The baronet remained several moments plunged in gloomy thought. He was younger than his wife, but looked older, for his habits of life and fretful temper and disposition had brought a look of premature care on his features. His thoughts reverted to the past, and his early association with William Thornton, whom, secretly, he did all in his power to degrade and humiliate; of Mabel, cruelly treated by his father, and scorned and disowned by himself; and now the man he hated, for no other reason than his superiority over him in all things, had not only achieved fame, but would most likely succeed to a noble fortune and a honoured name, whilst the despised Mabel and her brother would, he could not conceal from himself, deprive him of rank and fortune. These thoughts and reflections take time to write, but they rush with lightning speed through the brain.
“What on earth can make you so gloomy, Howard?” said Lady Etherton, rather startled. “Is there any foundation for the strange assertion in this paper? Who is Julian Arden?”
“I am to suppose he is my uncle’s son,” said Sir Howard, with some hesitation. He then explained to his astonished lady how his father’s elder brother had been married; though no one knew anything about it till long after his death; and that his father always doubted it, and that in fact there were no proofs as yet showing that he had been, or that Julian and Mabel Arden were his children.
“Then I am to understand,” said Lady Etherton, with contemptuous bitterness, “that supposing these Ardens can prove their father’s marriage and their own birth, you will be deprived of title and estates?”
“Such, I suppose, is the law of the land,” said the baronet, gloomily. “You can readily imagine this stroke of fortune was unavoidable on my father’s part; he could not, when he succeeded to the title and estates of the Ethertons, be aware that his succession was illegal.”
“A poor consolation to me, sir,” almost fiercely returned the lady, pale with vexation, “with my great expectations, I might have looked higher.”
“There is no doubt, madam,” said Sir Howard, bitterly, “but that you might and did look for a higher rank in your husband, but in doing so, you lost what our neighbours the French call your ‘première jeunesse.’” So saying, Sir Howard rose from his seat.
“You add insult to deception,” cried the enraged Lady Etherton; “thank God my fortune is secured from such a fatality as——”
The door opened, and a servant entered the room with a letter for Sir Howard.
“A man on horseback, Sir Howard, left this, from your solicitor, and says it is most important.”