"You see, now, my darling," continued Mrs. Crull, "what a scoundrel you have escaped from. Will you be my adopted child forever? Speak, my precious!"
Poor Pet threw her soft white arms around the thick neck of her protectress, and cried for joy. "Dear, dear mother!" she murmured.
There was a pause, daring which everybody but young Van Quintem had occasion to wipe their eyes. He paced up and down, his brow wrinkled, and inextinguishable hate flashing from his eyes.
"Well, sir," said his father, calmly, "what atonement have you to make for this outrage?"
"You're a ---- old fool, and that's all I've got to say."
"Heaven be praised that his poor mother was not spared for this sorrow!" was the tranquil reply.
"Curse you--and the old woman's memory. You're always making a fuss about her."
The benignant expression of old Van Quintem's face vanished instantly, and a just rage gleamed on every feature. "Unnatural son! monster! fiend!" he cried, raising his hands aloft; "at last you have gone too far. Leave my presence, sir, and never--never--let me see your face again. I say to you, and before these witnesses, that I disown and disinherit you forever--forever--forever!"
The coward son could not endure that terrible visitation of parental wrath, and fled, without another word, from the shop.
Old Van Quintem fell exhausted upon the strong shoulder of the boy Bog.