He snatched up his hat to leave. But Bartley found a word to make him hesitate. He never moved, but folded his arms and said, "So, then, your love for your child is selfish." "Selfish!" cried Hope; "so selfish that I would die for her any hour of the day." For all that, the taunt brought him down a step, and Bartley, still standing like a rock, attacked him again. "If it is not selfish, it is blind." Then he took two strides, and attacked him with sudden power. "Who will suffer most if you stand in her light? Your daughter: why, she may die." Hope groaned. "Who will profit most if you are wise, and really love her, not like a jealous lover, but like a father? Why, your daughter: she will be taken out of poverty and want, and carried to sea-breezes and scented meadows; her health and her comfort will be my care; she will fill the gap in my house and in my heart, and will be my heiress when I die." "But she will be lost to me," sighed poor Hope. "Not so. You will be my right hand; you will be always about us; you can see her, talk to her, make her love you, do anything but tell her you are her father. Do this one thing for me, and I will do great things for you and for her. To refuse me will be to cut your own throat and hers--as well as mine." Hope faltered a little. "Am I selfish?" said he. "Of course not," was the soothing reply. "No true father is--give him time to think." Hope clinched his hands in agony, and pressed them against his brow. "It is selfish to stand in her light; but part with her--I can't; I can't." "Of course not: who asks you? She will never be out of your sight; only, instead of seeing her sicken, linger, and die, you will see her surrounded by every comfort, nursed and tended like a princess, and growing every day in health, wealth, and happiness." "Health, wealth, and happiness?" "Health, wealth, and happiness!" These words made a great impression on the still hesitating father; he began to make conditions. They were all granted heartily. "If ever you are unkind to her, the compact is broken, and I claim my own again." "So be it. But why suppose anything so monstrous; men do not ill-treat children. It is only women, who adore them, that kill them and ill-use them accordingly. She will be my little benefactress, God bless her! I may love her more than I ought, being yours, for my home is desolate without her; but that is the only fault you shall ever find with me. There is my hand on it." Hope at the last was taken off his guard, and took the proffered hand. That is a binding action, and somehow he could no longer go back. Then Bartley told him he should live in the house at first, to break the parting. "And from this hour," said he, "you are no clerk nor manager, but my associate in business, and on your own terms." "Thank you," said Hope, with a sigh.