“What boy? You mean Philip’s boy?”
Mrs. Lenny put out her hand and grasped his.
“Haven’t you heard? Philip’s dead, and the property all sold up, and nothing left for one belonging to him. He never learnt, like the rest of us, to scrape and save. It’s all gone—every penny. There was not so much to begin with, when you think upon it; and there he is, without a son.”
“My God!” said Sir William under his breath. He was not a man given to oaths, but he was suddenly overwhelmed by the danger that over-shadowed him which he had not thought of before. The evil he had feared was as nothing in comparison. He grew pale to his very finger-nails. “This is why you have come to me?” he said.
“Nothing but that—do I want to bother you? but he must be thought of, too. Will, the boy must not lose his rights.”
“He must be provided for,” said the baronet, gloomily; “but he has no rights.”
“Will! do you mean to bring his mother out of her grave? No rights! We came in friendship, but we’ll go in anger if there is any meaning in you to disown the boy.”
“I cannot say any more now,” said Sir William, hastily. “I will talk to Lenny to-night.”
“I don’t put my faith in Lenny for that matter. Will, you must satisfy me.”
“I will, I will, Katey! For God’s sake no more.”