Mrs. Champney made no reply, and Octavius went on, wetting his lips to facilitate articulation, for his throat was going dry:
"His father made me promise to look out for the child that was a-coming; and another man, Louis Champney, your husband,"—Mrs. Champney sat up rigid, her eyes fixed in a stare upon the speaker's lips,—"told me when the boy come that he'd father him as was fatherless—"
She interrupted him again, a sneering smile on her lips:
"You know as well as I, Octavius Buzzby, what Mr. Champney's will was—too feeble a thing to place dependence on for any length of time; if he said that, he didn't mean it—not as you think he did," she added in a tone that sent a shiver along Octavius' spine. But he did not intend to be "downed," as he said to himself, "not this time by Almeda Champney." He continued undaunted:
"I do know what he meant better'n anybody living, and I know what he was going to do for the boy; and I know, too, Mrs. Champney, who hindered him from having his will to do for the boy; and right's right, and now's your time to make good to his memory and intentions—to make good your husband's will for Champney Googe and save your husband's name from disgrace and more besides. You know—but you never knew I did till now—what Louis Champney promised to do for the boy—and he told me more than once, Mrs. Champney, for he trusted me. He told me he was going to educate the boy and start him well in life, and that he wasn't going to end there; he told me he was going to leave him forty thousand dollars, Mrs. Champney—and he told me this not six weeks before he died; and the interest on forty thousand has equalled the principal by this time,—and you know best why he hasn't had his own—I ain't blind and nobody else here in Flamsted. And now I've come to ask you, if you've got a woman's heart instead of a stone in your bosom, to make over that principal and interest to the Quarry Company and save the boy Louis Champney loved; he told me once what I knew, that his blood flowed in that child's veins—"
"That's a lie—take that back!" she almost shrieked under her breath. She started to her feet, trembling in every limb, her face twitching painfully.
Octavius was appalled at the effect of his words; but he dared not falter now—too much was at stake—although fearful of the effect of any further excitement upon the woman before him. He spoke appeasingly:
"I can't take that back, for it's true, Mrs. Champney. You know as well as I do that far back his mother was a Champney."
"Oh—I forgot." She dropped into her chair and drew a long breath as of exhaustion. "What were you saying?" She passed her hand slowly over her eyes, then put on her glasses. Octavius saw by that one movement that she had regained her usual control. He, too, felt relieved, and spoke more freely:
"I said I want you to make good that eighty thousand dollars—"