"No, sir. It isn't a child," said the servant, in reply.

"Then if it's neither a gentleman, lady nor child," said Somerville, "will you have the goodness to inform me what sort of a being it is?"

"It's a woman, sir," answered the servant, his gravity unmoved.

"Why didn't you say so when I asked you?"

"Because you asked me if it was a lady, and this isn't--leastways she don't look like one."

"You can send her up, whoever she is," said Somerville.

A moment afterward Peg entered his presence.

John Somerville looked at her without much interest, supposing that she might be a seamstress, or laundress, or some applicant for charity. So many years had pa.s.sed since he had met with this woman that she had pa.s.sed out of his remembrance.

"Do you wish to see me about anything?" he asked. "You must be quick, for I am just going out."

"You don't seem to recognize me, Mr. Somerville."

"I can't say I do," he replied, carelessly. "Perhaps you used to wash for me once."

"I am not in the habit of acting as laundress," said the woman, proudly.

"In that case," said Somerville, languidly, "you will have to tell me who you are, for it is quite out of my power to remember all the people I meet."

"Perhaps the name of Ida will a.s.sist your recollection; or have you forgotten that name, too?"

"Ida!" repeated John Somerville, throwing off his indifferent manner, and surveying the woman's features attentively. "Yes."

"I have known several persons of that name," he said, recovering his former indifferent manner. "I haven't the slightest idea to which of them you refer. You don't look as if it was your name," he added, with a laugh.

"The Ida I mean was and is a child," she said. "But there's no use in beating about the bush, Mr. Somerville, when I can come straight to the point. It is now about seven years since my husband and myself were employed to carry off a child--a female child of a year old--named Ida.

You were the man who employed us." She said this deliberately, looking steadily in his face. "We placed it, according to your directions, on the doorstep of a poor family in New York, and they have since cared for it as their own. I suppose you have not forgotten that?"

"I remember it," he said, "and now recall your features. How have you fared since I employed you? Have you found your business profitable?"

"Far from it," answered Peg. "I am not yet able to retire on a competence."

"One of your youthful appearance," said Somerville, banteringly, "ought not to think of retiring under ten years."

"I don't care for compliments," she said, "even when they are sincere.

As for my youthful appearance, I am old enough to have reached the age of discretion, and not so old as to have fallen into my second childhood."

"Compliments aside, then, will you proceed to whatever business brought you here?"

"I want a thousand dollars," said Peg, abruptly.

"A thousand dollars!" repeated Somerville. "Very likely. I should like that amount myself. Did you come here to tell me that?"

"I have come here to ask you to give me that amount."

"Have you a husband?"

"Yes."

"Then let me suggest that your husband is the proper person to apply to in such a case."

"I think I am more likely to get it out of you," said Peg, coolly. "My husband couldn't supply me with a thousand cents, even if he were willing."

"Much as I am flattered by your application," said Somerville, with a polite sneer, "since it would seem to place me next in estimation to your husband, I cannot help suggesting that it is not usual to bestow such a sum on a stranger, or even a friend, without an equivalent rendered."

"I am ready to give you an equivalent."

"Of what nature?"

"I am willing to be silent."

"And how can your silence benefit me?"

"That you will be best able to estimate."

"Explain yourself, and bear in mind that I can bestow little time on you."

"I can do that in a few words. You employed me to kidnap a child. I believe the law has something to say about that. At any rate, the child's mother may have."

"What do you know about the child's mother?" demanded Somerville, hastily.

"All about her!" said Peg, emphatically.

"How am I to credit that? It is easy to claim a knowledge you do not possess."

"Shall I tell you the whole story, then? In the first place, she married your cousin, after rejecting you. You never forgave her for this. When, a year after marriage, her husband died, you renewed your proposals.

They were rejected, and you were forbidden to renew the subject on pain of forfeiting her friendship forever. You left her presence, determined to be revenged. With this object you sought d.i.c.k and myself, and employed us to kidnap the child. There is the whole story, briefly told."

"Woman, how came this within your knowledge?" he demanded, hoa.r.s.ely.

"That is of no consequence," said Peg. "It was for my interest to find out, and I did so."

"Well?"

"I know one thing more--the residence of the child's mother. I hesitated this morning whether to come here, or to carry Ida to her mother, trusting to her to repay from grat.i.tude what I demand from you because it is for your interest to comply with my request."

"You speak of carrying the child to her mother. How can you do that when she is in New York?"

"You are mistaken," said Peg, coolly. "She is in Philadelphia."

John Somerville paced the room with hurried steps. Peg felt that she had succeeded.

He paused after a while, and stood before her.