She commenced to give him details, but he hushed her down. "How much?--How much?" he asked, insultingly. "I told you before that you have no justification for regarding your son as my heir. Who told you that I was going to leave him a penny? He's a pauper, and dependent upon his father, not upon me. I owe him nothing." "Oh, father, father, it is expected of you." "How much?" snapped the old man. "Oh, quite a large sum, father. I want you to advance me some of my allowance, as well. I must have at least two thousand dollars." "What!" he screamed. "Two thousand! Two, you mean. Get me my check-book--get me my check-book." He pointed to the desk. She knew where to find it, and hastened to obey, thinking to rush the matter through. She took the blotting-pad from the desk, and placed it on her father's knees, and brought an inkstand and a pen, which she put into his trembling fingers. "Two thousand, father," she said, gently. "No--two!" he snarled, flashing out at her and positively jabbering in his anger. He filled in the date, and again looked around at her, tauntingly. Then, he wrote the word "Two" on the long line. "Two. Do you understand?" he snarled, thrusting his nose into her face, as she bent over him to hold the blotting-pad. "That's all you'll get out of me." He filled in the figure two below, and straggling noughts for the cents. Then, he paused and addressed her again, emphasizing his remarks with the end of the penholder. "I'll have you understand that this is the last of your borrowing and begging. I am not giving you this money, you understand? I am advancing it on account. Every penny I pay you will be deducted from the little legacy I leave you at my death." She wearily waited for him to sign, to get it over; for there was nothing to be done when he was in a mood like this. Perhaps, on the morrow, he would be more rational. She replaced the blotting-pad, and dried the check in mechanical fashion; but her face was white with anger. She folded the useless slip, and put it in her bag. "Have you no gratitude?" cried the old horror from the bed. "Can't you say, thank you?" "Thank you, father," she answered, coldly; "I am tired of your jests," and, without another word, she swept from the room. "Two!" chuckled the old man in his throat, "two!" On arriving at the rectory, she found the man reading a paper in the hall, and the rector not yet returned. She guessed that her husband had gone on a heart-breaking expedition to raise money. She wished to ask the fellow the amount of the debt for which the execution was granted, but could not bring herself to put the question. She went to her husband's study, guessing that he would come there on his return, and, seating herself in his armchair, leaned her elbows on the account-books and burst into tears.