Inversay moved a step nearer to her, and the scathing scorn of his gaze would have struck to the earth a woman less sure of herself, less safe in the surety of duplicity, less confident in the silence of the dying man who had her reputation in his hands.
“Madam,” he said with a bitter scorn and wrath unspoken, “my son may breathe his last whilst you make me dawdle here. Let your eldest boy come with me at once—at once—do you hear?”
“Lord Brancepeth was very fond of all children,” she said again, a little nervously, “but it will seem very odd to people——”
“He loved yours, madam,” said Inversay curtly; the three words cut her pride like a sword; seemed to bear down through all her hypocrisies and falsehoods and devices as she had seen the sabres of Harry’s troopers cut through a veil of gauze and sever a lemon in two.
“Send for your son,” he said with stern passion. “Send at once, madam; do you hear me?”
She was awed, and quailed under his fixed gaze. She did not dare to refuse his command, strange as the thing would look. She rang, and to the servant who entered said:
“Tell Mr. Lane to come to me, and to bring his Grace.”
A moment or two later the tutor came into the room, and Jack also.
“Jack, you are to go with this gentleman where he wishes to take you. Mr. Lane, will you be so good as to accompany the duke and bring him home?”
“Where are we going to?” asked Jack, as they went downstairs; he did not know who Lord Inversay was, but he was a little afraid of the strained stern look on the old man’s face; he felt that he was in the presence of some great grief, and his thoughts flew to Harry, vaguely hoping and fearing he knew not what.