The contents convoyed a brief intimation that Mr. Hatfield had returned to London with his son, and that they had put up temporarily at the Trafalgar Hotel, Spring-gardens, where the presence of the nobleman was anxiously expected.
Thither the earl accordingly repaired, and a waiter conducted him to an apartment, in which he was received by his half-brother alone—the father having deemed it prudent that the son should not be present while the necessary explanations were being given.
The meeting between the nobleman and Mr. Hatfield was cordial, and even affectionate: how different from that of the mother and daughter in Paris, as described in the preceding chapter!
“You have recovered your son, Thomas,” said the earl; “and under any circumstances I congratulate you. The fact that he has returned to London with you convinces me that the paternal authority is once more recognised.”
“Yes—he is here—in an adjacent room, Arthur,” replied Mr. Hatfield. “I thought it prudent, for many reasons, to send for you privately, and consult you before I ventured to take him back to his mother’s presence. Indeed I know not, after all that has occurred, whether you will permit him to cross your threshold again—whether you can ever forgive him.”
“He is your son, Thomas, and that is sufficient,” interrupted the generous, noble-hearted earl. “Whatever he may have done, I promise to pardon him: however gravely he may have erred, I will yield him my forgiveness. Nay, more—I will undertake to promise the same for my wife, who you know is not a woman that harbours rancour.”
“The amiable, the excellent Esther! Oh! no, no—she would not refuse pardon or sympathy to a living soul!” exclaimed Mr. Hatfield. “And you, my generous brother—my never-failing friend—how can I sufficiently thank you for these assurances which you give me, and which so materially tend to lighten the sorrow that weighs upon my heart! I have suffered and undergone much during the few days of my absence from London.”
“But you have recovered your son,” hastily interrupted the earl, pressing his half-brother’s hand with a fervour that was indeed consolatory; “and I am sure that, although his errors may have been great, he has not committed any thing dishonourable. He may have been self-willed—rebellious against the paternal authority—ungrateful—unmindful of those who wish him well; he may have yielded himself up to the wiles of an infamous woman——”
“All that has he assuredly done, Arthur,” said Mr. Hatfield, in a melancholy tone; “and more still! For, as you yourself suspected on that day when we made so many distressing discoveries in the library, he found out who I was—who I am,—he believed himself to be my legitimate son—he even raised money by the name of Viscount Marston—he dared to contemplate measures to force me to assume your title, and claim your estates; and he would have sacrificed you—me—his mother—the countess—aye, and the amiable, excellent Frances—he would have sacrificed us all,” added Mr. Hatfield, profoundly excited, “to his inordinate ambition! Now, my dear Arthur,” he asked, in a milder and more measured tone—“now, can you forgive my son all this?”
“Yes—and more—ten thousand times more!” ejaculated the earl, emphatically. “Had he possessed the right to accomplish all he devised—aye, had he carried out his designs to the very end—even then, Thomas, would I have forgiven him for your sake.”