X
The truth was that Mrs. Errol had found a great many sad things in thecourse of her work among the poor of the little village that appeared sopicturesque when it was seen from the moor-sides. Everything was not aspicturesque, when seen near by, as it looked from a distance. She hadfound idleness and poverty and ignorance where there should have beencomfort and industry. And she had discovered, after a while, thatErleboro was considered to be the worst village in that part of thecountry. Mr. Mordaunt had told her a great many of his difficultiesand discouragements, and she had found out a great deal by herself. Theagents who had managed the property had always been chosen to please theEarl, and had cared nothing for the degradation and wretchedness of thepoor tenants. Many things, therefore, had been neglected which shouldhave been attended to, and matters had gone from bad to worse.
As to Earl's Court, it was a disgrace, with its dilapidated houses andmiserable, careless, sickly people. When first Mrs. Errol went to theplace, it made her shudder. Such ugliness and slovenliness and wantseemed worse in a country place than in a city. It seemed as if there itmight be helped. And as she looked at the squalid, uncared-for childrengrowing up in the midst of vice and brutal indifference, she thoughtof her own little boy spending his days in the great, splendid castle,guarded and served like a young prince, having no wish ungratified, andknowing nothing but luxury and ease and beauty. And a bold thought camein her wise little mother-heart. Gradually she had begun to see, as hadothers, that it had been her boy's good fortune to please the Earl verymuch, and that he would scarcely be likely to be denied anything forwhich he expressed a desire.
"The Earl would give him anything," she said to Mr. Mordaunt. "He wouldindulge his every whim. Why should not that indulgence be used for thegood of others? It is for me to see that this shall come to pass."
She knew she could trust the kind, childish heart; so she told thelittle fellow the story of Earl's Court, feeling sure that he wouldspeak of it to his grandfather, and hoping that some good results wouldfollow.
And strange as it appeared to every one, good results did follow.
The fact was that the strongest power to influence the Earl was hisgrandson's perfect confidence in him--the fact that Cedric alwaysbelieved that his grandfather was going to do what was right andgenerous. He could not quite make up his mind to let him discover thathe had no inclination to be generous at all, and that he wanted hisown way on all occasions, whether it was right or wrong. It was sucha novelty to be regarded with admiration as a benefactor of the entirehuman race, and the soul of nobility, that he did not enjoy the idea oflooking into the affectionate brown eyes, and saying: "I am a violent,selfish old rascal; I never did a generous thing in my life, and I don'tcare about Earl's Court or the poor people"--or something which wouldamount to the same thing. He actually had learned to be fond enoughof that small boy with the mop of yellow love-locks, to feel that hehimself would prefer to be guilty of an amiable action now and then.And so--though he laughed at himself--after some reflection, he sent forNewick, and had quite a long interview with him on the subject of theCourt, and it was decided that the wretched hovels should be pulled downand new houses should be built.
"It is Lord Fauntleroy who insists on it," he said dryly; "he thinks itwill improve the property. You can tell the tenants that it's hisidea." And he looked down at his small lordship, who was lying on thehearth-rug playing with Dougal. The great dog was the lad's constantcompanion, and followed him about everywhere, stalking solemnly afterhim when he walked, and trotting majestically behind when he rode ordrove.
Of course, both the country people and the town people heard of theproposed improvement. At first, many of them would not believe it; butwhen a small army of workmen arrived and commenced pulling down thecrazy, squalid cottages, people began to understand that little LordFauntleroy had done them a good turn again, and that through hisinnocent interference the scandal of Earl's Court had at last beenremoved. If he had only known how they talked about him and praised himeverywhere, and prophesied great things for him when he grew up, howastonished he would have been! But he never suspected it. He lived hissimple, happy, child life,--frolicking about in the park; chasing therabbits to their burrows; lying under the trees on the grass, or onthe rug in the library, reading wonderful books and talking to the Earlabout them, and then telling the stories again to his mother; writinglong letters to Dick and Mr. Hobbs, who responded in characteristicfashion; riding out at his grandfather's side, or with Wilkins asescort. As they rode through the market town, he used to see the peopleturn and look, and he noticed that as they lifted their hats theirfaces often brightened very much; but he thought it was all because hisgrandfather was with him.
