“But he is his father’s son.”
“I will believe nothing of that,” said the sick man raising himself in his bed. “It is a slander;—it is based on no evidence whatsoever. No one even thought of it but you.”
“John, is that the way to speak to me?”
“It is the way to speak of an assertion so injurious.” Then he fell back again on his pillows and she sat by his bedside for a full half hour speechless, thinking of it all. At the end of that time she had resolved that she would not yet give it up. Should he regain his health and strength—and she would pray fervently night and day that God would be so good to him—then everything would be well. Then he would marry and have children, and Bragton would descend in the right line. But were it to be ordained otherwise—should it be God’s will that he must die—then, as he grew weaker, he would become more plastic in her hands, and she might still prevail. At present he was stubborn with the old stubbornness, and would not see with her eyes. She would bide her time and be careful to have a lawyer ready. She turned it all over in her mind, as she sat there watching him in his sleep. She knew of no one but Mr. Masters whom she distrusted as being connected with the other side of the family—whose father had made that will by which the property in Dillsborough had been dissevered from Bragton. But Mr. Masters would probably obey instructions if they were given to him definitely.
She thought of it all and then went down to lunch. She did not dare to refuse altogether to meet the other woman lest such resolve on her part might teach those in the house to think that Lady Ushant was the mistress. She took her place at the head of the table and interchanged a few words with her grandson’s guest—which of course had reference to his health. Lady Ushant was very ill able to carry on a battle of any sort and was willing to show her submission in everything—unless she were desired to leave the house. While they were still sitting at table, Reginald Morton walked into the room. It had been his habit to do so regularly for the last week. A daily visitor does not wait to have himself announced. Reginald had considered the matter and had determined that he would follow his practice just as though Mrs. Morton were not there. If she were civil to him then would he be very courteous to her. It had never occurred to him to expect conduct such as that with which she greeted him. The old woman got up and looked at him sternly. “My nephew, Reginald,” said Lady Ushant, supposing that some introduction might be necessary. Mrs. Morton gathered the folds of her dress together and without a word stalked out of the room. And yet she believed—she could not but believe—that her grandson was on his deathbed in the room above!
“O Reginald, what are we to do?” said Lady Ushant.
“Is she like that to you?”
“She told me last night that I was a stranger, and that I ought to leave the house.”
“And what did you say?”
“I told her I should stay while he wished me to stay. But it is all so terrible, that I think I had better go.”
“I would not stir a step—on her account.”
“But why should she be so bitter? I have done nothing to offend her. It is more than half of even my long lifetime since I saw her. She is nothing; but I have to think of his comfort. I suppose she is good to him; and though he may bid me stay such scenes as this in the house must be a trouble to him.” Nevertheless Reginald was strong in opinion that Lady Ushant ought not to allow herself to be driven away, and declared his own purpose of coming daily as had of late been his wont.
Soon after this Reginald was summoned to go upstairs and he again met the angry woman in the passage, passing her of course without a word. And then Mary came to see her friend, and she also encountered Mrs. Morton, who was determined that no one should come into that house without her knowledge. “Who is that young woman?” said Mrs. Morton to the old housekeeper.
“That is Miss Masters, my Lady.”
“And who is Miss Masters—and why does she come here at such a time as this?”
“She is the daughter of Attorney Masters, my Lady. It was she as was brought up here by Lady Ushant.”
“Oh—that young person.”
“She’s come here generally of a day now to see her ladyship.”
“And is she taken up to my grandson?”
“Oh dear, no, my Lady. She sits with Lady Ushant for an hour or so and then goes back with Mr. Reginald.”
“Oh—that is it, is it? The house is made use of for such purposes as that!”
“I don’t think there is any purposes, my Lady,” said Mrs. Hopkins, almost roused to indignation, although she was talking to the acknowledged mistress of the house whom she always called “my lady.”
Lady Ushant told the whole story to her young friend, bitterly bewailing her position. “Reginald tells me not to go, but I do not think that I can stand it. I should not mind the quarrel so much—only that he is so ill.”
“She must be a very evil-minded person.”
“She was always arrogant and always hard. I can remember her just the same; but that was so many years ago. She left Bragton then because she could not banish his mother from the house. But to bear it all in her heart so long is not like a human being—let alone a woman. What did he say to you going home yesterday?”
“Nothing, Lady Ushant.”
“Does
