hold Vivian Paslow there," and he tapped his palm.
"Still I don't understand," said Beatrice, her blood running cold at the malignant look on his face.
"There is no need you should," rejoined her stepfather coolly. "He is not for you, and you are not for him. Do you understand that?"
It was unwise for Alpenny to meddle with a maiden's fancies, for the girl's outraged womanhood revolted. "I understand that you mean to be impertinent, Mr. Alpenny," she said, with a flaming colour.
"'Mr. Alpenny'? Why not 'father,' as usual?"
"Because you are no father of mine, and I thank God for it."
He gave her a vindictive look, and rubbed his hands together, with the croak of a hungry raven. "I brought you up, I educated you, I fed you, I housed you, I----"
Beatrice waved her hand impatiently. "I know well what you have done," said she; "as little as you could."
"Here's gratitude!"
"And common sense, Mr. Alpenny. I know nothing, save that you married my mother and promised to look after me when she died."
"I promised nothing," snapped Alpenny.
"Durban says that you did."
"Durban is, what he always was, a fool. I promised nothing to your mother--at all events, concerning you. Why should I? You are not my own flesh and blood."
"Anyone can tell that," said Beatrice disdainfully.
"No impertinence, miss. I have fed and clothed you, and educated you, and housed you----"
"You said that before."
"All at my own expense," went on the miser imperturbably, "and out of the kindness of my heart. This is the return you make, by giving me sauce! But you had better take care," he went on menacingly, and shaking a lean yellow finger, "I am not to be trifled with."
"Neither am I," retorted Beatrice, who felt in a fighting humour. "I am sorry to have been a burden to you, and for what you have done I thank you; but I am weary of stopping here. Give me a small sum of money and let me go."
"Money!" screeched the miser, touched on his tenderest point. "Money to waste?"
"Money to keep me in London until I can obtain a situation as a governess or as a companion. Come, father," she went on coaxingly, "you must be sick of seeing me about here. And I am so tired of this life!"
"It's the wickedness in your blood, Beatrice. Just like your mother--oh, dear me, how very like your mother!"
"Leave my mother's character alone!" said Beatrice impatiently, "she is dead and buried."
"She is--in Hurstable churchyard, under a beautiful tomb I got second-hand at a bargain. See how I loved her."
"You never loved anyone in your life, Mr. Alpenny," said the girl, freezing again.
Alpenny's brow grew black, and he looked at her with glittering eyes. "You are mistaken, child," he said, quietly. "I have loved and lost."
"My mother----?"
"Perhaps," said he enigmatically, and passed his hand over his bald head in a weary manner. Then he burst out unexpectedly: "I wish I had never set eyes on your mother. I wish she had been dead and buried before she crossed my path!"
"She is dead, so----"
"Yes, she is dead, stone dead," he snarled, rising, much agitated, "and don't think you'll ever see her again. If I----" He was about to speak further; then seeing from the wondering look on the girl's face that he was saying more than was wise, he halted, stuttered, and sat down again abruptly, moving the papers with trembling hands. "Leave the past alone," he said hoarsely. "I can't speak of it calmly. It is the past that makes the future," he continued, drumming feverishly on the table with his fingers, "the past that makes the future."
Beatrice wondered what he meant, and noticed how weary and worn and nervous he seemed. The man did not love her; he had not treated her as he should have done; and between them there was no feeling in common. Yet he was old, and, after all, had sheltered her in his own grudging way, so Beatrice laid a light hand on his arm. "Mr. Alpenny, you are not young----"
"Eighty and more, my dear."
The term startled her, and she began to think he must indeed be near the borders of the next world when he spoke so gently.
"Well, then, why don't you go to church, and feed the hungry, and clothe the naked? Remember, you have to answer for what you have done, some day soon."
Alpenny rose vehemently and flung off her arm. "I don't ask you to teach me my duty, girl," he said savagely. "What I have done is done, and was rightly done. Everyone betrayed me, and money is the only thing that did not. Money is power, money is love, money is joy and life and hope and comfort to me. No! I keep my money until I die, and then----" He cast a nervous look round, only to burst out again with greater vehemence. "Why do you talk of death? I am strong; I eat heartily. I drink little. I sleep well. I shall live for many a long day yet. And even if I die," he snapped, "don't expect to benefit by my death. You don't get that!" and he snapped his fingers within an inch of her nose.
"I don't want your money," said Beatrice quietly; "Durban will look after me. Still, you might let me have enough to keep me while I try to find work."
"I won't!"
"But if you die, I'll be a pauper."
"Without a sixpence!" said Alpenny exultingly.
"Have I no relatives who will help me?"
"No. Your mother came from I know not where, and where she has gone I don't exactly know. She married me and then died. I have kept you----"
"Yes--yes. But if my mother was poor and came from where you knew not, why did you marry her?"
"My kind heart----"
"You haven't got one; it's in your money-chest"
"It might be in a woman's keeping, which is a much worse place."
Beatrice grew weary of this futile conversation, and rose. "You asked me to see you," she said, with a fatigued air; "what is it you have to say?"
"Oh yes." He seemed to arouse himself from a fit of musing. "Yes! I have found a husband for you."
Beatrice started. He announced this startling fact as though it were the most natural thing in the world. "You--have--found--a--husband--for--me?" she drawled slowly.
"Yes. You won't have my money, and I may die." He cast a look over his shoulder nervously. "I don't want to, but I may: one never knows, do they? You will be poor, so I think it best to get you married and settled in life."
"Thank you," she returned icily. "It is very good of you to take so much trouble. And my future husband?"
"Ruck! Major Ruck--Major Simon Ruck, a retired army officer, and a handsome man of fifty, very well preserved, and with a fine fortune."
