation.
 "Cease this nonsense," cried Miss Monroe; "and tell me what
brings you hither."
"To see you once more, my child."
"How did you discover my abode?"
"A pleasant question, forsooth!" ejaculated the hag. "Do you think
that I am not well acquainted with all—yes, all that concerns you?"
she added significantly.
"Alas! I am well aware that you know much—too much," said
Ellen, with a profound sigh.
"Much!" repeated the hag. "I know all, I say,—even to the
existence of the little one that will some day call you mother."
"Who told you that? Speak—who told you that?" demanded Ellen,
greatly excited.
"It cannot matter—since I know it," returned the hag: "it cannot
matter."
"One question," said Ellen,—"and I will ask you no more. Was Mr.
Greenwood your informant?"
"He was not," answered the hag.
"And now tell me, without circumlocution, what business has
brought you hither—for that you came to meet with me I have no
doubt."
"Sit down by me, my child," said the hag, "and listen while I speak
to you."
"Nay—I can attend to you as well here," returned Ellen, laughing,
as she leant against one of the trees—an attitude which revealed her
tiny feet and delicate ankles.
"You seem to have no confidence in me," observed the hag; "and
yet I have ever been your friend."
"Yes—you have helped me to my ruin," said Ellen, mournfully.
"And yet I scarcely blame you for all that, because you only aided
me to discover what I sought at the time—and that was bread at
any sacrifice. Well—go on, and delay not: I will listen to you, if only
through motives of curiosity."
"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?"
 "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?"
"Did he divine whence came the bread that was purchased by
your services to the statuary, the artist, the sculptor, and the
photographer? You yourself assured me that you kept your
avocations a profound secret."
"Were I inclined to sell myself for gold, Greenwood would become
a liberal purchaser," said Ellen. "All your sophistry is vain. You cannot
seduce me from that state of tranquil seclusion in which I now
dwell."
"At least grant your unknown lover an interview, and let him plead
his own cause," exclaimed the hag, who did not calculate upon so
much firmness on the part of the young lady.
"Ah! think not that he is unknown," cried Ellen, a light breaking in
upon her mind: "a man of pure and stainless life, virgin of all sin,—a
man endowed with a handsome person, and a brilliant intellect,—a
man whose eloquence acts as a spell upon all classes,—a man
possessed of a large fortune and enjoying a high position,—such is
your description! And this man must have seen me to love me! Now
think you I cannot divine the name of your phœnix?"
"You suspect then, my child——"
"Nay—I have something more than mere suspicion in my mind,"
interrupted Ellen. "Oh! now I comprehend the motive of that
apparent earnestness with which he implored me to reveal the
secret sorrow that oppressed me! In a word, old woman," added the