“And, begad, her parents shall keep theirs to you.”
“Not so, please God,” Arthur answered. “I have sinned, but, Heaven help me, I will sin no more. I will let Clavering off from that bargain which was made without my knowledge. I will take no money with Blanche but that which was originally settled upon her; and I will try to make her happy. You have done it. You have brought this on me, sir. But you knew no better: and I forgive——”
“Arthur—in God’s name—in your father’s, who, by Heavens, was the proudest man alive, and had the honour of the family always at heart—in mine—for the sake of a poor broken-down old fellow, who has always been dev’lish fond of you—don’t fling this chance away—I pray you, I beg you, I implore you, my dear, dear boy, don’t fling this chance away. It’s the making of you. You’re sure to get on. You’ll be a Baronet; it’s three thousand a year: dammy, on my knees, there, I beg of you, don’t do this.”
And the old man actually sank down on his knees, and, seizing one of Arthur’s hands, looked up piteously at him. It was cruel to remark the shaking hands, the wrinkled and quivering face, the old eyes weeping and winking, the broken voice. “Ah, sir,” said Arthur, with a groan, “you have brought pain enough on me, spare me this. You have wished me to marry Blanche. I marry her. For God’s sake, sir, rise! I can’t bear it.”
“You—you mean to say that you will take her as a beggar, and be one yourself?” said the old gentleman, rising up and coughing violently.
“I look at her as a person to whom a great calamity has befallen, and to whom I am promised. She cannot help the misfortune; and as she had my word when she was prosperous, I shall not withdraw it now she is poor. I will not take Clavering’s seat, unless afterwards it should be given of his free will. I will not have a shilling more than her original fortune.”
“Have the kindness to ring the bell,” said the old gentleman. “I have done my best, and said my say; and I’m a dev’lish old fellow. And—and—it don’t matter. And—and Shakspeare was right—and Cardinal Wolsey—begad—‘and had I but served my God as I’ve served you’—yes, on my knees, by Jove, to my own nephew—I mightn’t have been—Good night, sir, you needn’t trouble yourself to call again.”
Arthur took his hand, which the old man left to him; it was quite passive and clammy. He looked very much oldened; and it seemed as if the contest and defeat had quite broken him.
On the next day he kept his bed, and refused to see his nephew.