“But you can’t surely expect me to force my daughter’s inclinations, my dear Romfrey?”
“Cecilia loves the fellow!”
“She is engaged to Mr. Tuckham.”
“I’ll see the man Tuckham.”
“Really, my dear lord!”
“Play at it, Halkett, play at it! Tide us over this! Talk to her: hint it and nod it. We have to round November. I could strangle the world till that month’s past. You’ll own,” he added mildly after his thunder, “I’m not much of the despot Nevil calls me. She has not a wish I don’t supply. I’m at her beck, and everything that’s mine. She’s a brave good woman. I don’t complain. I run my chance. But if we lose the child—good night! Boy or girl!—boy!”
Lord Romfrey flung an arm up. The child of his old age lived for him already: he gave it all the life he had. This miracle, this young son springing up on an earth decaying and dark, absorbed him. This reviver of his ancient line must not be lost. Perish every consideration to avert it! He was ready to fear, love, or hate terribly, according to the prospects of his child.
Colonel Halkett was obliged to enter into a consultation, of a shadowy sort, with his daughter, whose only advice was that they should leave the castle. The penetrable gloom there, and the growing apprehension concerning the countess and Nevil, tore her to pieces. Even if she could have conspired with the earl to hoodwink his wife, her strong sense told her it would be fruitless, besides base. Father and daughter had to make the stand against Lord Romfrey. He saw their departure from the castle gates, and kissed his hand to Cecilia, courteously, without a smile.
“He may well praise the countess, papa,” said Cecilia, while they were looking back at the castle and the moveless flag that hung in folds by the mast above it. “She has given me her promise to avoid questioning him and to accept his view of her duty. She said to me that if Nevil should die she...”
Cecilia herself broke down, and gave way to sobs in her father’s arms.