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While Theresa carried the boy into the house, Jason Philip ran for the doctor. But it was too late; the eye was lost. Philippina hid. After considerable search her father found her under the cellar steps. He beat her so mercilessly that the neighbours had to come up and take him away. Little Marcus was Theresa’s favourite child. She could not get over the accident.
A wry smile disfigured Theresa’s face. “I see, so, so,” she said in a sing-song tone. “You will have him marry Philippina. I take it that you feel that she will be hard to marry, and that the man who does marry her will have his hands full. Well, that’s not a bad idea.”
Tell me the truth.” All of a sudden he remembered Theresa’s words: “All that nice money, all that nice money!” Philippina began to chew her finger nails. “That’s none of your business,” she said gruffly, “it ain’t been stolen. Moreover, I c’n tell you,” she said, as she felt that his distrust was taking on a threatening aspect, “mother give it to me on the sly.
“In this way,” continued Jason Philip, without detecting the scorn in Theresa’s words, “the account between the culprit and myself will be settled. He will become a decent member of society, the money will remain in the family, and Philippina will be cared for.” “And suppose he does not come; suppose he does not fall on his knees; suppose you have made a miscalculation.
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