The man's anger alarmed her no more than the squeak of a
caged rat. "I ban't no darter o' Baal, an' the money's come by honest. I've
lied afore, but never shall again. An' I've let Joe go 'is ways thinkin' I
loved en, which I doan't. I be tokened to a furriner from London, an' he's
took me for his awn, an' he be gwaine to come down-long mighty soon an'
take me away. But I couldn't tell 'e nothin' of that 'cause he bid me keep
my mouth shut. So theer."
"'Took 'e for 'is awn'! Wheer is he, then? Why be you here?"
"He'm comin', I tell 'e. He'm a true man, an' he shawed me what 'tis to
love."
"Bought you, you damned harlot!"
She knew the word was vile, but a shred of John Barron's philosophy
supported her.
"My awnly sin is I've lied to you, faither; an' you've no right to call me
evil names."
"Never call me faither no more, lewd slut! I be no faither o' thine, nor
never was. God A'mighty! a Tregenza a wanton! I'd rather cut my hand off
than b'lieve it so. It's this--this--blood-money--the price o' a damned
sawl! No more lyin'. I knaw--I knaw--an' the picksher--the ship of a true
man. It did ought to break your heart to see it, if you had wan. A
devil-spawned painting feller, in coorse. An' his black heart happy an'
content 'cause he've sent this filth. You stare, wi' your mother's
eyes--you stare, an' stare. Hell's yawning for 'e, wretched wummon, an' for
him as brot 'e to it!"
"He doan't believe in hell, no more doan't I," said Joan calmly; "an' it
ban't a faither's plaace to damn's awn flaish an' blood no way.
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