Volume Iii Part 7 (1/2)

So far from suspecting a communication of an unpleasant nature, young Lucius Haggard, his face wreathed in antic.i.p.atory smiles, was impatiently drumming upon the window-pane in the library with his finger-tips. It seemed to him that this formal interview with his mother and his father's executor could have but one object, namely, to announce to him that a suitable provision was to be made for the heir to the Pit Town t.i.tle during the short time that must necessarily elapse ere he should come into his heritage. But his antic.i.p.ations were considerably damped by Lord Spunyarn's first words. The elder man placed his hand affectionately upon the young fellow's shoulder.

”Lucius, my poor boy,” he said, ”prepare yourself for a surprise, and a great disappointment,” he added ominously.

The happy smile of antic.i.p.ation left the young fellow's face as he heard the words.

”Well, Lord Spunyarn,” he said, ”when my father cut me off without even the proverbial s.h.i.+lling, I thought he had done the worst he could for me.”

Lord Spunyarn took no notice of the remark.

”My poor fellow,” he said, ”steel yourself to hear what I have to tell you. I will tell you now,” he added, ”to spare your poor mother the pain and horror of having the sad story repeated in her presence. Lucius,” he said solemnly, ”you are no longer the heir to the Pit Town t.i.tle, and all that goes with it.”

”Good heavens!” cried the young man as he sank into a chair, ”it can't be true. Did Hetton contract a secret marriage, and is there a son? Does the old man know of it?”

”It isn't that, Lucius. Compose yourself,” Spunyarn added after a short pause, ”and listen to what I have to tell you. This thing concerns you and your brother only. Lucius, bear it like a man, but, my poor boy, you are illegitimate.”

”Did my mother dare----” he began, but Spunyarn stopped him with a gesture.

”Lucius,” he said severely, ”the lady who has allowed you to call her mother from the time you were a little child, did so out of kindness; speak no ill word of her, my boy, for to her you owe everything, to her love, and to her forbearance.”

”Great G.o.d! Lord Spunyarn, it can't be true, there is some base plot in the matter. Who is the heir, the man who calls himself the heir, I mean?” he asked fiercely, and he clenched his hands; and his eyes, Lucy Warrender's eyes, sparkled with mingled rage and hate. ”We shall contest the thing, of course?”

”The heir, Lucius, the rightful heir, is your brother George; he was born in wedlock, while you, alas, though your father's son, are----”

”Not base born; don't say that, Lord Spunyarn.”

But Spunyarn nodded sadly.

”I won't believe it, Lord Spunyarn,” almost shouted the young man with uncontrollable fury. ”Have you, my father and my mother, been hatching this infernal plot between you all these years? Can the dead man's hand strike me, even from beyond the grave? I won't believe it, it isn't true. I'll fight it in the Courts. What does Lord Pit Town say? Does he give a tacit consent to my undoing?”

”Pit Town as yet knows nothing. Lucius, try to be calm. Listen to me,”

and as gently as he could he broke to the indignant boy the dismal fact of his heritage of shame, that he was but Reginald Haggard's love-child after all.

”And my mother?” said the boy in a broken voice.

”No need to speak of her, Lucius; she is dead.”

”Have you the proofs, Lord Spunyarn, of all this?” said the boy more calmly, after he had listened to Spunyarn's narrative in silence. ”It'll have to be proved, you know, proved to the hilt; that at least is my right, and I'll not forego it.”

”Lucius, you have no rights.”

”I must see the proofs, at least.”

”Yes, you must see them, I suppose, but spare your mother, Lucius; she is broken down with grief and suffering.”

”Lord Spunyarn,” said the boy coldly, ”you say she is not my mother; why should I spare the feelings of my father's accomplice? Feelings forsooth;” and he laughed bitterly.

”Lucius, you are mad. Let me beseech you, as a gentleman, in the painful interview that must take place, to spare your father's widow as much as possible. Deal gently with her, boy; it is she who has been the victim in the whole matter.”

”Don't bandy words with me, Lord Spunyarn,” cried the young man, and for the moment the impetuous Reginald Haggard of bygone years seemed to stand before the astonished n.o.bleman in the very flesh. ”You tell me,”