"Yes," said the Earl. "he is like--my son--too." He put his hand up to his big white mustache and pulled it fiercely. "Do you know," he said, "why I have come here?""I have seen Mr. Havisham," Mrs. Errol began, "and he has told me of the claims which have been made----""I have come to tell you," said the Earl, "that they will be investigated and contested, if a contest can be made. I have come to tell you that the boy shall be defended with all the power of the law. His rights----"The soft voice interrupted him.
"He must have nothing that is NOT his by right, even if the law can give it to him," she said.
"Unfortunately the law can not," said the Earl. "If it could, it should. This outrageous woman and her child----""Perhaps she cares for him as much as I care for Cedric, my lord," said little Mrs. Errol. "And if she was your eldest son's wife,her son is Lord Fauntleroy, and mine is not."She was no more afraid of him than Cedric had been, and she looked at him just as Cedric would have looked, and he, having been an old tyrant all his life, was privately pleased by it.
People so seldom dared to differ from him that there was an entertaining novelty in it.
"I suppose," he said, scowling slightly, "that you would much prefer that he should not be the Earl of Dorincourt."Her fair young face flushed.
"It is a very magnificent thing to be the Earl of Dorincourt, my lord," she said. "I know that, but I care most that he should be what his father was--brave and just and true always.""In striking contrast to what his grandfather was, eh?" said his lordship sardonically.
"I have not had the pleasure of knowing his grandfather,"replied Mrs. Errol, "but I know my little boy believes----" She stopped short a moment, looking quietly into his face, and then she added, "I know that Cedric loves you.""Would he have loved me," said the Earl dryly, "if you had told him why I did not receive you at the Castle?""No," answered Mrs. Errol, "I think not. That was why I did not wish him to know.""Well," said my lord brusquely, "there are few women who would not have told him."He suddenly began to walk up and down the room, pulling his great mustache more violently than ever.
"Yes, he is fond of me," he said, "and I am fond of him. Ican't say I ever was fond of anything before. I am fond of him.
He pleased me from the first. I am an old man, and was tired of my life. He has given me something to live for. I am proud of him. I was satisfied to think of his taking his place some day as the head of the family."He came back and stood before Mrs. Errol.
"I am miserable," he said. "Miserable!"
He looked as if he was. Even his pride could not keep his voice steady or his hands from shaking. For a moment it almost seemed as if his deep, fierce eyes had tears in them. "Perhaps it is because I am miserable that I have come to you," he said, quite glaring down at her. "I used to hate you; I have been jealous of you. This wretched, disgraceful business has changed that.
After seeing that repulsive woman who calls herself the wife of my son Bevis, I actually felt it would be a relief to look at you. I have been an obstinate old fool, and I suppose I have treated you badly. You are like the boy, and the boy is the first object in my life. I am miserable, and I came to you merely because you are like the boy, and he cares for you, and Icare for him. Treat me as well as you can, for the boy's sake."He said it all in his harsh voice, and almost roughly, but somehow he seemed so broken down for the time that Mrs. Errol was touched to the heart. She got up and moved an arm-chair a little forward.
"I wish you would sit down," she said in a soft, pretty, sympathetic way. "You have been so much troubled that you are very tired, and you need all your strength."It was just as new to him to be spoken to and cared for in that gentle, simple way as it was to be contradicted. He was reminded of "the boy" again, and he actually did as she asked him.
Perhaps his disappointment and wretchedness were good discipline for him; if he had not been wretched he might have continued to hate her, but just at present he found her a little soothing.
Almost anything would have seemed pleasant by contrast with Lady Fauntleroy; and this one had so sweet a face and voice, and a pretty dignity when she spoke or moved. Very soon, through the quiet magic of these influences, he began to feel less gloomy, and then he talked still more.
"Whatever happens," he said, "the boy shall be provided for.
He shall be taken care of, now and in the future."Before he went away, he glanced around the room.
"Do you like the house?" he demanded.
"Very much," she answered.
"This is a cheerful room," he said. "May I come here again and talk this matter over?""As often as you wish, my lord," she replied.
And then he went out to his carriage and drove away, Thomas and Henry almost stricken dumb upon the box at the turn affairs had taken.
