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 your pa’s goin’ to git some of it, begrudge it or not. I’m a-goin’ to git a place to lay my head and vittles and a bed to die in.”

Lydia stirred. “Angus,” she whispered, “come away…. Come away.”

Titus Burke glared at her and his son through red lids. “You needn’t to think you kin git away from me,” he said venomously. “’Cause ye can’t. I’ll foller ye around. I’ll call out to ye on the streets. I’ll—”

“Hush,” said Angus, and he reached out his hand to touch Lydia’s—but she avoided his touch…. He looked at his father, an object in the form of a man that was an insult to Heaven! Yet that man was his father! The man was dying…. His father was dying.

Titus Burke waited, his eyes peering with malicious cunning at Angus. “I won’t go ’way. I’ll hang around and torment ye…. I’m sick and ye got to take me in….” he said.

“Be still,” said Angus. He turned to Lydia and saw a face of anguish.

“Angus!” she cried.

“I should have known,” he said in a low voice. “I should have thought of—this…. I should have known….”

She covered her face with her hands to shut out the sight of the man—the father of the one she loved—who would become her own