“When you and me and Becca’s left alone here by ourselves, we shall be as easy as can be,” he said.
“What month is it, Ste?”
“November.”
“Ay. You’ll have seen the last o’ me before Christmas.”
“Think so?” was Stephen’s equable remark. The old man nodded; and there came a pause.
“And you and Becca’ll be glad to get us out, Ste.”
Stephen did not take the trouble to gainsay it. He was turning about in his thoughts something that he had a mind to speak of.
“They’ve been nothing but interlopers from the first—she and him. I expect you to do what’s right by me, father.”
“Ay, I shall do what’s right,” answered the old man.
“About the money, I mean. It must all come to me, father. I was heir to it before you ever set eyes on her; and her brat must not be let stand in my way. Do you hear?”