"Aye, I know. I know, Allie, but I can't help speaking of it. He inveigled me into schemes of his own making, purposely, I believe now, to ruin me, and get the estate and the mine into his own hands. A dastard! A selfish villain! And now he is going to foreclose the mortgage, and in a week, my poor Allie, your old sick father and yourself will be without a roof to shelter them. An ungenerous rogue!" said the old man with another burst of anger.
"Never mind, father, you have me, your Allie, left, and I'll take care of you," and she smoothed down his scattered locks and laid her cheek close to his. The action and words seemed to quiet the old squire for a time, and he kissed the pale cheek of his daughter.
"You are a good daughter. Has Mr. Richard Lanyan been here to-day?"
"No, father."
"Has his man—Bob Sloan—as untrustworthy as the villain, Sir James—has he been here?"
"No, father," endeavouring to soothe him.
"Aye, he is giving me time to think; you know his proposition, child," said the old man gently. "I shall not live long, and it distresses me to think of my child homeless when I am gone." He laid his hand, that once stout, brown hand, now pale and thin, upon the bowed head of the girl, who was silently weeping. "It may prolong my life if you accept Richard, and our home will be yours. Long ago, before I knew of the villainy of Sir James, I purposed in my heart your marriage to Richard. Now, though I know the father and his trickery, yet I think I know the son, Richard, and I believe him free from his father's faults. He seems a good young man and talented, and loves you, child, sincerely, and he may make up in kindness to you for the injustice done to me. Years ago, in my strength, I thought it must be so, but now I have learned many things by sickness, and I would not urge you against your will."
"Father," said the girl, raising her tear-stained face, "if it will make you live longer I will not oppose; I will freely and gladly consent. I will do anything to add to your life. Have you not been both a kind, loving father and mother to me?"
"Bless you, my dear Allie," said the squire as he sank back exhausted, and then, in a whisper, "'Tis better than doctor's medicine. Call Stephen Blunt—and write an answer to James Lanyan's letter that you will find in yon desk."