It was too much for him to bear silently, and, bowing his head upon the table near which he had sat down, he groaned aloud. Sumner Dalton smiled at the sound, while a cunning, sinister expression crept into his eyes. It did him good to know that Earle could suffer, and his strange hatred of him on his mother’s account made him inwardly exult over the sight. But he had been revolving matters of importance in his mind while Earle was talking. He had been immeasurably startled and mortified to learn how the rector of St. John’s chapel at Winchelsea had outwitted him, and fearfully angry and irritated when he realized how he had missed all the luxuries and magnificence of Wycliffe for so many years. If he had only known that the marriage had been legal when he had opened that package and discovered that Earle was his son and heir of all the Marquis of Wycliffe’s great possessions, how differently he would have conducted himself. If he could but have known what that piece of cardboard contained—if he could have read all this evidence then, and assured himself of its truth, as he would have taken pains to have done, how eagerly he would have worked for Earle’s release, and canceled every evidence of the evil passion within him. He would then have made peace with him, and have reaped all the advantages which the father of so noted a person as the future Marquis of Wycliffe would be would naturally enjoy. But a faint hope animated him that perhaps it might not be too late, after all. Earle was his son—that fact was established beyond a doubt—and he had said he would never stoop to anything like revenge; he had once said that he would not avail himself of the slightest advantage to do him an injury; he had also said that he desired to put in practice the mandate, “Love your enemies, do good to those who despitefully injure you.” If that was the case he would doubtless be ready to forgive him for all the wrong he had done him in the past, and if he expressed sorrow in a proper manner he would doubtless receive him into favor, and he could after all be able to worm himself into Wycliffe and be looked up to and honored as the father of the young marquis. It was strange that no feelings of guilt or shame restrained him. He did not hate Marion one whit the less, nor Earle either, because he henceforth might be able to enjoy what had so long been denied him. But he was resolved to make the fact of their relationship serve him a good turn; he would get all he could out of him, gratify every selfish desire, accept every good thing that he could possibly worm out of him, and let all the former wrong he had done him go for naught.