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.'
'But, Larkin, you've a heart under your waistcoat; _you_ won't lend
yourself to the designs of such a consummate scoundrel as Hallet!'
'Scoundrel's a hard word, Mr. Kirke. 'Tain't used much round yere; when
it ar, it draws blood like a lancet.'
'I mean no offence to you, Larkin; but it's true--I will prove it;' and
I went on to detail my early acquaintance with Hallet; his vast
profession and small performance of piety; his betrayal of Frank's
mother; his treatment of his son, and all the damning record I have
spread before the reader.
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