"They are so fond of you," he once said, looking up at his lordship witha bright smile. "Do you see how glad they are when they see you? I hopethey will some day be as fond of me. It must be nice to have EVERYbodylike you." And he felt quite proud to be the grandson of so greatlyadmired and beloved an individual.
When the cottages were being built, the lad and his grandfather used toride over to Earl's Court together to look at them, and Fauntleroywas full of interest. He would dismount from his pony and go and makeacquaintance with the workmen, asking them questions about building andbricklaying, and telling them things about America. After two or threesuch conversations, he was able to enlighten the Earl on the subject ofbrick-making, as they rode home.
"I always like to know about things like those," he said, "because younever know what you are coming to."
When he left them, the workmen used to talk him over among themselves,and laugh at his odd, innocent speeches; but they liked him, andliked to see him stand among them, talking away, with his hands in hispockets, his hat pushed back on his curls, and his small face fullof eagerness. "He's a rare un," they used to say. "An' a noice littleoutspoken chap, too. Not much o' th' bad stock in him." And they wouldgo home and tell their wives about him, and the women would tell eachother, and so it came about that almost every one talked of, or knewsome story of, little Lord Fauntleroy; and gradually almost everyone knew that the "wicked Earl" had found something he cared for atlast--something which had touched and even warmed his hard, bitter oldheart.
But no one knew quite how much it had been warmed, and how day by daythe old man found himself caring more and more for the child, who wasthe only creature that had ever trusted him. He found himself lookingforward to the time when Cedric would be a young man, strong andbeautiful, with life all before him, but having still that kind heartand the power to make friends everywhere, and the Earl wondered what thelad would do, and how he would use his gifts. Often as he watched thelittle fellow lying upon the hearth, conning some big book, the lightshining on the bright young head, his old eyes would gleam and his cheekwould flush.
"The boy can do anything," he would say to himself, "anything!"
He never spoke to any one else of his feeling for Cedric; when he spokeof him to others it was always with the same grim smile. But Fauntleroysoon knew that his grandfather loved him and always liked him to benear--near to his chair if they were in the library, opposite to him attable, or by his side when he rode or drove or took his evening walk onthe broad terrace.
"Do you remember," Cedric said once, looking up from his book as he layon the rug, "do you remember what I said to you that first night aboutour being good companions? I don't think any people could be bettercompanions than we are, do you?"
"We are pretty good companions, I should say," replied his lordship."Come here."
Fauntleroy scrambled up and went to him.
"Is there anything you want," the Earl asked; "anything you have not?"
The little fellow's brown eyes fixed themselves on his grandfather witha rather wistful look.
"Only one thing," he answered.
"What is that?" inquired the Earl.
Fauntleroy was silent a second. He had not thought matters over tohimself so long for nothing.
"What is it?" my
lord repeated.
Fauntleroy answered.
"It is Dearest," he said.
The old Earl winced a little.
"But you see her almost every day," he said. "Is not that enough?"
"I used to see her all the time," said Fauntleroy. "She used to kiss mewhen I went to sleep at night, and in the morning she was always there,and we could tell each other things without waiting."
The old eyes and the young ones looked into each other through a momentof silence. Then the Earl knitted his brows.
"Do you NEVER forget about your mother?" he said.
"No," answered Fauntleroy, "never; and she never forgets about me.I shouldn't forget about YOU, you know, if I didn't live with you. Ishould think about you all the more."
"Upon my word," said the Earl, after looking at him a moment longer, "Ibelieve you would!"
The jealous pang that came when the boy spoke so of his mother seemedeven stronger than it had been before; it was stronger because of thisold man's increasing affection for the boy.
