"You have remembered it, have you?" was the response. "Well, then, I want your thief of a son! Is he in this house?"
"Oh, he was a coward this morning: now he is a thief, is he? What do you want of him?"
"He committed theft at my house not more than an hour ago; and I am going to find him if he is in the State. Once more—is he here?"
"What did he steal?" asked the father with a sneer, while poor Elsie stood nearly fainting and yet unable to move from the spot, at that new charge against her brother.
"A woman." Elsie felt relieved; the old man sneered.
"Well, I can only say that if he took away any woman belonging to you, he must have a singular taste!"
"Robert Brand"—and the doctor spoke in a tone of low and concentrated passion—"once more and for the last time I ask you whether your son is in this house, with Eleanor Hill, my—my adopted daughter, in his company."
"Eleanor Hill!" gasped Elsie, but no one heard her.
"Dr. Pomeroy," answered Robert Brand, "you do not deserve any answer except a blow, but I will give you one. My son, as you call him, Carlton Brand, is not here, and will never be here again while I live, unless to be thrust out like a dog. How many girls he has, or where he conceals them, is none of my business, or yours! Now go, if you know when you are well off, for as sure as God lets me live, if I ever see you approaching this house again, I will shoot you from the window with my own hand."
Something in the tone told Dr. Pomeroy that both the assertion and the threat were true. He turned without another word, stepped to his buggy, mounted into it and drove away.