"No, no! Of course I'll not let you leave me like this," he said, with a
kind of trembling eagerness, and gave a rather painful laugh. "You force
my hand. I had not meant to tell you my secret so soon. You can't guess
the real reason why I refuse to give my money to Miss Weyland, even
when you ask it, now can you? You can't guess, now can you?"
"I think I can. You had rather have the money than have me."
"Not a bit of it. Nothing of the kind! Personally I care nothing for the
money. I am keeping it," said the old man, lowering his voice to a
chuckling whisper, "_for you!_" He leaned over the table, fixing Queed
with a gaze of triumphant cunning. "I'm going to make you _my heir!_
Leave everything I have in the world _to you!_"
A wave of sick disgust swept through the young man, momentarily
engulfing his power of speech. Never had the old man's face looked so
loathsome to him, never the man himself appeared so utterly detestable.
Surface had risen, whispering and chuckling. "Come up to the
sitting-room, my dear boy. I have some papers up there that may open
your eyes.
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