But it was not long before he had other pangs, so much harder to facethat he almost forgot, for the time, he had ever hated his son's wife atall. And in a strange and startling way it happened. One evening, justbefore the Earl's Court cottages were completed, there was a granddinner party at Dorincourt. There had not been such a party at theCastle for a long time. A few days before it took place, Sir HarryLorridaile and Lady Lorridaile, who was the Earl's only sister, actuallycame for a visit--a thing which caused the greatest excitement in thevillage and set Mrs. Dibble's shop-bell tinkling madly again, becauseit was well known that Lady Lorridaile had only been to Dorincourt oncesince her marriage, thirty-five years before. She was a handsome oldlady with white curls and dimpled, peachy cheeks, and she was as goodas gold, but she had never approved of her brother any more than did therest of the world, and having a strong will of her own and not beingat all afraid to speak her mind frankly, she had, after several livelyquarrels with his lordship, seen very little of him since her youngdays.
She had heard a great deal of him that was not pleasant through theyears in which they had been separated. She had heard about his neglectof his wife, and of the poor lady's death; and of his indifference tohis children; and of the two weak, vicious, unprepossessing elder boyswho had been no credit to him or to any one else. Those two eldersons, Bevis and Maurice, she had never seen; but once there had come toLorridaile Park a tall, stalwart, beautiful young fellow about eighteenyears old, who had told her that he was her nephew Cedric Errol, andthat he had come to see her because he was passing near the place andwished to look at his Aunt Constantia of whom he had heard his motherspeak. Lady Lorridaile's kind heart had warmed through and through atthe sight of the young man, and she had made him stay with her a week,and petted him, and made much of him and admired him immensely. He wasso sweet-tempered, light-hearted, spirited a lad, that when he wentaway, she had hoped to see him often again; but she never did, becausethe Earl had been in a bad humor when he went back to Dorincourt,and had forbidden him ever to go to Lorridaile Park again. But LadyLorridaile had always remembered him tenderly, and though she feared hehad made a rash marriage in America, she had been very angry when sheheard how he had been cast off by his father and that no one really knewwhere or how he lived. At last there came a rumor of his death, and thenBevis had been thrown from his horse and killed, and Maurice had died inRome of the fever; and soon after came the story of the American childwho was to be found and brought home as Lord Fauntleroy.
"Probably to be ruined as the others were," she said to her husband,"unless his mother is good enough and has a will of her own to help herto take care of him."
But when she heard that Cedric's mother had been parted from him she wasalmost too indignant for words.
"It is disgraceful, Harry!" she said. "Fancy a child of that age beingtaken from his mother, and made the companion of a man like my brother!He will either be brutal to the boy or indulge him until he is a littlemonster. If I thought it would do any good to write----"
"It wouldn't, Constantia," said Sir Harry.
"I know it wouldn't," she answered. "I know his lordship the Earl ofDorincourt too well;--but it is outrageous."
Not only the poor people and farmers heard about little Lord Fauntleroy;others knew him. He was talked about so much and there were so manystories of him--of his beauty, his sweet temper, his popularity, andhis growing influence over the Earl, his grandfather--that rumors of himreached the gentry at their country places and he was heard of inmore than one county of England. People talked about him at the dinnertables, ladies pitied his young mother, and wondered if the boy were ashandsome as he was said to be, and men who knew the Earl and his habitslaughed heartily at the stories of the little fellow's belief in hislordship's amiability. Sir Thomas Asshe of Asshawe Hall, being inErleboro one day, met the Earl and his grandson riding together, andstopped to shake hands with my lord and congratulate him on his changeof looks and on his recovery from the gout. "And, d' ye know," he said,when he spoke of the incident afterward, "the old man looked as proud asa turkey-cock; and upon my word I don't wonder, for a handsomer, finerlad than his grandson I never saw! As straight as a dart, and sat hispony like a young trooper!"
And so by degrees Lady Lorridaile, too, heard of the child; she heardabout Higgins and the lame boy, and the cottages at Earl's Court, and ascore of other things,--and she began to wish to see the little fellow.And just as she was wondering how it might be brought about, to herutter astonishment, she received a letter from her brother inviting herto come with her husband to Dorincourt.
"It seems incredible!" she exclaimed. "I have heard it said that thechild has worked miracles, and I begin to believe it. They say mybrother adores the boy and can scarcely endure to have him out of sight.And he is so proud of him! Actually, I believe he wants to show him tous." And she accepted the invitation at once.
