“Well, what are you going to do about it?”
“What are we going to do about it, madam?” exclaimed Lord Dunforth, in astonished tones. “I should ask, what are you going to do about it? Of course, we all expect to see justice done at once.”
“You shall,” she said, eagerly; adding: “Yes, it is all true. We were traveling that summer when he was born; we were stopping just at the time in a picturesque village in Savoy, and my husband was called away to Paris on business. He was absent a fortnight, during which time Herbert was born. I can never tell you,” she went on, shuddering, “what a frightful object he was. His present appearance is nothing to what he was as a baby, and I prayed the nurse to take him from my sight, and never let me look upon him again. My husband was detained long beyond the time he had anticipated, so that at the end of three weeks I was well and strong again. Then it came to me that, as he had not been with me, and fully believing that the child could not live long anyway—both the doctor and the nurse affirmed it—I deemed it would be better to keep all knowledge of its existence from him. I could not travel with it in its feeble state, and it would be exceedingly painful to do so if I could, so I made arrangements with the nurse to care for it as long as it should live, and never let any one know whose child it was.
“I wrote my husband that my child had been born, telling him it was better it should die, since such a poor little cripple could not live long at the most, and said I would join him in Paris in a few days, as it was intolerable for me to remain longer where I had suffered such a severe disappointment. When I met him he seemed grieved and sorrowful, yet he never questioned me further, and so I kept my secret until his death. After that I concluded to bring the child here, since the nurse wrote me that he was getting unmanageable, and so I fitted up those secret chambers as comfortable as I could, and have kept him there. God knows that I could not wilfully have wronged the child so, but after that first concealment it seemed impossible to confess his existence, and so it has gone on until now.”
“Have you never considered the sufferings and feelings of the poor boy?” demanded his lordship, wrathfully.
“Oh, yes,” she moaned; “but I saw no way out of it without bringing disgrace upon Charles and all of us.”
“Do you think he would uphold you in such a deed?”
“No, no! Oh, how you torture me! But,” she said, looking up pitifully, “you will not take any public action against me?”
“Public action!” he repeated, contemptuously. “Could any public action restore those twenty years of his lost life to the poor boy? No; but I want justice now.”
“He shall have it. I will strive as far as I can to repair the injury I have done him, just as soon as we are through with the wedding—that is, if Isabel is willing to go on with it after this,” she said, regarding the young girl somewhat doubtfully.