“Oh, good! good!--Well! well! I beg your pardon, gentlemen, a thousand times--I am a hasty, very hasty old man; but I have been harassed, persecuted, hunted by wretches, who got a scent of my gold; often in my rage I longed to throw my treasure-bags to my pursuers, and bid them leave me to die in peace. You have feelings, I see, both of you, gentlemen; excuse, and bear with my temper.” “Bear with you! Much enforced, the best tempers will emit a hasty spark,” said the count, looking at Lord Colambre, who was now cool again; and who, with a countenance full of compassion, sat with his eyes fixed upon the poor--no, not the poor, but the unhappy old man. “Yes, I had another son,” continued Mr. Reynolds, “and on him all my affections concentrated when I lost my eldest, and for him I desired to preserve the estate which his mother brought into the family. Since you know nothing of my affairs, let me explain to you: that estate was so settled, that it would have gone to the child, even the daughter of my eldest son, if there had been a legitimate child. But I knew there was no marriage, and I held out firm to my opinion. ‘If there was a marriage,’ said I, ‘show me the marriage certificate, and I will acknowledge the marriage, and acknowledge the child:’ but they could not, and I knew they could not; and I kept the estate for my darling boy,” cried the old gentleman, with the exultation of successful positiveness again appearing strong in his physiognomy: but, suddenly changing and relaxing, his countenance fell, and he added, “but now I have no darling boy. What use all!--all must go to the heir at law, or I must will it to a stranger--a lady of quality, who has just found out she is my relation--God knows how! I’m no genealogist--and sends me Irish cheese, and Iceland moss, for my breakfast, and her waiting gentlewoman to namby-pamby me. Oh, I’m sick of it all--see through it--wish I was blind--wish I had a hiding-place, where flatterers could not find me--pursued, chased--must change my lodgings again to-morrow--will, will--I beg your pardon, gentlemen, again: you were going to tell me, sir, something more of my eldest son; and how I was led away from the subject, I don’t know; but I meant only to have assured you that his memory was dear to me, till I was so tormented about that unfortunate affair of his pretended marriage, that at length I hated to hear him named; but the heir at law, at last, will triumph over me.” “No, my good sir, not if you triumph over yourself, and do justice,” cried Lord Colambre; “if you listen to the truth, which my friend will tell you, and if you will read and believe the confirmation of it, under your son’s own hand, in this packet.” “His own hand indeed! His seal--unbroken. But how--when--where--why was it kept so long, and how came it into your hands?”