When she reached Dorincourt Castle with Sir Harry, it was late in theafternoon, and she went to her room at once before seeing her brother.Having dressed for dinner, she entered the drawing-room. The Earl wasthere standing near the fire and looking very tall and imposing; and athis side stood a little boy in black velvet, and a large Vandyke collarof rich lace--a little fellow whose round bright face was so handsome,and who turned upon her such beautiful, candid brown eyes, that shealmost uttered an exclamation of pleasure and surprise at the sight.
As she shook hands with the Earl, she called him by the name she had notused since her girlhood.
"What, Molyneux!" she said, "is this the child?"
"Yes, Constantia," answered the Earl, "this is the boy. Fauntleroy, thisis your grand-aunt, Lady Lorridaile."
"How do you do, Grand-Aunt?" said Fauntleroy.
Lady Lorridaile put her hand on his shoulders, and after looking downinto his upraised face a few seconds, kissed him warmly.
"I am your Aunt Constantia," she said, "and I loved your poor papa, andyou are very like him."
"It makes me glad when I am told I am like him," answered Fauntleroy,"because it seems as if every one liked him,--just like Dearest,eszackly,--Aunt Constantia" (adding the two words after a second'spause).
Lady Lorridaile was delighted. She bent and kissed him again, and fromthat moment they were warm friends.
"Well, Molyneux," she said aside to the Earl afterward, "it could notpossibly be better than this!"
"I think not," answered his lordship dryly. "He is a fine littlefellow. We are great friends. He believes me to be the most charmingand sweet-tempered of philanthropists. I will confess to you,Constantia,--as you would find it out if I did not,--that I am in someslight danger of becoming rather an old fool about him."
"What does his mother think of you?" asked Lady Lorridaile, with herusual straightforwardness.
"I have not asked her," answered the Earl, slightly scowling.
"Well," said Lady Lorridaile, "I will be frank with you at the outset,Molyneux, and tell you I don't approve of your co
urse, and that it is myintention to call on Mrs. Errol as soon as possible; so if you wish toquarrel with me, you had better mention it at once. What I hear of theyoung creature makes me quite sure that her child owes her everything.We were told even at Lorridaile Park that your poorer tenants adore heralready."
"They adore HIM," said the Earl, nodding toward Fauntleroy. "As to Mrs.Errol, you'll find her a pretty little woman. I'm rather in debt to herfor giving some of her beauty to the boy, and you can go to see her ifyou like. All I ask is that she will remain at Court Lodge and that youwill not ask me to go and see her," and he scowled a little again.
"But he doesn't hate her as much as he used to, that is plain enough tome," her ladyship said to Sir Harry afterward. "And he is a changed manin a measure, and, incredible as it may seem, Harry, it is my opinionthat he is being made into a human being, through nothing more nor lessthan his affection for that innocent, affectionate little fellow. Why,the child actually loves him--leans on his chair and against his knee.His own children would as soon have thought of nestling up to a tiger."
The very next day she went to call upon Mrs. Errol. When she returned,she said to her brother:
"Molyneux, she is the loveliest little woman I ever saw! She has a voicelike a silver bell, and you may thank her for making the boy what he is.She has given him more than her beauty, and you make a great mistake innot persuading her to come and take charge of you. I shall invite her toLorridaile."
"She'll not leave the boy," replied the Earl.
"I must have the boy too," said Lady Lorridaile, laughing.
But she knew Fauntleroy would not be given up to her, and each day shesaw more clearly how closely those two had grown to each other, andhow all the proud, grim old man's ambition and hope and love centeredthemselves in the child, and how the warm, innocent nature returned hisaffection with most perfect trust and good faith.
She knew, too, that the prime reason for the great dinner party was theEarl's secret desire to show the world his grandson and heir, and to letpeople see that the boy who had been so much spoken of and described waseven a finer little specimen of boyhood than rumor had made him.
"Bevis and Maurice were such a bitter humiliation to him," she said toher husband. "Every one knew it. He actually hated them. His pridehas full sway here." Perhaps there was not one person who accepted theinvitation without feeling some curiosity about little Lord Fauntleroy,and wondering if he would be on view.
And when the time came he was on view.
