CHAPTER XXXVII.
THE ATTACK.
“——Then more fierce The conflict grew: the din of arms; the yell Of savage rage; the shriek of agony; The groans of death, commingled with one sound Of undistinguished horrors.” —Southey.
Silent, motionless, speechless, with surprise and many contending emotions, Ray stood gazing on his new-found father, like one suddenly stricken dumb. And with one hand resting on the young man’s shoulders, the outlaw stood before him, looking in his pale, wild, excited face, with a strange, sad smile.
“My father!” repeated Ray, like one in a dream.
“Yes, even so; you have little cause, I fear, to be proud of the relationship. In the branded outlaw, smuggler, and pirate, Captain Reginald, you behold him who was once known as the Count Germaine, the husband of the beautiful, high-born Lady Maude Percy, and your father. Strange, strange, that we should meet thus.”
For some moments Ray paced up and down the floor rapidly and excitedly, with a face from which every trace of color had fled. His father stood watching him, one arm leaning on a sort of mantel, with a look half proud, half sad, half bitter, commingled on his still fine face.
“I see you are not disposed to acknowledge the relationship between us, sir,” he said, almost haughtily. “Well, I own you are not to blame for that. Let us part as we met first, as strangers; you go your way and I will continue mine! The world need never know that you are aught to the outlawed rover-chief. You are free, sir; free to go, and to take Miss Lawless with you, if you choose. I did wish to see my poor old mother before I left, but, perhaps, it is better as it is. I will leave this part of the world altogether, and return no more; the son of Maude Percy, the one love of my crime-darkened life, will never be compromised by me.”
There was something unspeakably sad in the proud, cold way this was said, compared with the deep melancholy, the bitter remorse in his dark eyes. There were tears that did honor to his manly heart in Ray’s eyes, as he came over and held out his hand.
“My father, you wrong me,” he said, earnestly; “it was from no such unworthy feeling I hesitated to reply. These revelations came so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that for the time being I was stunned, and unable to comprehend all clearly. Outlaw or not, you are my father still; and as such, we will leave the world and its scorn together. If your crimes have been great, so have your wrongs; and let him who is without sin cast the first stone.”
The hands of father and son met in a strong, earnest clasp; but the outlaw’s face was averted, and his strong chest rose and fell like the waves of a tempest-tossed sea.