“Not enough,” said Geoffrey. “Will you make it five thousand down, and all your money bequeathed to us by will?”
The old man’s breath seemed to be taken away, and he stood gasping angrily; but once more the piteous aspect of the poor woman at the door disarmed him, and he said, in a low, hoarse voice,—
“I haven’t long to stop here. You shall have what you say, Trethick, only remove this cloud from the poor girl’s life.”
“Uncle Paul,” cried Geoffrey, turning upon him eagerly, “I always liked you, for I knew that you were a stanch old fellow under that rough bark, but I never thought you were so true a man as this. Five thousand pounds, eh? and you make me your heir? Give me your hand.”
The old man’s hand was slowly stretched out, and Geoffrey seized it.
“Yes,” said Uncle Paul, “and the past shall all be forgotten;” but a look of disgust, in spite of his efforts, came across his face at the mercenary spirit displayed.
“Five thousand pounds down?” said Geoffrey, “eh?”
“Five thousand pounds down.”
“As you say, Uncle Paul,” said Geoffrey, probing the old man to the quick, “you cannot live much longer. You have had your spell of life, and you will give that by deed of gift at once to save poor Madge’s fame, and the rest when you die?”
The old man nodded.