“Why not, old raven?” he asked, regarding her interestedly.
The certificate! That was it. She had the certificate, and he must get it.
“The right man is coming,” she replied. “The pride of his father's heart! Ha, ha! Yes, the pride of his father's heart! He'll be rich, and have the honors heaped high. You'd better go, young McTavish—go while there's yet time.”
“Why should I go? What are you talking about, anyway, old woman?
“You lie!” she yelled at him suddenly, being close. “I see it in your eyes. You know all. You know why you should go. And I warn you to go.”
“Warn me? What about?”
“If there should be blood, it would do no hurt,” she muttered, vaguely. “Then, he would come into his own, the rightful heir, my son.”
Donald glanced at the beldam with a certain uneasiness now. He felt a veiled threat, although, he told himself, she was mad. And, yet if she felt that Seguis must be recognized, what would keep her from doing incalculable harm?
“You talk a lot, but you say little,” he retorted, with a sneer. “You make plenty of moves, but you accomplish nothing. That's a squaw every time.”
The little eyes blazed upon him red, and her withered face shook with fury.