Woodward who was quick in the conception of his projects, had them
all laid even then; and in order to work them out with due effect, he
resolved to pay a visit to our friend, Sol Donnel, the herb doctor.
This hypocritical old villain was uncle to Caterine Collins, the
fortune-teller, who had prognosticated to him such agreeable tiding's on
the night of the bonfire. She, too, was to be made useful, and, so far
as money could do it, faithful to his designs--diabolical as they were.
He accordingly went one night, about the hour mentioned by Donnel,
to the cabin of that worthy man; and knocking gently at the door, was
replied to in a peevish voice, like that of an individual who had been
interrupted in the performance of some act of piety and devotion.
"Who is there?" said the voice inside.
"A friend," replied Woodward, in a low, cautious tone; "a friend, who
wishes to speak to you."
"I can't spake to you to-night," replied Sol; "you're disturbin' me at
my prayers."
"But I wish to speak to you on particular business."
"What business? Let me finish my padereens and go to bed like a vile
sinner, as I am--God help me.
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