He looked sadly from son to mother. “It had not even begun thus, but that you would have it so. You would have it. I sought to move you to mercy. I reminded you, my brother, of the tie that bound us, and I would have turned you from fratricide, I would have saved you from the crime you meditated—for it was a crime.”
“Fratricide!” exclaimed Rotherby, and laughed angrily. “Fratricide!” It was as if he threatened it.
But Mr. Caryll continued to regard him sorrowfully. From his soul he pitied him; pitied them both—not because of their condition, but because of the soullessness behind it all. To him it was truly tragic, tragic beyond anything that he had ever known.
“You said some fine things, sir, to Mr. Templeton of your regard for your father's memory,” said Mr. Caryll. “You expressed some lofty sentiments of filial piety, which almost sounded true—which sounded true, indeed, to Mr. Templeton. It was out of interest for your father that you pleaded for the suppression of his dealings with the South Sea Company; not for a moment did you consider yourself or the profit you should make from such suppression.”
“Why this?” demanded the mother fiercely. “Do you rally us? Do you turn the sword in the wound now that you have us at your mercy—now that we are fallen?”
“From what are you fallen?” Mr. Caryll inquired. “Ah, but let that pass. I do not rally, madam. Mockery is far indeed from my intention.” He turned again to Rotherby. “Lord Ostermore was a father to you, which he never was to me—knew not that he was. The sentiments you so beautifully expressed to Mr. Templeton are the sentiments that actuate me now, though I shall make no attempt to express them. It is not that my heart stirs much where my Lord Ostermore is concerned. And yet, for the sake of the name that is mine now, I shall leave England as I came—Mr. Justin Caryll, neither more nor less.
“In the eyes of the world there is no slur upon my mother's name, because her history—her supposed history—was unknown. See that none ever falls on it, else shall you find me pitiless indeed. See that none ever falls on it, or I shall return and drive home the lesson that, like Antinous, you've learnt—that 'twixt the cup and lip much ill may grow'—and turn you, naked upon a contemptuous world. Needs more be said? You understand, I think.”
Rotherby understood nothing. But his mother's keener wits began to perceive a glimmer of the truth. “Do you mean that—that we are to—to remain in the station that we believed our own?”
“What else?”
She stared at him. Here was a generosity so weak, it seemed to her, as almost to provoke her scorn. “You will leave your brother in possession of the title and what else there may be?”