"The lad has good manners," said the Earl. "He will be in no one'sway. Children are usually idiots or bores,--mine were both,--but he canactually answer when he's spoken to, and be silent when he is not. He isnever offensive."
But he was not allowed to be silent very long. Every one had somethingto say to him. The fact was they wished to make him talk. The ladiespetted him and asked him questions, and the men asked him questions too,and joked with him, as the men on the steamer had done when he crossedthe Atlantic. Fauntleroy did not quite understand why they laughed sosometimes when he answered them, but he was so used to seeing peopleamused when he was quite serious, that he did not mind. He thought thewhole evening delightful. The magnificent rooms were so brilliant withlights, there were so many flowers, the gentlemen seemed so gay, andthe ladies wore such beautiful, wonderful dresses, and such sparklingornaments in their hair and on their necks. There was one young ladywho, he heard them say, had just come down from London, where she hadspent the "season"; and she was so charming that he could not keep hiseyes from her. She was a rather tall young lady with a proud littlehead, and very soft dark hair, and large eyes the color of purplepansies, and the color on her cheeks and lips was like that of a rose.She was dressed in a beautiful white dress, and had pearls around herthroat. There was one strange thing about this young lady. So manygentlemen stood near her, and seemed anxious to please her, thatFauntleroy thought she must be something like a princess. He was so muchinterested in her that without knowing it he drew nearer and nearer toher, and at last she turned and spoke to him.
"Come here, Lord Fauntleroy," she said, smiling; "and tell me why youlook at me so."
"I was thinking how beautiful you are," his young lordship replied.
Then all the gentlemen laughed outright, and the young lady laughed alittle too, and the rose color in her cheeks brightened.
"Ah, Fauntleroy," said one of the gentlemen who had laughed mostheartily, "make the most of your time! When you are older you will nothave the courage to say that."
"But nobody could help saying it," said Fauntleroy sweetly. "Could youhelp it? Don't YOU think she is pretty, too?"
"We are not allowed to say what we think," said the gentleman, while therest laughed more than ever.
But the beautiful young lady--her name was Miss Vivian Herbert--put outher hand and drew Cedric to her side, looking prettier than before, ifpossible.
"Lord Fauntleroy shall say what he thinks," she said; "and I am muchobliged to him. I am sure he thinks what he says." And she kissed him onhis cheek.
"I think you are prettier than any one I ever saw," said Fauntleroy,looking at her with innocent, admiring eyes, "except Dearest. Of course,I couldn't think any one QUITE as pretty as Dearest. I think she is theprettiest person in the world."
"I am sure she is," said Miss Vivian Herbert. And she laughed and kissedhis cheek again.
She kept him by her side a great part of the evening, and the groupof which they were the center was very gay. He did not know how ithappened, but before long he was telling them all about America, andthe Republican Rally, and Mr. Hobbs and Dick, and in the end heproudly produced from his pocket Dick's parting gift,--the red silkhandkerchief.
"I put it in my pocket to-night because it was a party," he said. "Ithought Dick would like me to wear it at a party."
And queer as the big, flaming, spotted thing was, there was a serious,affectionate look in his eyes, which prevented his audience fromlaughing very much.
"You see, I like it," he said, "because Dick is my friend."
But though he was talked to so much, as the Earl had said, he was in noone's way. He could be quiet and listen when others talked, and so noone found him tiresome. A slight smile crossed more than one face whenseveral times he went and stood near his grandfather's chair, or sat ona stool close to him, watching him and absorbing every word he utteredwith the most charmed interest. Once he stood so near the chair's armthat his cheek touched the Earl's shoulder, and his lordship, detectingthe general smile, smiled a little himself. He knew what the lookers-onwere thinking, and he felt some secret amusement in their seeing whatgood friends he was with this youngster, who might have been expected toshare the popular opinion of him.
Mr. Havisham had been expected to arrive in the afternoon, but, strangeto say, he was late. Such a thing had really never been known to happenbefore during all the years in which he had been a visitor at DorincourtCastle. He was so late that the guests were on the point of rising togo in to dinner when he arrived. When he approached his host, the Earlregarded him with amazement. He looked as if he had been hurried oragitated; his dry, keen old face was actually pale.
