"On the contrary, my friend," he said. "And—it is your father's will."
"Father!" sneered Stephen's wife's mother. "A nice father to——"
Michael rose with a gesture that brought silence.
"None of that!" he said. "Who's master here? I am! Say a word against my dead father, any of you, and by God! out you go, neck and crop, man or woman. Now, then, you'll listen to me. I'm bound to say, with every respect for him, that I don't agree with this will of my father's. My wife here'll bear me out when I say that my idea as regards Stephen and myself coming into his property was—share and share alike. It seems father had other notions. However, everything is now mine—I'm master. Now, a man can do what he chooses with his own. So listen, Stephen. Give up that drinking, and gambling, and such-like, and come to work again and be a man, and you shall have one-half of all that there is. But, mind you, I've the whip hand, and you'll have to prove yourself. Prove yourself, and we'll soon set matters straight. I want no more than my half, and now that all's mine—well, law or no law, I'll share with you ... but you'll have to show that you can keep my conditions."
Everybody's eyes were fixed on Stephen Weere. He sat for a moment staring at the table—then, with a curse, he flung out of the room. The smell of the old flesh-pots was still in his nostrils; the odour of the wine-pots in his remembrance—a fact which probably sent him to the little room in which the refreshments of a liquid sort had been set out. He helped himself to a stiff glass of brandy and water, and had gulped half of it down when he felt certain fingers lay themselves appealingly on his left elbow. He turned with a curse, to encounter the witch-like countenance and burning eyes of the old housekeeper, Margaret Burton.
"What do you want, you old hag?" he said, with another curse. "Get out!"
But the old woman stood—her bony fingers still on his arm.
"Hester Stivven!" she said. "Mester Stivven! Has he—has he left me owt?"
Stephen burst into a harsh laugh and re-filled his glass.
"Left you owt?" he exclaimed jeeringly. "Left you owt? He's left nobody nowt but Michael—curse him! He's left him—all there is!"