“An hour later, my lord, when the nurse had got rid of the last hanger-on, and her ladyship had gone to sleep under the influence of an opiate, Huldah took the infant in her arms, wrapped snugly in warm blankets, and brought it to me; and she carried my child—the child of Hugh Maitland and Margery his wife—back to the castle, back to the arms of Lady Oakleigh; and the cheat was not discovered—was never mistrusted.
“When the daylight came, those who saw the infant nestling in the nurse’s arms, or resting on her ladyship’s bosom, wondered where it got such black eyes and such black hair; but it was a fine, healthy child, and they were proud of it.
“Ah! my lord, it was a healthier, heavier child than was brought to me; and I verily believe had Lady Oakleigh been permitted to keep her own offspring, she would not have reared it to even early youth.
“The free air of our woodland cottage; the out-of-door sports; the sailing; and the rough-and-tumble; and, above all else, the plain, substantial food, gave health and strength and vigor; and he grew up as pure and beautiful in mind as he was in body.
“I may remind you here that my husband—Hugh Maitland—smuggler though he was, was a Christian gentleman; and from him the boy never received a precept nor an example that was not good, setting aside, of course, the one matter of his profession.
“And now, my lord, do you ask me why I did not love the child—the beautiful boy—with all my heart? I will tell you.
“I was jealous of him! I had robbed him of rank, and wealth, and high, brilliant life, and given, as I had fondly believed, those things to my own son. But look at the result! I looked upon the boy under my roof, and saw him all that Heaven itself could ask a perfect boy to be.
“Then I looked upon the boy to whom I had given every opportunity for high and noble life, for wealth and luxury and power, and what did I see? I looked upon the child of my own blood, in whose greatness I had promised myself so much pride and joy, and what did I find? Alas! my evil deed had recoiled upon myself. I saw my boy, him to whom I had given all the world at the cost of my own soul, going down, down, down, a poor worthless stick! Had I kept him to myself and thrown him at an early age upon his own resources for a livelihood, he might have been different. But I can not complain.
“Percy! Percy!” turning to the half-stupefied youth, with tears starting down her shrunken cheeks. “On that morning when you blessed me—when, after I had raised my hand against your life, and you knew it, you asked God to give me blessing, now and ever more—in that hour, Percy, I resolved that you should be restored to your rights; that, so far as I could effect it, you should, for the time to come, enjoy the rank and wealth that is lawfully your own.
“I can not speak more. Yet—one word—Oh, my lord!—Lord Allerdale! look upon this boy—look into his face—and tell me what you see. Oh, how have you been so blind? He is his own father over again! Do you not see? Ah, your heart has told you! You have loved him, even when you thought him the smuggler’s child.”