What Will He Do with It? — Volume 10Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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What Will He Do with It? — Volume 10
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
Here the old man's hurried voice died away in a passionate sob; and the
direful son, all reprobate though he was, slid from his chair, and bowed
himself at his father's knee, covering his face with fell hands that
trembled. "Sir, sir," he said, in broken reverential accents, "do not
let me see you weep. You cannot believe me, but I say solemnly that, if
there be in me a single remnant of affection for any human being, it is
for you. When I consented to leave you to bear the sentence which should
have fallen on myself, sure I am that I was less basely selfish than
absurdly vain. I fancied myself so born to good fortune!--so formed to
captivate some rich girl!--and that you would return to share wealth with
me; that the evening of your days would be happy; that you would be
repaid by my splendour for your own disgrace! And when I did marry, and
did ultimately get from the father-in-law who spurned me the capital of
his daughter's fortune, pitifully small though it was compared to my
expectations, my first idea was to send half of that sum to you. But--
but--I was living with those who thought nothing so silly as a good
intention--nothing so bad as a good action. That mocking she-devil,
Gabrielle, too! Then the witch's spell of that d----d green-table! Luck
against one-wait! double the capital ere you send the half. Luck with
one--how balk the tide? how fritter the capital just at the turn of
doubling? Soon it grew irksome even to think of you; yet still when I
did, I said, 'Life is long, I shall win riches; he shall share them some
day or other!'--/Basta, basta/!--what idle twaddle or hollow brag all
this must seem to you!"
"No," said Wife, feebly, and his hand drooped till it touched Jasper's
bended shoulder, but at the touch recoiled as with an electric spasm.
"So, as you say, you found me at Paris. I told you where I had placed
the child, not conceiving that Arabella would part with her, or you
desire to hamper yourself with an encumbrance-nay, I took for granted
that you would find a home as before with some old friend or country
cousin:--but fancying that your occasional visits to her might comfort
you, since it seemed to please you so much when I said she lived. Thus
we parted,--you, it seems, only anxious to save that child from ever
falling into my hands, or those of Gabrielle Desmarets; I hastening to
forget all but the riotous life around me till--"
"Till you came back to England to rob from me the smile of the only face
that I knew would never wear contempt, and to tell the good man with whom
I thought she had so safe a shelter that I was a convicted robber, by
whose very love her infancy was sullied. O Jasper! Jasper!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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