'Wall, I'm d——d ef ye doan't take th' papers. Who in creashun told ye thet?'
'No one; I know it, Hallet's only son is engaged to this girl. He wants her, to balk him.'
'Ye're wrong thar. He wants har fur himself.'
'For himself!'
'Yas; he's got a couple now. He's a sly old fox; but he's one on 'em.'
'Is he willing to pay eighty-two hundred dollars for a mistress?'
'Wall, Preston owes him a debt, an' he reckons 'tain't wuth a hill o' beans. Thet's th' amount uv it.'
Thus the wrong of the father was to be atoned for by the dishonor of the child! Preston was right: the curse which followed his sin had fallen on all he loved—on his wife, his mistress, the octoroon girl, his manly, noble son; and now, the cloud which held the thunderbolt was hovering over the head of his best-loved child! And so He visiteth 'the sins of the fathers upon the children!'
'But he is wrong! Preston's estate will pay its debts. If it does not, Joe will make good the deficiency, I will guarantee Hallet's claim. See him, and tell him so.'
'He hain't yere, an' woan't be yere. He allers fights shy. An' 'twouldn't be uv no use. He's made up his mind to hev th' gal, an' hev har he will. He's come all th' way from Orleans ter make sure uv it.'