“You do not love him, and I will not.” The sturdy little figure and the serious face with the chin already firm for such a child, the dark, grave eyes and the determined speech, were so like his father that the widow gave half a cry.
“You must, my son, and I will try. Your father would wish it.”
The little boy pondered for a second.
“Very well, mamma; but he must be good to you.”
As the little fellow left the room, the widow threw herself on her knees.
VII
As General Hampden stood and waited in the dusk, he felt that his whole life and future depended on the issue of the next few moments. He determined to take matters in his own hand. Every moment might tell against him and might decide his fate. So, without waiting longer, he rang the bell. A minute later he heard steps within, and the door was opened by one who he knew must be Colonel Drayton, though had he met him elsewhere he should not have recognized the white hair and the thin, bent form as that of his old friend and enemy. Colonel Drayton had evidently not seen his grandson yet, for he spoke as to a stranger.
“Will you not walk in, sir!” he said cordially. “I was expecting my little grandson who went out a short while ago.” He peered up the street. “Did you wish to see my daughter? You will find us in a little confusion—Christinas time is always a busy season with us on account of our young man: my grandson.” He lingered with pride over the words.
The General stepped into the light.