"Uncle, if you think that there was any collusion between myself and Mrs. Rocke you wrong us both. You will remember that when I met you in New York I had not seen or heard from her for years, nor had I then any expectation of ever seeing you. The subject of the poor widow came up between us accidentally, and if it is true that I omitted to call her by name it must have been because we both then felt too tenderly by her to call her anything else but 'the poor widow, the poor mother, the good woman,' and so on—and all this she is still."
The old man, without raising his head, held out one hand to his nephew, saying in a voice still trembling with emotion:
"Herbert, I wronged you; forgive me."
Herbert took and pressed that rugged and hairy old hand to his lips, and said:
"Uncle, I do not in the least know what is the cause of your present emotion, but——"
"Emotion! Demmy, sir, what do you mean by emotion? Am I a man to give way to emotion? Demmy, sir, mind what you say!" roared the old lion, getting up and shaking himself free of all weaknesses.
"I merely meant to say, sir, that if I could possibly be of any service to you I am entirely at your orders."
"Then go back to that woman and tell her never to dare to utter, or even to think of, my name again, if she values her life!"
"Sir, you do not mean it! and as for Mrs. Rocke, she is a good woman I feel it my duty to uphold!"
"Good! ugh! ugh! ugh! I'll command myself! I'll not give way again! Good! ah, lad, it is quite plain to me now that you are an innocent dupe. Tell me now, for instance, do you know anything of that woman's life before she came to reside at Staunton?"