Great Britain -- Politics and government -- 1800-1837 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Political fiction
“It will have to be proved!” Vaughan said slowly and in the tone of a
man who chose his words. And he rose to his feet. He felt, perhaps he
was justified in feeling, that they had taken him at a disadvantage.
That they had treated him unfairly in trapping him hither, one to
three; in order that they might see, perhaps, how he took it! Not—his
thoughts travelled rapidly over the facts known to him—that the thing
could be true! The punishment for last night’s revolt fell too pat, too
_à propos_, he’d not believe it! And besides, it could not be true. For
Lady Vermuyden lived, and there could be no question of a concealed
marriage, or a low-born family. “It will have to be proved!” he
repeated firmly. “And is matter rather for my lawyers than for me.”
Sir Robert, too, had risen to his feet. But it was Wetherell who spoke.
“Perhaps so!” he said. “Perhaps so. Indeed I admit it, young sir! It
will have to be proved. But——”
“It should have been told to them rather than to me!” Vaughan repeated,
with a sparkling eye. And he turned as if he were determined to treat
them as hostile and to have nothing farther to say to them.
But Wetherell stopped him. “Stay, young man,” he said, “and be ashamed
of yourself! You forget yourself!” And before Vaughan, stung and angry,
could retort upon him, “You forget,” he continued, “that this touches
another as closely as it touches you—and more closely! You are a
gentleman, sir, and Sir Robert’s kinsman. Have you no word then, for
him!” pointing, with a gesture roughly eloquent, to his host. “You
lose, but have you no word for him who gains! You lose, but is it
nothing to him that he finds himself childless no longer, heirless no
longer? That his house is no longer lonely, his hearth no longer empty!
Man alive,” he added, dropping with honest indignation to a low note,
“you lose, but what does he not gain? And have you no word, no generous
thought for him? Bah!” throwing himself back in his seat. “Poor human
nature.”
“Still it must be proved,” said Vaughan sullenly, though in his heart
he acknowledged the truth of the reproach.
“Granted! But will you not hear what it is, that is to be proved?”
Wetherell retorted. “If so, sit down, sir, sit down, and hear what we
have to tell you like a man. Will you do that,” in a tone of extreme
exasperation, which did but reflect the slowly hardening expression of
Sir Robert’s face, “or are you quite a fool?”
Vaughan hesitated, looking with angry eyes on Wetherell. Then he sat
down. “Am I to understand,” he said coldly, “that this is news to Sir
Robert?”
“It was news to him yesterday.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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