Felix Holt, the Radical

  CHAPTER XLVIII.

  'Tis law as steadfast as the throne of Zeus-- Our days are heritors of days gone by.

  AESCHYLUS: _Agamemnon_.

  A little after five o'clock that day, Harold arrived at Transome Court.As he was winding along the broad road of the park, some parting gleamsof the March sun pierced the trees here and there, and threw on thegrass a long shadow of himself and the groom riding, and illuminated awindow or two of the home he was approaching. But the bitterness in hismind made these sunny gleams almost as odious as an artificial smile. Hewished he had never come back to this pale English sunshine.

  In the course of his eighteen miles' drive he had made up his mind whathe would do. He understood now, as he had never understood before, theneglected solitariness of his mother's life, the allusions andinnuendoes which had come out during the election. But with a proudinsurrection against the hardship of an ignominy which was not of hisown making, he inwardly said, that if the circumstances of his birthwere such as to warrant any man in regarding his character of gentlemanwith ready suspicion, that character should be the more stronglyasserted in his conduct. No one should be able to allege with any showof proof that he had inherited meanness.

  As he stepped from the carriage and entered the hall, there were thevoice and the trotting feet of little Harry as usual, and the rush toclasp his father's leg and make his joyful puppy-like noises. Haroldjust touched the boy's head, and then said to Dominic in a weary voice--

  "Take the child away. Ask where my mother is."

  Mrs. Transome, Dominic said, was up-stairs. He had seen her go up aftercoming in from her walk with Miss Lyon, and she had not come down again.

  Harold throwing off his hat and greatcoat, went straight to his mother'sdressing-room. There was still a hope in his mind. He might be sufferingsimply from a lie. There is much misery created in the world by meremistake or slander, and he might have been stunned by a lie suggested bysuch slander. He rapped at his mother's door.

  Her voice said immediately, "Come in."

  Mrs. Transome was resting in her easy-chair, as she often did between anafternoon walk and dinner. She had taken off her walking-dress andwrapped herself in a soft dressing-gown. She was neither more nor lessempty of joy than usual. But when she saw Harold, a dreadful certaintytook possession of her. It was as if a long expected letter, with ablack seal, had come at last.

  Harold's face told her what to fear the more decisively, because she hadnever before seen it express a man's deep agitation. Since the time ofits pouting childhood and careless youth she had seen only the confidentstrength and good-humored imperiousness of maturity. The last five hourshad made a change as great as illness makes. Harold looked as if he hadbeen wrestling, and had had some terrible blow. His eyes had that sunkenlook which, because it is unusual, seems to intensify expression.

  He looked at his mother as he entered, and her eyes followed him as hemoved, till he came and stood in front of her, she looking up at him,with white lips.

  "Mother," he said, speaking with a distinct slowness, in strangecontrast with his habitual manner, "tell me the truth, that I may knowhow to act."

  He paused a moment, and then said, "Who is my father?"

  She was mute: her lips only trembled. Harold stood silent for a fewmoments, as if waiting. Then he spoke again.

  "_He_ has said--said it before others--that _he_ is my father."

  He looked still at his mother. She seemed as if age were striking herwith a sudden wand--as if her trembling face were getting haggard beforehim. She was mute. But her eyes had not fallen; they looked up inhelpless misery at her son.

  Her son turned away his eyes from her, and left her. In that momentHarold felt hard: he could show no pity. All the pride of his naturerebelled against his sonship.