Mr. Glascock tried to open the door, but found that it was closed. “Sir Marmaduke and I have come to visit you,” said Mr. Glascock, aloud. “Is there any means by which we can get into the house?” Trevelyan stood still and stared at them. “We knocked at the front door, but nobody came,” continued Mr. Glascock. “I suppose this is the way you usually go in and out.”
“He does not mean to let us in,” whispered Sir Marmaduke.
“Can you open this door,” said Mr. Glascock, “or shall we go round again?” Trevelyan had stood still contemplating them, but at last came forward and put back the bolt. “That is all right,” said Mr. Glascock, entering. “I am sure you will be glad to see Sir Marmaduke.”
“I should be glad to see him—or you, if I could entertain you,” said Trevelyan. His voice was harsh and hard, and his words were uttered with a certain amount of intended grandeur. “Any of the family would be welcome were it not—”
“Were it not what?” asked Mr. Glascock.
“It can be nothing to you, sir, what troubles I have here. This is my own abode, in which I had flattered myself that I could be free from intruders. I do not want visitors. I am sorry that you should have had trouble in coming here, but I do not want visitors. I am very sorry that I have nothing that I can offer you, Mr. Glascock.”
“Emily is in Florence,” said Sir Marmaduke.
“Who brought her? Did I tell her to come? Let her go back to her home. I have come here to be free from her, and I mean to be free. If she wants my money, let her take it.”
“She wants her child,” said Mr. Glascock.
“He is my child,” said Trevelyan, “and my right to him is better than hers. Let her try it in a court of law, and she shall see. Why did she deceive me with that man? Why has she driven me to this? Look here, Mr. Glascock;—my whole life is spent in this seclusion, and it is her fault.”
“Your wife is innocent of all fault, Trevelyan,” said Mr. Glascock.
“Any woman can say as much as that;—and all women do say it. Yet—what are they worth?”
“Do you mean, sir, to take away your wife’s character?” said Sir Marmaduke, coming up in wrath. “Remember that she is my daughter, and that there are things which flesh and blood cannot stand.”
“She is my wife, sir, and that is ten times more. Do you think that you would do more for her than I would do—drink more of Esill? You had better go away, Sir Marmaduke. You can do no good by coming here and talking of your daughter. I would have given the world to save her;—but she would not be saved.”
“You are a slanderer!” said Sir Marmaduke, in his wrath.
Mr. Glascock turned round to the father, and tried to quiet him. It was so manifest to him that the balance of the poor man’s mind was gone, that it seemed to him to be ridiculous to upbraid the sufferer. He was such a piteous sight to behold, that it was almost impossible to feel indignation against him. “You cannot wonder,” said Mr. Glascock, advancing close to the master of the house, “that the mother should want to see her only child. You do not wish that your wife should be the most wretched woman in the world.”
“Am not I the most wretched of men? Can anything be more wretched than this? Is her life worse than mine? And whose fault was it? Had I any friend to whom she objected? Was I untrue to her in a single thought?”
“If you say that she was untrue, it is a falsehood,” said Sir Marmaduke.
“You allow yourself a liberty of expression, sir, because you are my wife’s father,” said Trevelyan, “which you would not dare to take in other circumstances.”
“I say that it is a false calumny—a lie! and I would say so to any man on earth who should dare to slander my child’s name.”
“Your child, sir! She is my wife;—my wife;—my wife!” Trevelyan, as he spoke, advanced close up to his father-in-law; and at last hissed out his words, with his lips close to Sir Marmaduke’s face. “Your right in her is gone, sir. She is mine—mine—mine! And you see the way in which she has treated me, Mr. Glascock. Everything I had was hers; but the words of a grey-haired sinner were sweeter to her than all my love. I wonder whether you think that it is a pleasant thing for such a one as I to come out here and live in such a place as this? I have not a friend—a companion—hardly a book. There is nothing that I can eat or drink. I do not stir out of the house—and I am ill;—very ill! Look at me. See what she has brought me to! Mr. Glascock, on my honour as a man, I never wronged her in a thought or a word.”
Mr. Glascock had come to think that his best chance of doing any good was to get Trevelyan into conversation with himself, free from the interruption of Sir Marmaduke. The father of the injured woman could not bring himself to endure the hard words that were spoken of his daughter. During this last speech he had broken out once or twice; but Trevelyan, not heeding him, had clung to Mr. Glascock’s arm. “Sir Marmaduke,” said he, “would you not like to see the boy?”
“He shall not see the boy,” said Trevelyan. “You may see him. He shall not. What is he that he should have control over me?”
“This is the most fearful thing I ever heard of,” said Sir Marmaduke. “What are we to do with him?”
Mr. Glascock
