Of all the contingencies which had occurred to me, this was one which I had not considered, for only once since I had been its occupant had Sir Francis called at the cottage. But his greeting was even a greater surprise to me.
"Hugh, my boy," he said, rising and holding out his hand, "I have come down to have a chat with you, and Miss Marian has been giving me some tea."
Something in his look, his accent, and his words warned me that the battle of last night would have to be fought over again. But for a while he talked of nothing, save of last night's strange adventure and minor matters connected with the estate, of the turnip prospects, and the timber felling, until Marian left us to change her frock. Then, after opening the door for her with his usual stately courtesy, he returned to the hearthrug, and with the firelight playing round his tall, slim figure, and with a soft, almost appealing light relaxing the hard lines in his face, he commenced speaking.
"Hugh," he said, slowly, "they call me a proud man, but I have come here to beg a great boon from you. Nay, let me go on," for I would have interrupted him. "Let me say outright what I have come to say," he continued, stretching out his hands as though to silence me. "I want to tell you a little of my history.
"You know, perhaps, that I was married twice. To you I do not mind admitting that my last marriage was an unfortunate one. Your grandmother was the only woman I ever loved, and it was her son who took her place in my heart—not Rupert's mother, much less Rupert himself. Perhaps I am much to blame, but none the less it is a fact that the death of my second wife gave me little sorrow, and I have never been able to feel towards Rupert as a father should feel towards his son. And since that day when I knew that it was his evidence (although he was right to give it) which had brought irretrievable disgrace upon the name of Devereux, I have never been able—I say it to my shame—I have never been able to bear the sight of him."
Sir Francis walked restlessly to the other end of the room, and then, returning, took up his old position.
"For twenty years, Hugh, I have been a lonely, unhappy man. Gradually I began to lose all pride and interest in our family name, and even the Court itself, every stone of which was once dear to me. Everything that had made life endurable for me and pleasant had gone. My pride in, and love for, my son who had gone away with my blessing to be where a Devereux should always be, in his country's battles, was suddenly blasted for ever. He disgraced our long line of ancestors, disgraced himself and me, and instead of falling on his sword, as he should have done, came home here, turned out of the army—a Devereux turned out of the army, to beg for my forgiveness!"
My heart was burning, but I judged it wisest to hold my peace. He had thrown his head back, and his eyes were sparkling with anger. His frowning face was as stern and hard as marble, and, old man though he was, he looked terrible.
For a moment there was silence, and then he went on—
"Enough of him! If it had been Rupert I might some day have forgiven him. But Herbert, my eldest son, who at my death must be the head of the Devereuxs—oh, it is a cursed, cruel thing!"