"
"Never name me thy faither no more! I ban't your faither, I tell 'e, an' I
do never mean to see thy faace agin. Go wheer you'm minded; but get 'e gone
from here. Tramp the broad road with the crowd--the narrer path's closed
agin 'e. And this--this--let it burn same as him what sent it will."
He picked up the note nearest to him, crumpled it into a ball and flung it
upon the fire.
"Michael, Michael!" cried his wife, rushing forward, "for God's love, what
be doin' of? The money ban't damned; the money's honest!"
But Joan did more than speak. As the gift flamed quickly up, then sunk to
gray ash, a tempest of passion carried her out of herself. She trembled in
her limbs, grew deadly pale, and flew at her father like a tigress. No evil
word had ever crossed her lips till then, though they had echoed in her
ears often enough. But now they jumped to her tongue, and she cursed Gray
Michael and tore the rest of the money out of his hand so quickly that his
intention of burning it was frustrated.
"It's mine, it's mine, blast you!" she screamed like a fury, "what right
have you to steal it? It's mine--gived me by wan whose shoe you ban't
worthy to latch! He's shawed me what you be, an' the likes o' you, wi' your
hell-fire an' prayin' an' sour looks. I ban't afeared 'o you no more--none
o' you. I be sick o' the smeech o' your God. 'Er's a poor thing alongside
o' mine an' Mister Jan's.
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