“Mrs. Alexander Lyon, child, and servant.”
Would he happen to see her? Would he wish to see little Lenny? Suppose he were to meet her—what would he say or do? He might pass her; but could he pass little Lenny—charming little Lenny—fair-haired, blue-eyed little Lenny, with his father’s own features and complexion?
It was scarcely possible that he could.
And if he should stop to caress his son, to take him in his arms, to press him to his heart, what next? Would he stop there, and put the child away again?
Not likely! for, setting natural affection aside, now that he had a title, he would want an heir; and what a fine, promising one was this?
Or would he perhaps claim the child and take him from his mother? He could do so. The law would give him Lenny, though it should break the mother’s heart. Would he avail himself of this law to tear her child from her arms?
No, never! she thought; badly as he had treated her while he had been maddened by the passions of pride and ambition, he would never while in his sober senses—never in cold blood deal her such a cruel blow.
True he had once, in bitterly cruel terms, denounced and renounced her forever; but she thought of his words whenever they forced themselves upon her memory, only as the ravings of frenzied anger; she knew that they would never have been carried out to extremity. Alexander had told her that she might starve, but she felt in her heart that he would never even have let her want!
And now she felt sure that, however he might learn to love his little Lenny,—however he might desire to possess him, he would never attempt to take him away from her.
No, she was sure that he would rather let little Lenny lead him back to her.