Pierre was again silent, as if reflecting on the answer.
He at length gave it.
“You speak truth, Jerry Rook. There is a way, as you’ve said; but it must be coupled with a condition.”
“What condishun?”
“Your daughter.”
“What o’ her?”
“I must have her for my wife.”
Rook recoiled at the proposal. He was thinking of Alf Brandon and the plantation, the grand estate he had so long coveted, and set his heart upon having.
On the other side were the six hundred dollars a-year. But what was this in comparison? And coupled with a young man for his son-in-law, who was not even a full-blooded white—poor, perhaps penniless. No doubt he had come back without a dollar in his pocket.
Was this certain? He had been to California, the country of gold. From what could be seen of him in the dim light, he appeared well dressed, and his speech proclaimed him well instructed. He had certainly changed much from the time of his departure. He may not have returned either so fortuneless or friendless.