"I don't care, I tell you, what becomes of him," she replied sullenly.
"Then, madam, I retire." He rose as if about to carry the threat into execution. "Here is your confession." He threw it on the table. "Use it as you please. I am free to speak as I please. And things must take their own course." He moved towards the door.
"Oh!"—she flung out her arms—"do what you please—say what you please."
"The one thing that remains is to soften the blow, if that is possible. Do you wish me to attempt that task?"
"Soft or hard, I care nothing. Only, for Heaven's sake, take away that wretched boy—that living fraud—that impostor——"
"Who made him an impostor? It is not Humphrey that is a living fraud. It is yourself—yourself, Lady Woodroffe," he repeated sternly. "And I am your accomplice."
"Well, take him out of my sight. His footstep is like a knife in my side. I could shriek even to hear his voice. Oh, doctor! doctor!"—her own voice sank to a moan—"if I could tell you—oh, if I could only tell you!—how I have always hated the boy. Take him back—the gutter brat—take him back to that creature, his mother. He is worthy of her."
Sir Robert sat down again and took her hand in his. "Dear lady"—his voice was soft and soothing, and yet commanding; his hand was large and comforting, yet strong; his eyes were kindly, yet masterful—"your position is very trying. You want rest. In an hour or two, I hope, we shall settle this business. Then you will be easy in your mind again. Come. I shall send you news that will be worth the whole pharmacopœia, if I know the heart of woman."
She burst again into sobs and tears. "Oh, if you knew—if you knew!"
"Yes, I know. Now I am going. You will be better when I am gone. Once there were two mothers," he murmured, "in the parable." He looked down upon her bowed head. "One thought of herself—the other—— I go to see the other."