“Who his father is, remains a profound, and, to me, unaccountable mystery. I never had the slightest suspicion of the rectitude of her behaviour, and cannot understand to this day how she could possibly carry on an amour without suffering me to perceive any signs of it. She had spoke but little to the people with whom I found her; but their impressions were, that she was not married, and I durst not enquire farther; for, rather than have discovered his father to be unworthy, I chose to remain in utter ignorance concerning it, and I could not think favourably of one who had deserted her in such circumstances. There was no man whom I had ever seen that I could in the least suspect, if it was not the young officer that I formerly mentioned, and he was the least likely to be guilty of such an act of any man I ever saw.”
Here Lindsey again sprung to his feet. “Good God!” said he, “there is something occurs to my mind—the most extraordinary circumstance—if it be really so. You wished to be excused from giving your surname, but there is a strange coincidence in your concerns with my own, which renders it absolutely necessary that I should be informed of this.”
Jane hesitated, and said she could not think of divulging that so as to make it public, but that she would trust his honour, and tell it him in his ear. She then whispered the name M’‑‑‑‑y.
“What!” said he aloud, forgetting the injunction of secrecy, “of the late firm M’‑‑‑‑, Reynolds and Co.?”
“The same, sir.”
The positions into which he now threw himself, and the extravagant exclamations that he uttered, cannot here be all described. The other three personages in the room all supposed that he was gone out of his reason. After repeating, till quite out of breath, “It is she! it is she! it is the same! it is the same!” and, pressing both her hands in his, he exclaimed, “Eternal Providence! how wonderful are thy ways, and how visible is thy superintendance of human affairs, even in the common vicissitudes of life! but never was it so visible as in this! My dear child,” continued he, taking little George in his arms, who looked at him with suspicion and wonder, “by how many fatal and untoward events, all seemingly casual, art thou at last, without the aid of human interference, thrown into the arms of thy natural guardian! and how firmly was my heart knit to thee from the very first moment I saw thee! But thou art my own son, and shalt no more leave me; nor shall your beautiful guardian either, if she will accept of a heart that her virtues have captivated. This house shall henceforth be a home to you both, and all my friends shall be friends to you, for you are my own.”
Here the old lady sprung forward, and, laying hold of her son by the shoulder, endeavoured to pull him away. “Consider what you are saying, Lindsey, and what you are bringing on yourself, and your name, and your family. You are raving mad—that child can no more be yours than it is mine. Will you explain yourself, or are we to believe that you have indeed lost your reason? I say, where is the consistency in supposing that child can be yours?”
“It is impossible,” said Robin.
“I say it’s nae sic a thing as unpossible, Rob,” quoth Meg. “Hand your tongue, ye ken naething about it—it’s just as possible that it may be his as another’s—I sal warrant whaever be aught it, it’s no comed there by sympathy! Od, if they war to come by sympathy”——