"I told Lily to-day as I was getting old," said John, with a grim smile. "But don't you worry about me. I wouldn't have had it different."
There was another long silence. Mrs. Randal sighed once or twice. At last she said, "And what did you and the Colonel talk about?"
"Oh, a lot of things," said John. "He has some notions about me; there's scarce anything he wouldn't do for me. To begin with, there's a thousand pounds reward for finding the child, which belongs to me, he says, though I don't see how. It appears to me as he found her himself. Well, and over and above that, he'll start me in a farm or a blacksmith's business in Canada, and pay our passages out, yours and mine. Or he'll put me in the way of a superior sort of trade in London, where I can go in for all sorts of ornamental iron-work and make a lot of money. In short, he'll do all as lies in his power to help John Randal on in life and make him rich and happy. Do you understand, mother? A thousand pound cheque to begin with—that means a balance at the bank—and anything you please to follow after. But even with a thousand pound, this here old place won't be big enough to hold you and me—will it, mother?"
Mrs. Randal took off her spectacles, as people sometimes do when they want to see more clearly. She rubbed her eyes and looked at John. But she could make out so little that she put her spectacles on again. The brilliant prospects which he had been spreading before her seemed to have no effect on John's countenance; his eyes were no brighter than usual; his dark face looked tired and pale; his long legs were stretched out wearily. Presently, as his mother said nothing, he glanced at her with a faint smile.
"Well, what do you say, mother? How will you like being rich? Do you vote for Canada or London?"
"My lad, it's selfish of me—I am behaving queerly, to be sure! Here's your fortune made all of a stroke, and me no more thankful than this. Well, John, there's no doubt you'll do well wherever you go, whether it be London or beyond the seas, and I'm sure Colonel Maxwell's very kind. Only there's one thing to be said. I'm too old to move, my dear, that's certain. You must let the forge—Jim Nash is sure to take it—and your old mother must stay in the old cottage to welcome you back again. I wouldn't stand in your way, and it's real thoughtful of Colonel Maxwell to say he'll pay my passage too, but I'd be frightened out of my life to go in a boat even, much more a big ship on the sea—and as for London, the smuts and the noise would shorten my life by ten year. So you just do the best for yourself, John, without thought of me."
John listened very quietly.
"And you'd stay here all alone by yourself, would you?" he said.
"Yes, my dear. I couldn't leave the old home, so don't worry about your mother. I should be lost among strangers. With a young man like you it's a different thing. I expect Colonel Maxwell thinks you're thrown away at Markwood, and he's not far wrong."
"But supposing I chose to stop at Markwood—there'd still be the thousand pound. What should we do with that, mother—build a new house?"