‘I must see him; my heart yearns for him. And to think that I should find him thus! How inscrutable are the ways of Providence! My sweet, my pet, it is balm to my wounded heart!’ And she kissed and fondled the boy, regardless of the mud with which his dirty face was encrusted, and of his own evident perturbation and objection to these endearments. ‘But I must not waste time. I may be disturbed before I have said my say. Listen: you will let me have the child? You shall name your own price. I will ask no questions. Keep your own counsel. You shall not divulge your secrets.’ ‘There ain’t no secrets to divulge,’ said the Sergeant stoutly. ‘And you shan’t buy a brat of mine, as though he were a full-blooded Congo on the West coast.’ ‘Wait, Larkins--let’s see what the lady means,’ the practical wife interposed. Mrs. Larkins was quite quiet and self-possessed, as she looked her strange visitor full in the face. ‘Perhaps she will explain. Do you wish to adopt the child?’ ‘I do--and more. I wish to educate him to be worthy of his birth, and of that position which he must some day come to, in spite of all. He shall have all my love while I live, all my possessions after death. They are his by right, indefeasible. Has he not Herbert’s eyes? Is he not my--?’ ‘Say no more, Madam,’ Mrs. Larkins interrupted her. ‘If you are in sober, serious earnest, if you mean what you say--’ ‘Surely you would not part with the child, not like this?’ ‘We have seven, Jonadab, and it is a fine chance for one. If you are in earnest, Madam--’ ‘Will this prove to you that I am in earnest?’ said the lady, taking from her purse a roll of bank notes. ‘Here are fifty pounds. Spend it in outfit; get him proper clothes, books, boxes, all that a boy wants when he is going to a school. Within a fortnight you shall hear from me through a lawyer. I will send full instructions, and a confidential messenger, who shall take Herbert--Herbert he must be called, not Hercules--Herbert Farrington.’ ‘Is that your own name?’ asked Mrs. Larkins, rather hurriedly. ‘Certainly, I am Lady Farrington. You have then heard the name before? You know me? Say you know me, that you knew Herbert. Confess that Herbert was--’ ‘My lady, you are mistaken; I never knew any Herbert Farrington--never in all my life!’ Lady Farrington shook her head sadly. ‘If you know, and will not speak, you may do the child irreparable harm. No matter. It is sufficient for the present that he is mine; that he passes into my keeping; that I am free to lavish upon him the whole of my pent-up yearning affection. The rest will come--all in good time. Heaven bless you, Herbert, and prosper you, and bring you some day to your own.’ She kissed the bewildered boy repeatedly, shook hands with his father and mother, and then left the place.