'My son was a horse coper and a blackguard,' he continued, 'and even if I were to admit him to my house I should certainly not forgive him!'
'Thank you,' I said, moving towards the steps to go away again. 'You wronged me before—and now you do so again. I will trouble you no more.'
'One moment before you go,' he cried, tapping on the floor with his stick. 'You have not come up here to work upon my feelings without having some object in view, I suppose. I hear you are living in the township at the principal hotel, doing nothing for your living. Your presence here means, I presume, that you want money. If that is so, I will give you five hundred pounds to enable you to start afresh in the world, provided you leave this place within twenty-four hours, and do not let me ever see you or hear of you again.'
'And you refuse me your forgiveness for the wrong you have done me?'
'I am not aware that I have done you any wrong,' he answered. 'I only believe what everybody in the township down yonder knows to be a fact. To-morrow morning you shall have that money if you wish it. After that I will not give you a halfpenny to save you from starving.'
Then, as if to justify himself, he continued, 'I do it on principle.'
'Very good—then, on principle, I refuse to receive even a penny from you.'
He looked at me in surprise.
'You won't take the five hundred pounds?'