“I say you are mistaken. Had I money, do you think I would have come to this wild land to live?” angrily asked the judge.
“Yes. Dread of punishment for your crime, and a fear that the world would learn of it, brought you here. Now you are believed only unfortunate. Were the truth made known, it would be shown that you squandered a fortune left to your keeping, Andrew Hale.”
“Alas! that I was ever tempted; but look at me now, a man at my years building up a new home, and penniless almost.”
“You need not so remain, Andrew Hale,” said the parson, in a meaning way.
“What do you mean, Mathew Kingsland? You have not come here and made yourself known to me without a purpose, I feel confident.”
“I mean that if you will give me your note for fifty thousand dollars, payable six months from date, and agree to a certain plan I have in view, I will tell you where you can place your hands upon a million of money.”
“What is your plan, sir?”
“That you marry Mary at once to my son.”
“You ask this when you know that I am aware of what he is?” indignantly said the judge.
“Oh, yes; you gave your consent before, when you knew that Kenton had served in the penitentiary. Don’t preach morality, Andrew Hale, for it does not set well on you,” sneered the parson.