“The fault is yours,” Rotherby sought to excuse himself again--employing the old argument, and in an angry, contemptuous tone that was entirely unfilial. “I'd ha' married the girl in earnest, but for your threats to disinherit me.” “You fool!” his father stormed at him, “did you suppose that if I should disinherit you for marrying her, I should be likely to do less for your luring her into a mock marriage? I've done with you! Go your ways for a damned profligate--a scandal to the very name of gentleman. I've done with you!” And to that the earl adhered in spite of all that Rotherby and his mother could urge. He stamped out of the library with a final command to his son to quit his house and never disgrace it again by his presence. Rotherby looked ruefully at his mother. “He means it,”' said he. “He never loved me. He was never a father to me.” “Were you ever greatly a son to him?” asked her ladyship. “As much as he would ha' me be,” he answered, his black face very sullen. “Oh, 'sdeath! I am damnably used by him.” He paced the chamber, storming. “All this garboil about nothing!”, he complained. “Was he never young himself? And when all is said, there's no harm done. The girl's been fetched home again.” “Pshaw! Ye're a fool, Rotherby--a fool, and there's an end on't,” said his mother. “I sometimes wonder which is the greater fool--you or your father. And yet he can marvel that you are his son. What do ye think would have happened if you had had your way with that bread-and-butter miss? It had been matter enough to hang you.” “Pooh!” said the viscount, dropping into a chair and staring sullenly at the carpet. Then sullenly he added: “His lordship would have been glad on't--so some one would have been pleased. As it is--” “As it is, ye'd better find the man Green who was at Maidstone, and stop his mouth with guineas. He is aware of what passed.” “Bah! Green was there on other business.” And he told her of the suspicions the messenger entertained against Mr. Caryll. It set her ladyship thinking. “Why,” she said presently, “'twill be that!” “'Twill be what, ma'am?” asked Rotherby, looking up. “Why, this fellow Caryll must ha' bubbled the messenger in spite of the search he may have made. I found the popinjay here with your father, the pair as thick as thieves--and your father with a paper in his hand as fine as a cobweb. 'Sdeath! I'll be sworn he's a damned Jacobite.” Rotherby was on his feet in an instant. He remembered suddenly all that he had overheard at Maidstone. “Oho!” he crowed. “What cause have ye to think that?” “Cause? Why, what I have seen. Besides, I feel it in my bones. My every instinct tells me 'tis so.” “If you should prove right! Oh, if you should prove right! Death! I'd find a way to settle the score of that pert fellow from France, and to dictate terms to his lordship at the same time.” Her ladyship stared at him. “Ye're an unnatural hound, Rotherby. Would ye betray your own father?”