‘What is the matter with father?’
‘How should I tell? I saw him making contortions and yowling. I did not approach too near lest he should bite.’
‘I shall go at once,’ said Jasper earnestly.
‘Of course you will. You are the heir. Eh! Jasper! When you come in for the house and cloth mill, you will extend to us the helping hand. O you saint! Why don’t you dance as I do? Am I taken in by your long face? Ain’t I sure that your heart is beating because now at last you will come in for the daddy’s collected money? Poor Martin! He can’t come and share. You won’t be mean, but divide, Jasper? I’ll be the go-between.’
‘Be silent, you wicked boy!’ said Jasper angrily; ‘I cannot endure your talk. It is repugnant to me.’
‘Because I talk of sharing. You, the saint! He sniffs filthy mammon and away he flies like a crow to carrion. Good-bye, Jasper! Away you go like an arrow from the bow. Don’t let that old housekeeper rummage the stockings stuffed with guineas out of the chimney before you get to Buckfastleigh!’
Jasper left the rock and strode hastily towards Morwell, troubled at heart at the news given him. Had he looked behind him as he entered the wood, he would have seen the boy making grimaces, capering, clapping his hands and knees, whistling, screaming snatches of operatic tunes, laughing, and shouting ‘Which is it to be, Rachel or Leah?’
[CHAPTER XXVI.]
AN IMP OF DARKNESS.