"Who did you think I was?" he asked.
She hesitated for a moment, then, instead of replying, said:
"You behaved cruelly to my poor mother."
"I won't deny it," the old man returned, mastering his voice with
difficulty. "I ought to have been more patient with her. But she
refused to obey me, and I can't help my nature. I repented it when
it was too late."
Ida could not know what it cost him to utter these abrupt sentences.
He seemed harsh, even in confining his harshness. She was as far
from him as ever.
"I can't do anything for _her_," Mr. Woodstock continued, trying to
look her in the face. "But you are her child, and I want to do now
what I ought to have done long ago. I've come here to ask you if
you'll live in my house, and be like a child of my own."
"I don't feel to you as a child ought," Ida said, her voice changing
to sadness. "You've left it too late."
"No, it isn't too late!" exclaimed the other, with emotion he could
not control. "You mustn't think of yourself, but of me. You have all
your life before you, but I'm drawing near to the end of mine.
There's no one in the world belonging to me but you. I have a
_right_ to--"
"No right! no right!" Ida interrupted him almost passionately.
Pages:
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454