[CHAPTER XXIII.]
"PAPA, DARLING, IT IS I, YOUR LITTLE KATHLEEN!"
The world says now I am dead; but, oh,
Lean down and listen. 'Tis all in vain!
Again in my heart bleeds the cruel blow;
Again I am mad with the old-time pain!
Carlotta Perry.
It snowed in Boston that night when Ivan Belmont came home on his usual mission—to extort money by begging, coaxing, threats or curses—(he usually tried all in succession before he succeeded)—from the rich widow, his mother, and the heiress, his sister.
And he was wont to say on these occasions that he would almost rather work for the money than to extort it from those two penurious women, they were so close-fisted and quarrelsome.
It was quite true what he said. Money he would have, but he was so spendthrift and reckless that his mother groaned in spirit over his excesses, and often flatly refused him a penny.
Then he would have recourse to Alpine, and he never left until he secured it, although he invariably had to raise a storm before he succeeded.
His periodical pirating visits grew to be deplored by the whole household, even by the servants, who knew that the effects of his demands were to be dreaded for days, in the increased harshness and ill-temper of the two women they served.
To-night the contest had raged hotter than ever before and only the threat of criminal deeds, unless his demands were met, had sufficed to draw gold from the pockets of his relatives.