's sake, do not speak of his
death."

"I am supposing a case. You would then be squire of Sandal-Side. Would
you return there with Beatrice?"

"Ah, no! I know what those Dalesmen are. My father's feelings were only
their feelings intensified by his relation to me. They would look upon
me as my father's murderer, and Beatrice as an accessory to the deed."

"Still you would be squire of Sandal-Side."

"Mother would have to take my place, or Charlotte. I have thought of
that. I could not bear to sit in father's chair, and go up and down the
house. I should see him always. I should hear continually that awful cry
with which he fell. It fills, even here, all the spaces of my memory and
my dreams. I cannot go back to Sandal-Side. Nothing could take me back,
not even my mother."

"Then listen, I am the heir failing you."

"No, no: there is my son Michael."

Julius was stunned for a moment. "Oh, yes! The child is a boy, then?"

"It is a boy. What were you going to say?"

"I was going to ask you to sell your rights to me for ten thousand
pounds. It would be better for you to have a sum like that in your hand
at once, than to trust to dribbling remittances sent now and then by
women in charge. You could invest that sum to noble purpose in America,
become a citizen of the country, and found an American line, as my
father has founded an Indian one."

"The poor little chap makes no difference. He is only born to die. And I
think your offer is a good one. I am so worn out, and things are really
desperate with me. I never can go back to England. I am sick to death of
Florence. There are places where Beatrice might even yet recover. Yes,
for her sake, I will sell you my inheritance. Can I have the money
soon?"

"This hour. I had the proper paper drawn up before I came here. Read it
over carefully. See if you think it fair and honorable. If you do, sign
your name; and I will give you a check you can cash here in Florence.
Then it will be your own fault if Beatrice wants change of air,
luxuries, and medicine."

He laid the paper on the table, and Harry sat down and pretended to read
it. But he did not understand any thing of the jargon. The words danced
up and down. He could only see "Beatrice," "freedom from care," "power
to get away from Florence," and the final thought, the one which removed
his last scruple, "Lanza can have the cottage, and I shall be clear of
him forever."

Without a word he went for a pen and ink,