Mrs. Blair sat quite silent and still. Bulstrode began to march about the room, running his hand through his shaggy hair and exclaiming at intervals, “Great Cæsar!� “Immortal Jove!� “Gadzooks!� Then turning towards her, he cried: “But there is another factor in it—another complication�—he came close to Mrs. Blair, and whispered:
“Lewis Pryor.�
Mrs. Blair started, and a rosy blush succeeded her paleness.
“You know, the old Greeks had a word for such children as Lewis Pryor. They called them ‘the children of the soul.’ Now, the fool of a solicitor who drew Mrs. Skelton’s will, in securing the reversion of the property to the children of Richard Skelton, did not provide at all against any children that he might have had when he married Mrs. Skelton. Good God! madam, did you ever know such a concatenation of follies and misunderstandings and mistakes? Scarcely a single design of Mrs. Skelton’s is carried out; and either you must get the property, or Skelton must acknowledge Lewis Pryor. But,� continued Bulstrode, his voice rising to a shout, “the end of difficulties is not yet. Great Jupiter! all the ingenuity of man could not bring about such strange complications as blind Fate would have it. Skelton took such pains to make Lewis Pryor out to be the son of his old tutor and his wife, and they became so fond of the boy, that among them all they obliterated every proof that Lewis Pryor was anything but Lewis Pryor. There stands the testimony of the Pryors in their wills leaving their little belongings to their ‘beloved son, Lewis’—not a word said about adoption. They lived in terror that Skelton would some time or other take the boy away from them, and they meant to make a fight for him. Skelton then was as anxious as they were that the secret should be kept. He made them a handsome allowance, but he was so astute about it that not even that could be proved. Never man so overreached himself as Richard Skelton. The Pryors both died when Lewis was about five years old. Skelton sent for him—from an awakening sense of duty, I fancy—and immediately conceived such a passion of paternal love as you never saw in your life, and could never part with him afterwards. You love your boy; Skelton idolises his.�
Bulstrode had stopped his agitated walk while telling this, but he began it again, his lumbering figure making grotesque shadows on the wall. Mrs. Blair listened, overwhelmed as much by Bulstrode’s manner as by the strange things he was telling her. Presently he came, and, sitting down by the table, brought his fist down so hard that the candles jumped.
“But there is more—actually more. If Skelton ever tries to prove that Lewis is his son, mark my words, the boy will fight against it—he will fight against it. I can’t make out what he really thinks now, but he clings so hard to his Pryor parentage, he speaks of it so often, he treasures up every little thing that he inherited from the Pryors, that sometimes I fancy he has doubts. He is always anxious to disclaim any authority Skelton asserts over him. The Pryors and Skelton in the beginning, supposing I knew nothing about the boy, agreed in making me the boy’s guardian. Skelton knows that he has me under his thumb—and he has, by George! However, he can’t kick me out of the house, no matter how much he would like to, so long as I am Lewis Pryor’s guardian. But if I were called upon to-morrow in a court of law to say that Lewis is Skelton’s son, I would have no better proof than Skelton’s word; and the Pryors told me dozens of times that the boy was theirs. Pryor was an astute fellow, and, although both he and his wife knew they could not hoodwink me, they were careful never to admit to me that the boy was anything but theirs. You see, if Skelton had tried to get him away in their lifetime, he couldn’t have proved anything by me.� Bulstrode paused for breath and wiped his face.
“The boy has eyes like Richard Skelton’s,� said Mrs. Blair, after a pause.
“Exactly. But, although he is the same type, and one would use the same terms in describing Skelton and Lewis, they are not personally very much alike except their eyes. Strange to say, Lewis is not unlike Mrs. Pryor, who was a dark, slight woman. She always fancied him to be like a child she lost, and that was one reason she became so devoted to him. But to see Skelton and Lewis together in the same house—haw! haw!�
Bulstrode broke into a great, nervous laugh. “Then you’d know they were father and son. To see that little shaver stand up straight and eye the great Mr. Skelton as coolly as you please—odd’s my life, madam, the brat is a gentleman, if I ever saw one! You ought to see the positive air with which he disclaims any relationship to Skelton when strangers have asked him about it. That, too, makes me suspect that he dreads something of the sort. It would be more natural if he should show a boyish desire to be related to Skelton and to share his consequence. He has a few books of Pryor’s and a few trinkets of Mrs. Pryor’s, and I don’t believe all Skelton’s money could buy those trifling things from him. But this haughty, naturally self-respecting spirit of the boy only makes Skelton love him the more. I have predicted to Skelton that the boy will hate him forever if any disclosure is made about his birth. And Skelton dreads it, too. So you see, madam, in spite of all he can do—and he will do all that mortal man can do—you and yours may yet be rich through Skelton.�
Elizabeth sat, roused out of her sad patience into trembling excitement. Of course, it was far off and doubtful, but it was startling. Bulstrode had not asked her not to mention it to her husband, nor would she have made any such promise. Presently Bulstrode rose to go. Elizabeth realised, without his mentioning it, that if it ever came to Skelton’s ears what Bulstrode had that night told, Deerchase would never harbour him another hour, and she knew it was in pity for her griefs that he had told her at all. She tried to express this to Bulstrode, and he comprehended her.