Bingle, his voice a trifle shrill and uncertain. He did
not take his gaze from the face of his visitor. "It now seems quite
natural to me."
"Nonsense! The child had no means of knowing or even suspecting that
I--"
"She had a birthright, Force. You can't take that away from her. The
hatred for her father was born in her. God wouldn't let her hate the
wrong man, you know."
Force got up from the chair, tremendously moved all of a sudden. A
piteous, pleading look came into his eyes, and his face, once
arrogant, was now haggard with despair.
"Bingle, I--I want you to help me. For God's sake, do what you can for
me. Put into practice your beautiful Christmas Carol teachings. I--I
want her. She must be made to understand that I love her, she must be
made to feel that she is everything in the world to me. She looks like
her mother. I thought it was fancy on my part, but now I know. Good
God, little did I know where fate was going to lead me when I employed
those fellows to find the child of Agnes Glenn. Little did I know that
it would lead me to your door, Bingle.
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