Arctura thought her grandmother
could not have brought him up well; more might surely have been made
of him. But Arctura had him after a lifetime fertile in cause of
self-reproach, had him in the net of sore sickness, at the mercy of
the spirit of God. He was a bad old child--this much only the wiser
for being old, that he had found the ways of transgressors hard.
One night Donal, hearing him restless, got up from the chair where
he watched by him most nights, and saw him staring, but not seeing:
his eyes showed that they regarded nothing material. After a moment
he gave a great sigh, and his jaw fell. Donal thought he was dead.
But presently he came to himself like one escaping from torture: a
terrible dream was behind him, pulling at the skirts of his
consciousness.
"I've seen her!" he said. "She's waiting for me to take me--but
where I do not know. She did not look angry, but then she seldom
looked angry when I was worst to her!--Grant, I beg of you, don't
lose sight of Davie. Make a man of him, and his mother will thank
you. She was a good woman, his mother, though I did what I could to
spoil her! It was no use! I never could!--and that was how she kept
her hold of me. If I had succeeded, there would have been an end of
her power, and a genuine heir to the earldom! What a damned fool I
was to let it out! Who would have been the worse!"
"He's a heartless, unnatural rascal, though," he resumed, "and has
made of me the fool I deserved to be made! His mother must see it
was not my fault! I would have set things right if I could! But it
was too late! And you tell me she has had a hand in letting the
truth out--leaving her letters about!--That's some comfort! She was
always fair, and will be the less hard on me.
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