“‘Dear Reste,—I enclose you my debt at last. The other side have come to their senses, and given in, and paid over to me instalment the first. Thank you, old friend; you are a good fellow never to have bothered me. Let me know your movements when you write back; I ask it particularly. Ever yours, W. A.’
“Well, I never expected that,” cried Mr. Reste, as he read the words aloud.
“Money lent by you, Edgar?” asked Mr. Barbary.
“Yes; three or four years ago. I had given it up as a bad job. Never thought he would gain his cause.”
“What cause? Who is he?”
“Captain Amphlett, of the Artillery, and an old friend of mine. As to the cause, it was some injustice that his avaricious relatives involved him in, and he had no resource but to bring an action. I am glad he has gained it; he is an honest fellow, no match for them in cunning.”
Mr. Reste was counting the notes while he spoke; six of them for ten pounds each. Katrine happened to look at her father, and was startled at the expression of his face—at the grasping, covetous, evil regard he had fixed upon the notes. She felt frightened, half sick, with some vague apprehension. Mr. Reste smoothed the notes out one by one, and laid them open on the breakfast cloth in a little stack. While doing this, he caught Mr. Barbary’s covetous look.
“You’d like such a windfall yourself,” he said laughingly to his host.
“I should. For that a man might be tempted to smother his grandmother.”
Katrine instinctively shuddered, though the avowal was given in a half jesting tone. A prevision of evil seized her.