"I was detained," he said, in a low voice to the Earl, "by--anextraordinary event."
It was as unlike the methodic old lawyer to be agitated by anything asit was to be late, but it was evident that he had been disturbed. Atdinner he ate scarcely anything, and two or three times, when he wasspoken to, he started as if his thoughts were far away. At dessert,when Fauntleroy came in, he looked at him more than once, nervouslyand uneasily. Fauntleroy noted the look and wondered at it. He and Mr.Havisham were on friendly terms, and they usually exchanged smiles. Thelawyer seemed to have forgotten to smile that evening.
The fact was, he forgot everything but the strange and painful news heknew he must tell the Earl before the night was over--the strange newswhich he knew would be so terrible a shock, and which would change theface of everything. As he looked about at the splendid rooms an
d thebrilliant company,--at the people gathered together, he knew, more thatthey might see the bright-haired little fellow near the Earl's chairthan for any other reason,--as he looked at the proud old man and atlittle Lord Fauntleroy smiling at his side, he really felt quite shaken,notwithstanding that he was a hardened old lawyer. What a blow it wasthat he must deal them!
He did not exactly know how the long, superb dinner ended. He satthrough it as if he were in a dream, and several times he saw the Earlglance at him in surprise.
But it was over at last, and the gentlemen joined the ladies in thedrawing-room. They found Fauntleroy sitting on the sofa with Miss VivianHerbert,--the great beauty of the last London season; they had beenlooking at some pictures, and he was thanking his companion as the dooropened.
"I'm ever so much obliged to you for being so kind to me!" he wassaying; "I never was at a party before, and I've enjoyed myself somuch!"
He had enjoyed himself so much that when the gentlemen gathered aboutMiss Herbert again and began to talk to her, as he listened and triedto understand their laughing speeches, his eyelids began to droop. Theydrooped until they covered his eyes two or three times, and then thesound of Miss Herbert's low, pretty laugh would bring him back, and hewould open them again for about two seconds. He was quite sure he wasnot going to sleep, but there was a large, yellow satin cushion behindhim and his head sank against it, and after a while his eyelids droopedfor the last time. They did not even quite open when, as it seemed along time after, some one kissed him lightly on the cheek. It was MissVivian Herbert, who was going away, and she spoke to him softly.
"Good-night, little Lord Fauntleroy," she said. "Sleep well."
And in the morning he did not know that he had tried to open his eyesand had murmured sleepily, "Good-night--I'm so--glad--I saw you--you areso--pretty----"
He only had a very faint recollection of hearing the gentlemen laughagain and of wondering why they did it.
No sooner had the last guest left the room, than Mr. Havisham turnedfrom his place by the fire, and stepped nearer the sofa, where he stoodlooking down at the sleeping occupant. Little Lord Fauntleroy was takinghis ease luxuriously. One leg crossed the other and swung over the edgeof the sofa; one arm was flung easily above his head; the warm flushof healthful, happy, childish sleep was on his quiet face; his wavingtangle of bright hair strayed over the yellow satin cushion. He made apicture well worth looking at.
As Mr. Havisham looked at it, he put his hand up and rubbed his shavenchin, with a harassed countenance.
"Well, Havisham," said the Earl's harsh voice behind him. "What is it?It is evident something has happened. What was the extraordinary event,if I may ask?"
Mr. Havisham turned from the sofa, still rubbing his chin.
"It was bad news," he answered, "distressing news, my lord--the worst ofnews. I am sorry to be the bearer of it."
The Earl had been uneasy for some time during the evening, as he glancedat Mr. Havisham, and when he was uneasy he was always ill-tempered.
"Why do you look so at the boy!" he exclaimed irritably. "You have beenlooking at him all the evening as if--See here now, why should you lookat the boy, Havisham, and hang over him like some bird of ill-omen! Whathas your news to do with Lord Fauntleroy?"
"My lord," said Mr. Havisham, "I will waste no words. My news haseverything to do with Lord Fauntleroy. And if we are to believe it--itis not Lord Fauntleroy who lies sleeping before us, but only the son ofCaptain Errol. And the present Lord Fauntleroy is the son of your sonBevis, and is at this moment in a lodging-house in London."
