The look was not lost upon Morty, who said, as he went down stairs, “There’s something beyond the common on my lord’s mind this day.  He was bad enough before; but now he looks like a man that has got the very heart within him broken.”

He met Dunroe in the hall, and delivered his message, but added,

“I think his lordship has had disagreeable tidin’s of some kind to-day, my lord.  I never saw him look so ill.  To tell you the truth, my lord, I think he has death in his face.”

“Well, Morty,” replied his lordship, adjusting his collar, “you know we must all die.  I cannot guess what unpleasant tidings he may have heard to-day; but I know that I have heard little else from him this many a day.  Tell Mr. Norton to see about the bills I gave him, and have them cashed as soon as possible.  If not, curse me, I’ll shy a decanter at his head after dinner.”

He then went rather reluctantly up stairs, and presented himself, in no very amiable temper, to his father.

Having taken a seat, he looked at the old man, and found his eyes fixed upon him with an expression of reproof, and at the same time the most profound affliction.

“Dunroe,” said the earl, “you did not call to inquire after me for the last two or three days.”

“I did not call, my lord, certainly; but, nevertheless, I inquired.  The fact is, I feel disinclined to be lectured at such a rate every time I come to see you.  As for Norton, I have already told you, with every respect for your opinion and authority, that you have taken an unfounded prejudice against him, and that I neither can nor will get rid of him, as you call it.  You surely would not expect me to act dishonorably, my lord.”

“I did not send for you now to speak about him, John.  I have a much more serious, and a much more distressing communication to make to you.”

The son opened his eyes, and stared at him.

“It may easily be so, my lord; but what is it?”

“Unfortunate young man, it is this—­You are cut off from the inheritance of my property and title.”

“Sickness, my lord, and peevishness, have impaired your intellects, I think.  What kind of language is this to hold to me, your son and heir?”

“My son, John, but not my heir.”

“Don’t you know, my lord, that what you say is impossible.  If I am your son, I am, of course, your heir.”

“No, John, for the simplest reason in the world.  At present you must rest contented with the fact which I announce to you—­for fact it is.  I have not now strength enough to detail it; but I shall when I feel that I am equal to it.  Indeed, I knew it not myself, with perfect certainty, until to-day.  Some vague suspicion I had of late, but the proofs that were laid before me, and laid before me in a generous and forbearing spirit, have now satisfied me that you have no claim, as I said, to either title or property.”

“Why, as I’ve life, my lord, this is mere dotage.  A foul conspiracy has been got up, and you yield to it without a struggle.  Do you think, whatever you may do, that I will bear this tamely?  I am aware that a conspiracy has been getting up, and I also have had my suspicions.”