“Father, your insults are beyond all endurance!” she cried, writhing under the lash and stung to fury. She started up with hands clenched.
“There, there, I told you so!” he whined, recoiling in mock terror. “Trimmer, Trimmer! Help! She’ll kill me!”
“It would serve you right if I did lay violent hands upon you,” she cried. “If I took you by the throat, and squeezed the life out of you, as I could, though you are my father. You’re not a man, you’re a beast—a monster—a soulless caricature, whose only delight is the torturing of others. I could have been a good woman and a good daughter, but for your carping, sneering insults. At different times, you have imputed to me every vile motive that suggested itself to your evil brain. You hated me 187 from my birth. You hate me still—and I hate you. Yes, it would serve you right if I killed you. It would separate you from your wretched money, and send your soul to torment—”
“Trimmer! Trimmer!” screamed the old man, as she advanced nearer with threatening gestures, and fingers working nervously.
Trimmer entered as noiselessly as a cat.
“Trimmer, save me from this woman—she’ll kill me. I’m an old man! I’m helpless. She’s threatening to choke me. Have her put out. I can’t protect myself, or I’d—I’d have her prosecuted—the vampire!”
Mrs. Swinton recovered herself in the presence of Trimmer, and drew away in contempt. She flung back the chair upon which she had been sitting with an angry movement, and she would have liked to sweep out of the room; but fear seized her at the thought of what she had done. This was not the way to mollify the old man, who could ruin her by a word.
“I am sorry, father,” she faltered. “I forgot that you are an invalid, and not responsible for your moods.”
He leaned forward on the edge of the bed, resting on his hands, and positively spat out his next words. 188
“Bah! You’re a hypocrite. Go home to your sky-pilot. But keep your mouth shut—do you hear?”