“I _have_ abandoned it. Why should I stir the mud now? I and mine are thrown out forever; the only question is, shall a son of Sir Charles or the parson's son inherit? I'm for the wrongful heir. Ay,” he cried, starting up, and beating the air with his fists in sudden fury, “since the right Bassetts are never to have it, let the wrong Bassetts be thrown out, at all events; I'm on my back, but Sir Charles is no better off; a bastard will succeed him, thanks to that cursed woman who defeated _me.”_ This turn took Wheeler by surprise. It also gave him real pain. “Bassett,” said he, “I pity you. What sort of a life has yours been for the last eight years? Yet, when there's no fuel left for war and hatred, you blow the embers. You are incurable.” “I am,” said Richard. “I'll hate those two with my last breath and curse them in my last prayer.” CHAPTER XXXVI. LADY BASSETT'S forebodings, like most of our insights into the future, were confuted by the event. She became the happy mother of a flaxen-haired boy. She insisted on nursing him herself; and the experienced persons who attended her raised no objection. In connection with this she gave Sir Charles a peck, not very severe, but sudden, and remarkable as the only one on record. He was contemplating her and her nursling with the deepest affection, and happened to say, “My own Bella, what delight it gives me to see you!” “Yes,” said she, “we will have only one mother this time, will we, my darling? and it shall be Me.” Then suddenly, turning her head like a snake, “Oh, I saw the looks you gave that woman!” This was the famous peck; administered in return for a look that he had bestowed on Mary Gosport not more than five years ago. Sir Charles would, doubtless, have bled to death on the spot, but either he had never been aware how he looked, or time and business had obliterated the impression, for he was unaffectedly puzzled, and said, “What woman do you mean, dear?” “No matter, darling,” said Lady Bassett, who had already repented her dire severity: “all I say is that a nurse is a rival I could not endure now; and another thing, I do believe those wet-nurses give their disposition to the child: it is dreadful to think of.” “Well, if so, baby is safe. He will be the most amiable boy in England.” “He shall be more amiable than I am--scolding my husband of husbands;” and she leaned toward him, baby and all, for a kiss from his lips. We say at school “Seniores priores”--let favor go by seniority; but where babies adorn the scene, it is “juniores priores” with that sex to which the very young are confided. To this rule, as might be expected, Lady Bassett furnished no exception; she was absorbed in baby, and trusted Mr. Bassett a good deal to his attendant, who bore an excellent character for care and attention.