Part 36 (1/2)

”Yousa da rich. Gotta da mon a plent. Go, Signora, get a moores a da mon. Leave a Daize a da here.”

”Mr. Golda, I'll not stay. I am going home with mamma!” and Dorothy pouted indignantly.

Seeing him obdurate, and fearing the effect of a forcible separation from her mother now so fondly clasped in her arms, Virginia resolved to try persuasion once more, before putting into execution the plans she had matured as a last and desperate resort. With blanched face, its very seriousness compelling attention, she said, in a faltering voice:

”If your heart is human you cannot look upon that stricken mother without feeling that in the last great day the Judge of all will judge you as you now deal with her.”

He turned from her without a word, derision betrayed in his face, contempt in his action. It, however, placed Jack in a dilemma. There the mother, for whom he felt a kindly interest, quietly resting with her lost darling in her arms, yet ever and anon a scared, haunted look flitted from her eyes.

He looked at the girl a moment, then broke into low, derisive laughter.

”Ha, ha, ha, ha. Eesa fine a da lady. He, he, he, he. Signora beez a da accomplice ova da conspirator to break a up a da brodder's home, eh? Signora good a da lady.”

”Ha, ha, ha, ha,” and suddenly lowering his voice, said:

”Turnoppsis, Carrottsis, Ca-babbages,” then paused and picked up the bottle to take a drink. ”If the child goes home now,” he thought, ”Phil gets no reward; no,” and he set the bottle down on the table with a bang, without taking the premeditated drink.

”No, Ma sees a Daize a beez a da safe. Ma sees no a da harm come a Daize.”

”I have brought you all the money I could obtain, and now I demand that you release the child,” Virginia said, firmly.

”Eesa be d.a.m.n! Yous a fetch a me a da mon, a da rest, ten a thous, an an--a Daise beez a da liber. Eesa da late a now, Signora. Much a bet for a youse a da go home, hic.”

Virginia's blanched but resolute face indicated that the critical moment had arrived. Then her voice quivered slightly, as with suppressed, quiet dignity, she said: ”I shall give you no more.”

The declaration aroused Constance. She looked up. ”Yes, oh, yes; give him more!” she exclaimed, in plaintive alarm. ”He shall have a million, two million; I will get it for him.”

The extravagant offer, the soft, troubled, pensive stare, caused Jack to straighten up and gaze directly at her.

Virginia's alert eyes at once caught the superst.i.tious fear that had suddenly betrayed itself in his face.

”Don't you see her mind is giving way!” she exclaimed, and while he stood staring at Constance, she seized the occasion as one favorable for escape.

”Come dear,” she urged, ”he will not stop us now.”

”It is dangerous,” was the soft, helpless reply. ”The clouds are thickening, and the storm will soon burst.”

”Courage, dear, the clouds will soon roll by. Come,” Virginia urged, half lifting her to her feet.

”Oh, very well, we must go,” was the indifferent response.

A step forward, and again that timid, startled, fawn-like terror overcame her. ”Oh, dear,” she plaintively exclaimed, ”the boat rocks; hold fast to me, sweetheart.” And she halted with a swinging motion, as though her limbs were incapable of firmly sustaining her.

With distended eyes. Jack stared at her. ”Heavens!” he thought; ”I cannot separate that poor mother from her child. I cannot do it. If Phil wants the reward he must take the child home himself.”

The thought was scarcely developed when the voice of his partner rang out from the other room, hoa.r.s.e, disguised, and peremptory:

”What's the matter with you? Separate them! Take the kid and turn the woman out.”

Then it was Virginia realized that she had two men to deal with instead of one.