"Old boy asleep, Gertie?"
"Mr Saul, why have you come?" cried the frightened girl.
"Because I wanted to see you again; because I was tired of waiting down
in that dreary old dining-room. Why, what a little tease you are."
Gertrude made a step to get on the other side of the bed, so as to place
the old man between them; but Saul caught her wrist, and laughingly
swung her round.
"Won't do, my coy little beauty," he whispered. "I want to settle that
little matter."
"Uncle!"
"Ha!" ejaculated Saul in a fierce whisper. "Wake him if you dare! If
you do I'll swear you asked me to come up and sit with you. Now look
here--tell me, Gertie, the old man has left you all his money?"
"No, no, no," she cried eagerly, "nothing at all."
"Don't believe it, darling. Trick to throw me off the scent; but I'm on
it safe, and I'm not going to be tricked."
"Then ask uncle when he wakes," cried the girl, flushing up angrily, as
she snatched her hand away.
"No, thanks; don't want a bottle or jug thrown at my head. But I don't
believe you, you artful little jade. It's all your cunning way to lead
me on. He has left you all his money, darling, and you've played your
cards splendidly; but it would not make any difference to me if you
hadn't a penny. You are going to be my little wife."
"Never!" cried Gertrude, with a hurried glance at the sunken features on
the pillow.
They both spoke in a low, quick, subdued whisper, and as if under the
influence of the same dread lest the old man should awake.
"Don't talk stuff, my darling. Think of your position."
"I tell you I am penniless," cried Gertrude excitedly, as she felt that
Saul's advances were mainly due to his belief in her future wealth.
"All the more need for you to listen to me, darling," whispered Saul, as
he threw his arm round the girl's waist, and held her in spite of her
struggles. "When the old man dies, if you are as you say, what's to
become of you?"
"I shall not tell you," cried Gertrude, striving to escape.
"Then I'll tell you. There's that nice little idea in your head that my
beloved cousin--that Yankee vagabond--is coming back to marry you, so
that all is to be happy ever after. But suppose he does not come?"
"He will come; your uncle has sent for him."
"Ah, he may have sent, but the fellow may not come. He may be drowned
if he did; and even if he does come, that's no reason why he should
marry you."
Gertrude, finding her efforts vain, ceased struggling, but stood there,
panting heavily, and waiting her opportunity to free herself from the
intruder's grasp.
"Better come to an understanding, Gertie, and let's begin to be friends
at once. George Harrington must be a Wild West ruffian, not fit to make
you a husband, so don't think any more of that. I know, as well as can
be, that he will never come back here; and if anything happens to him,
as something is sure to happen, seeing what sort of a character he is.
I shall be master here."
"You?" cried Gertrude, with dilating eyes, as she again tried to get
free.
"Yes, I; master of the houses, and lands, tenements, messuages, and all
the rest of it; above all, my little struggling pet, master of you."
"Ha!"
They both turned sharply, and Saul Harrington started back, for that
hoarsely-sounding ejaculation came from the bed, and there, with the
lamp shining full upon his cavernous eyes, sat the old man, glaring
wildly at his nephew, and pointing towards the fireplace with
outstretched hand.
"Uncle, dearest," cried Gertrude, running to his side, and clinging to
him; but he did not heed her, only remained pointing towards the
fireplace.
"Why is he here?" panted the old man.
"Only a little visit, uncle. Don't be cross."
"A lie?" panted the old man hoarsely. "Money--always money," and he
still pointed excitedly towards the fireplace, forgetful of the fact
that he had a bell-rope close by his hand.
"Not very polite to your nephew, uncle," said Saul coolly.
"I heard--all," he said. "If you would marry him--because you will have
my money. That's why--I wouldn't leave it to you--strong and fierce--
frighten you into accepting him--when I'm gone. But I knew better. No
lie, Saul Harrington; she hasn't a penny. But you'll be master, eh? If
George does not come--if George dies--eh, Saul? Yes, I had forgotten--
next-of-kin, I suppose, and you would seize everything, eh? Yes, I know
you; but no, Saul Harrington, no, no, no! I'll take care of that. You
did wrong in coming here to-night. Ring, Gertie, ring."
"Yes, uncle, dear."
"My solicitor--I want Hampton directly, he is to be fetched. No, no, my
dear nephew, if George Harrington does not come home you shall not be
master here, next-of-kin though you be. Hampton, Gertie--send for
Hampton. I did not think of that. Ring--ring!"
"Yes, uncle, dearest, I have rung," whispered Gertrude, as she vainly
tried to calm the old man. "Lie down now and rest, and Mr Saul
Harrington will go. Don't--pray don't talk like this."
"No, no--don't go, Saul. Stop and see my solicitor--stop and hear the
codicil to my will. I'll have it made right directly. Never be master
here, Saul--no, not if George dies--never be master here. Scoundrel,
robbed me living, now you would rob me dead; but--but--you shall--Ha!"
"Uncle! Help!" cried Gertrude excitedly, as the old man's head dropped
suddenly upon her shoulder, for he had been working himself up into a
terrible pitch of excitement; his eyes flashed, the veins on his brow
seemed to be knotted, and stood out in a thick network; and his hands
clawed and gesticulated as his words came more broken and huskily, till
all at once, and without warning, his head fell, and Gertrude let him
sink motionless upon the pillow.
At that moment the door opened, and in answer to the bell, the
housekeeper entered.
"Mrs Denton, quick--uncle!" cried Gertrude.
"Your master wants his solicitor, Mrs Denton," said Saul, coolly
walking to the bedside and taking one of the old man's hands. "No," he
said huskily, "a doctor."
"Yes, yes; the doctor, Mrs Denton--quick!" cried Gertrude excitedly,
and the old woman ran out.
As the door closed behind her, Saul let the hand fall heavily and inert
upon the counterpane.
"Uncle, dearest, speak--pray speak to me!" cried Gertrude passionately.
"Never again, my girl," said Saul quietly. "The fit has done its work.
Too late."
"What do you mean?" cried Gertrude, staring all aghast.
"That the old man is dead," said Saul coldly; and he added softly to
himself: "If George Harrington dies. I am master here."