Bozzle was at the tavern during the interview, but he was not seen by Lady Rowley. He remained seated downstairs, in one of the dingy corners, ready to give assistance to his patron should assistance be needed. When Lady Rowley was shown into the gloomy sitting-room by the old waiter, she found Trevelyan alone, standing in the middle of the room, and waiting for her. “This is a sad occasion,” he said, as he advanced to give her his hand.
“A very sad occasion, Louis.”
“I do not know what you may have heard of what has occurred, Lady Rowley. It is natural, however, to suppose that you must have heard me spoken of with censure.”
“I think my child has been ill used, Louis,” she replied.
“Of course you do. I could not expect that it should be otherwise. When it was arranged that I should meet you here, I was quite aware that you would have taken the side against me before you had heard my story. It is I that have been ill used—cruelly misused; but I do not expect that you should believe me. I do not wish you to do. I would not for worlds separate the mother from her daughter.”
“But why have you separated your own wife from her child?”
“Because it was my duty. What! Is a father not to have the charge of his own son? I have done nothing, Lady Rowley, to justify a separation which is contrary to the laws of nature.”
“Where is the boy, Louis?”
“Ah;—that is just what I am not prepared to tell anyone who has taken my wife’s side till I know that my wife has consented to pay to me that obedience which I, as her husband, have a right to demand. If Emily will do as I request of her, as I command her,”—as Trevelyan said this, he spoke in a tone which was intended to give the highest possible idea of his own authority and dignity—“then she may see her child without delay.”
“What is it you request of my daughter?”
“Obedience;—simply that. Submission to my will, which is surely a wife’s duty. Let her beg my pardon for what has occurred—”
“She cannot do that, Louis.”
“And solemnly promise me,” continued Trevelyan, not deigning to notice Lady Rowley’s interruption, “that she will hold no further intercourse with that snake in the grass who wormed his way into my house—let her be humble, and penitent, and affectionate, and then she shall be restored to her husband and to her child.” He said this walking up and down the room, and waving his hand, as though he were making a speech that was intended to be eloquent—as though he had conceived that he was to overcome his mother-in-law by the weight of his words and the magnificence of his demeanour. And yet his demeanour was ridiculous, and his words would have had no weight had they not tended to show Lady Rowley how little prospect there was that she should be able to heal this breach. He himself, too, was so altered in appearance since she had last seen him, bright with the hopes of his young married happiness, that she would hardly have recognised him had she met him in the street. He was thin, and pale, and haggard, and mean. And as he stalked up and down the room, it seemed to her that the very character of the man was changed. She had not previously known him to be pompous, unreasonable, and absurd. She did not answer him at once, as she perceived that he had not finished his address;—and, after a moment’s pause, he continued. “Lady Rowley, there is nothing I would not have done for your daughter—for my wife. All that I had was hers. I did not dictate to her any mode of life; I required from her no sacrifices; I subjected her to no caprices; but I was determined to be master in my own house.”
“I do not think, Louis, that she has ever denied your right to be master.”
“To be master in my own house, and to be paramount in my influence over her. So much I had a right to demand.”
“Who has denied your right?”
“She has submitted herself to the counsels and to the influences of a man who has endeavoured to undermine me in her affection. In saying that I make my accusation as light against her as is possible. I might make it much heavier, and yet not sin against the truth.”
“This is an illusion, Louis.”
“Ah;—well. No doubt it becomes you to defend your child. Was it an illusion when he went to Devonshire? Was it an illusion when he corresponded with her—contrary to my express orders—both before and after that unhallowed journey? Lady Rowley, there must be no more such illusions. If my wife means to come back to me, and to have her child in her own hands, she must be penitent as regards the past, and obedient as regards the future.”
There was a wicked bitterness in that word penitent which almost maddened Lady Rowley. She had come to this meeting believing that Trevelyan would be rejoiced to take back his wife, if details could be arranged for his doing so which should not subject him to the necessity of crying, peccavi; but she found him speaking of his wife as though he would be doing her the greatest possible favour in allowing her to come back to him dressed in sackcloth, and with ashes on her head. She could understand from what she had heard that his tone and manner were much changed since he obtained possession of the child, and that he now conceived that he had his wife within his power. That he should become a tyrant because he had the power to tyrannise was not in accordance with her former conception of the man’s character;—but then he was so changed, that she felt that
