om--nothing less. I must be out and away when
the mood seizes me night or day. Her affection stifles me at
times.... You can't understand that, of course; you think I'm
ungrateful, no doubt; and that I ought--"

"You appear to me, a monster of selfishness," Wesley Elliot broke in.
"You ought to stop thinking of yourself and think of her."

Bolton's face drew itself into the mirthless wrinkles which passed
for a smile.

"I'm coming to that," he said with some eagerness. "I do think of
her; and that's why-- Can't you see, man, that eighteen years of
prison don't grow the domestic virtues? A monster of selfishness?
You're dead right. I'm all of that; and I'm too old to change. I
can't play the part of a doting father. I thought I could, before I
got out; but I can't. Twice I've been tempted to knock her down, when
she stood between me and the door.... Keep cool; I didn't do it! But
I'm afraid of myself, I tell you. I've got to have my liberty. She
can have hers.... Now here's my proposition: Lydia's got money. I
don't know how much. My brother-in-law was a close man. Never even
knew he was rich. But she's got it--all but what she's spent here
trying to square accounts, as she thought. Do they thank her for it?
Not much. I know them! But see here, you marry Lydia, whenever you
like; then give me ten thousand dollars, and I'll clear out. I'm not
a desirable father-in-law; I know that, as well as you do. But I'll
guarantee to disappear, once my girl is settled. Is it a bargain?"

Elliot shook his head.

"Your daughter doesn't love me," he said.

Bolton flung up his hand in an impatient gesture of dissent.

"I stood in the way," he said. "She was thinking of me, don't you
see? But if I get out-- Oh, I promise you I'll make myself scarce,
once this matter is settled."

"What you propose is impossible, on the face of it," the minister
said slowly. "I am sorry--"

"Impossible! Why impossible?" shouted Bolton, in a sudden fury.
"You've been courting my daughter--don't try to crawl out of it, now
you know what I am. I'll not stand in the way, I tell you. Why, the
devil--"

He stopped short, his restless eyes roving over the young man's face
and figure:

"Oh, I see!" he sneered. "I begin to understand: 'the sanctity of the
cloth'--'my sacred calling'-- Yes, yes! And perhaps my price seems a
bit high: ten thousand dollars--"

Elliot sprang from his chair and stood over the cringing figure of
the ex-convict.

"I cou