She looked at it and turned very white, but went on her guard directly.
“Sign such a wicked lie as that!” said she. “That I never will. You are his son, and Huntercombe shall be yours. She is an unnatural mother.”
“Gammon!” said Reginald. “You might as well say a fox is the son of a gander. Come now; I am not going to let you cut my throat with your tongue. Sign at once, or else come to her this moment and tell her so.”
“That I will,” said Mary Meyrick, “and give her my mind.”
This doughty resolution was a little shaken when she cast eyes upon Lady Bassett, and saw how wan and worn she looked.
She moderated her violence, and said, sullenly, “Sorry to gainsay you, my lady, and you so ill, but this is a paper I never can sign. It would rob him of Huntercombe. I'd sooner cut my hand off at the wrist.”
“Nonsense, Mary!” said Lady Bassett, contemptuously.
She then proceeded to reason with her, but it was no use. Mary would not listen to reason, and defied her at last in a loud voice.
“Very well,” said Lady Bassett. “Then since you will not do it my way, it shall be done another way. I shall put my confession in Sir Charles's hands, and insist on his dismissing him from the house, and you from your farm. It will kill me, and the money I intended for Reginald I shall leave to Compton.”
“These are idle words, my lady. You daren't.”