“Never, except when I led the subject in that direction; and even then reluctantly, as though it were a topic he would avoid.” “Have you discovered any strong inclination in him for a particular kind of life, or any career in preference to another?” “None; and if I were only to credit what I see of him, I 'd say that this dull monotony and this dreary uneventful existence is what he likes best of all the world.” “You really think so?” cried Glencore, with an eagerness that seemed out of proportion to the remark. “So far as I see,” rejoined Harcourt, guardedly, and not wishing to let his observation carry graver consequences than he might suspect. “So that you deem him capable of passing a life of a quiet, unambitious tenor,--neither seeking for distinctions nor fretting after honors?” “How should he know of their existence, Glencore? What has the boy ever heard of life and its struggles? It's not in Homer or Sallust he 'd learn the strife of parties and public men.” “And why need he ever know them?” broke in Glencore, fiercely. “If he doesn't know them now, he's sure to be taught them hereafter. A young fellow who will succeed to a title and a good fortune--” “Stop, Harcourt!” cried Glencore, passionately. “Has anything of this kind ever escaped you in intercourse with the boy?” “Not a word--not a syllable.” “Has he himself ever, by a hint, or by a chance word, implied that he was aware of--” Glencore faltered and hesitated, for the word he sought for did not present itself. Harcourt, however, released him from all embarrassment by saying,-- “With me the boy is rarely anything but a listener; he hears me talk away of tiger-shooting and buffalo-hunting, scarcely ever interrupting me with a question. But I can see in his manner with the country people, when they salute him, and call him 'my lord'--” “But he is not 'my lord,'” broke in Glencore. “Of course he is not; that I am well aware of.” “He never will--never shall be,” cried Glencore, in a voice to which a long pent-up passion imparted a terrible energy. “How!--what do you mean, Glencore?” said Harcourt, eagerly. “Has he any malady; is there any deadly taint?” “That there is, by Heaven!” cried the sick man, grasping the curtain with one hand, while he held the other firmly clenched upon his forehead,--“a taint, the deadliest that can stain a human heart! Talk of station, rank, title--what are they, if they are to be coupled with shame, ignominy, and sorrow? The loud voice of the herald calls his father Sixth Viscount of Glencore, but a still louder voice proclaims his mother a--” With a wild burst of hysteric laughter, he threw himself, face downwards, on the bed; and now scream after scream burst from him, till the room was filled by the servants, in the midst of whom appeared Billy, who had only that same day returned from Leenane, whither he had gone to make a formal resignation of his functions as letter-carrier.