“I think, my lord, I can save you the trouble,” said Mr. Percy: “I know the man.”
Lord Oldborough put down his pen, and looked at Mr. Percy with astonishment.
“Yes, my lord, however extraordinary it may appear, I repeat it—I believe I know your son; and if he be the man I imagine him to be, I congratulate you—you have reason to rejoice.”
“The facts, my dear sir,” cried Lord Oldborough: “do not raise my hopes.”
Mr. Percy repeated all that he had heard from Godfrey of Mr. Henry—related every circumstance from the first commencement of them—the impertinence and insult to which the mystery that hung over his birth had subjected him in the regiment—the quarrels in the regiment—the goodness of Major Gascoigne—the gratitude of Mr. Henry—the attachment between him and Godfrey—his selling out of the regiment after Godfrey’s ineffectual journey to London—his wishing to go into a mercantile house—the letter which Godfrey then wrote, begging his father to recommend Mr. Henry to Mr. Gresham, disclosing to Mr. Percy, with Mr. Henry’s permission, all that he knew of his birth.
“I have that letter at home,” said Mr. Percy: “your lordship shall see it. I perfectly recollect the circumstances of Mr. Henry’s having been brought up in Ireland by a Dublin merchant, and having received constantly a remittance in quarterly payments of four hundred pounds a year, from a banker in Cork.”
“Did he inquire why, or from whom?” said Lord Oldborough; “and does he know his mother?”
“Certainly not: the answer to his first inquiries prevented all further questions. He was told by the bankers that they had directions to stop payment of the remittance if any questions were asked.”
Lord Oldborough listened with profound attention as Mr. Percy went on with the history of Mr. Henry, relating all the circumstances of his honourable conduct with respect to Miss Panton—his disinterestedness, decision, and energy of affection.
Lord Oldborough’s emotion increased—he seemed to recognize some traits of his own character.