"I cannot wait until the morrow. This night alone is mine. If you cannot readily lay your hands upon the money, write me an order upon your banker for the sum."
"I have neither pen, ink, nor paper," said the miser, eagerly availing himself of the most paltry subterfuge, in order to gain time until the return of Grenard Pike, or to escape paying the money.
"I can supply you." And Anthony drew forth a small writing case, and placed paper before him, and put a pen into his father's hand.
"Anthony, you had better trust to my word," said Mark, solemnly. "Gold is a heavier surety than paper, and by the God who made us, I swear to keep my promise."
"Aye, but you forget the old proverb, father. 'A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush.'"
The old man eyed him with a glance of peculiar meaning as with a trembling hand he proceeded to write the order. When he had finished, he folded the paper carefully together, and presented it to his son. "You will not trust to my honor. Be it so. Take this paper, Anthony Hurdlestone, for a Hurdlestone you are, and for the first time in my life I believe that you are my son. But it is the sole inheritance you will ever receive from me. Go, and let me see your face no more."
"God bless you, sir," said the youth, in a faltering voice. "Forgive my late intemperate conduct; it was influenced by despair. From this moment I will love and respect you as my father."
The miser's thin lips quivered as his son turned to leave him. He called faintly after him, "Anthony, Anthony! Don't leave me alone with the spirits of the dead. To-morrow I will do you justice. At this hour to-morrow."
His son stopped, but the entrance of old Pike stifled the rising gleam of paternal regard, and dismissed the ghastly phantoms of the past from the excited mind of the gold-worshipper. He grumbled a welcome to his minion, and sternly waved to the unwelcome intruder to quit the house. His wishes were instantly obeyed.