"Sweetest! he is your son. I can never forget that; though I fear that he himself does not too well remember this. If he did, my Clara! he would hardly utter such bitter jestings on what he is so cruel as to call 'my beggarly dependence' on you. This phrase has cut me to the heart's core, I will not deny it, Clara: it has made me feel my position, and shudder at it." Mr. Cartwright here rose from the sofa, and putting his handkerchief to his eyes, walked towards the window: his breast heaved with audible sobs. "My beloved Cartwright! what mean you?" exclaimed his affectionate wife, following him to the window, and gently attempting to withdraw the cambric that concealed his features: "what can that undutiful boy mean? Your dependence upon me? Good Heaven! is there any thing that was ever mine that is not now your own?" "Alas! dear love, he has not launched a random shot,--he knows but too well how to take aim, and how to point his dart,--and it has done its work." This was spoken in a tone of such profound sadness, that the soul of Mrs. Cartwright was moved by it. She threw her arms around her husband's neck, and fondly kissing him, implored that he would tell her if there were any thing she could do to prove her love, and place him in a situation at _once_ to render the repetition of such a hateful phrase impossible. "I thought," she continued, "that your being my husband, dearest Cartwright, gave you a right to all I possess.--Is it not so, my love?" "To your income, dearest Clara, during your life; and as you are several years my junior, sweetest! this, as far as my wants and wishes are concerned, is quite enough. But the young man has doubtless found some wily lawyer to inform him, that should you die intestate he would be your heir; as by your late husband's will, my love, though he has left every thing to you, should you not make a will every shilling of the property will go to him, whatever other children you have now, or may have hereafter." "Oh, Cartwright! why did you not tell me this before! Should any thing happen to me in the hour of danger that is approaching, think what a dreadful injustice would be done to all! Let me not delay another day,--do send for Mr. Corbold,--I cannot rest till all this is set right. My dear unborn babe, as well as its beloved father, may reproach me for this cruel carelessness." "Compose yourself, sweet Clara! I _will_ send for Corbold without delay. But for Heaven's sale do not agitate your dear spirits!--it was the fear of this which has alone prevented me from reminding you of the interest of our dear unborn babe." "And your own, my dear generous husband! Do you doubt, dear Cartwright, that the father's interest is as dear to me as the child's?"