“Have patience, Sir Thomas.  She took your little boy with no kind intention toward him:  her object was to leave you without a son; her object, in fact, was, at first, to murder him, in consequence of your want, as she thought, of all paternal affection for him she had just lost, and, in short, of your whole conduct toward her.  The mother’s instinct, however, proved stronger than her revenge.  She could not take away the child’s life for the thought of her own; but she privately placed him with an uncle of ours, a classical hedge-school-master, in a remote part of the kingdom, with whom he lived under a feigned name, and from whom he received a good education.”

“But where is he now?” asked the other.  “How does he live?  Why not bring him here?”

“He must first wait your pleasure, you know, Sir Thomas.  He’s in town, and has been in town for some time, a student in college.”

“That’s very good, indeed; we must have him out of college, though.  Poor Lucy will go distracted with joy, to know that she has now a brother.  Bring him here, Corbet; but stop, stay—­his appearance now—­let me see—­caution, Corbet—­caution.  We must look before us.  Miss Gourlay, you know, is about to be married.  Dunroe, I understand; he cares little or nothing personally about the girl—­it is her fortune, but principally her inheritance, he loves.  It is true, he doesn’t think that I even suspect this, much less feel certain of it.  How does the young fellow look, though?  Good looking—­eh?”

“Exceedingly like his father, sir; as you will admit on seeing him.”

“He must have changed considerably, then; for I remember he was supposed to bear a nearer resemblance to his mother and her family, the only thing which took him down a little in my affection.  But hold; hang it, I am disturbed more than I have been this long time.  What was I speaking of, Corbet?  I forgot—­by the way, I hope this is not a bad sign of my health.”

“You were talking of Dunroe, sir, and Miss Gourlay’s marriage.”

“Oh, yes, so I was.  Well—­yes—­here it is, Corbet—­is it not possible that the appearance of this young man at this particular crisis—­stepping in, as he does, between Dunroe and the very property his heart is set upon—­might knock the thing to pieces? and there is all that I have had my heart set upon for years—­that grand project of ambition for my daughter—­gone to the winds, and she must put up with some rascally commoner, after all.”

“It is certainly possible, sir; and, besides, every one knows that Lord Dunroe is needy, and wants money at present very much.”

“In any event, Corbet, it is our best policy to keep this discovery a profound secret till after the marriage, when it can’t affect Miss Gourlay, or Lady Dunroe as she will then be.”

“Indeed, I agree with you, Sir Thomas; but, in the meantime, you had better see your son; he is impatient to come to you and his sister.  It was only last night that the secret of his birth was made known to him.”