The Earl clutched the arms of his chair with both his hands until theveins stood out upon them; the veins stood out on his forehead too; hisfierce old face was almost livid.
"What do you mean!" he cried out. "You are mad! Whose lie is this?"
"If it is a lie," answered Mr. Havisham, "it is painfully like thetruth. A woman came to my chambers this morning. She said your sonBevis married her six years ago in London. She showed me her marriagecertificate. They quarrelled a year after the marriage, and he paid herto keep away from him. She has a son five years old. She is an Americanof the lower classes,--an ignorant person,--and until lately she did notfully understand what her son could claim. She consulted a lawyer andfound out that the boy was really Lord Fauntleroy and the heir to theearldom of Dorincourt; and she, of course, insists on his claims beingacknowledged."
There was a movement of the curly head on the yellow satin cushion. Asoft, long, sleepy sigh came from the parted lips, and the little boystirred in his sleep, but not at all restlessly or uneasily. Not at allas if his slumber were disturbed by the fact that he was being proveda small impostor and that he was not Lord Fauntleroy at all and neverwould be the Earl of Dorincourt. He only turned his rosy face more onits side, as if to enable the old man who stared at it so solemnly tosee it better.
The handsome, grim old face was ghastly. A bitter smile fixed itselfupon it.
"I should refuse to believe a word of it," he said, "if it were not sucha low, scoundrelly piece of business that it becomes quite possible inconnection with the name of my son Bevis. It is quite like Bevis. He wasalways a disgrace to us. Always a weak, untruthful, vicious young brutewith low tastes--my son and heir, Bevis, Lord Fauntleroy. The woman isan ignorant, vulgar person, you say?"
"I am obliged to admit that she can scarcely spell her own name,"answered the lawyer. "She is absolutely uneducated and openly mercenary.She cares for nothing but the money. She is very handsome in a coarseway, but----"
The fastidious old lawyer ceased speaking and gave a sort of shudder.
The veins on the old Earl's forehead stood out like purple cords.
Something else stood out upon it too--cold drops of moisture. He tookout his handkerchief and swept them away. His smile grew even morebitter.
"And I," he said, "I objected to--to the other woman, the mother ofthis child" (pointing to the sleeping form on the sofa); "I refused torecognize her. And yet she could spell her own name. I suppose this isretribution."
Suddenly he sprang up from his chair and began to walk up and down theroom. Fierce and terrible words poured forth from his lips. His rage andhatred and cruel disappointment shook him as a storm shakes a tree. Hisviolence was something dreadful to see, and yet Mr. Havisham noticedthat at the very worst of his wrath he never seemed to forget the littlesleeping figure on the yellow satin cushion, and that he never oncespoke loud enough to awaken it.
"I might have known it," he said. "They were a disgrace to me from theirfirst hour! I hated them both; and they hated me! Bevis was the worse ofthe two. I will not believe this yet, though! I will contend against itto the last. But it is like Bevis--it is like him!"
And then he raged again and asked questions about the woman, about herproofs, and pacing the room, turned first white and then purple in hisrepressed fury.
When at last he had learned all there was to be told, and knew theworst, Mr. Havisham looked at him with a feeling of anxiety. He lookedbroken and haggard and changed. His rages had always been bad forhim, but this one had been worse than the rest because there had beensomething more than rage in it.
He came slowly back to the sofa, at last, and stood near it.
"If any one had told me I could be fond of a child," he said, his harshvoice low and unsteady, "I should not have believed them. I alwaysdetested children--my own more than the rest. I am fond of this one; heis fond of me" (with a bitter smile). "I am not popular; I never was.But he is fond of me. He never was afraid of me--he always trusted me.He would have filled my place better than I have filled it. I know that.He would have been an honor to the name."
He bent down and stood a minute or so looking at the happy, sleepingface. His shaggy eyebrows were knitted fiercely, and yet somehow he didnot seem fierce at all. He put up his hand, pushed the bright hair backfrom the forehead, and then turned away and rang the bell.
When the largest footman appeared, he pointed to the sofa.
"Ta
ke"--he said, and then his voice changed a little--"take LordFauntleroy to his room."