“Wish? Did I talk of wishing? I stated a fact. And in the meantime my parish is being neglected and my work waiting for me. I cannot hang on here for ever. Of course,” Randolph added, “if anything should happen, you have only to telegraph, and I will come.” “I don’t see that it is necessary, Randolph. My father may rally, or he may linger for months, the doctors say; and whatever happens--of course you shall hear immediately; but so far as I am concerned, it does not seem necessary to disturb your work and unsettle your parish----” “That is ridiculous; of course I shall come the moment I am summoned. It is quite essential that there should be some man to manage matters. And the boy is all ready,” he added; “you had his outfit prepared before my father’s attack came on. Let them pack up for him, and on Friday we shall go.” “The boy! How could I send him away now, when my father might recover his consciousness, and want him?” “My father want him? This is too much,” said Randolph--“my father, from whom you concealed his very existence--who never cared for children at any time. My _father_? What could he possibly want with the boy? He should have gone a fortnight ago. I wrote to enter his name of course, and the money is running on. I can’t afford to pay for nothing whatever you may do, Mary. Let his things be packed up, and let him go with me.” “I think your brother is right,” said the Vicar, who was present. “Nello is doing no good with me. We have been so much disturbed with all that has taken place; and Emily has been so poorly--you know how poorly she has been--and one feels with one’s own children the time can always be made up somehow. That is the worst of lessons at home,” said Mr. Pen, with a sigh. “But my father sent for him--wanted him; how can I send the child away! Mr. Pen, you know, if Randolph does not, that he is the heir, and his grandfather has a right to have him close at hand.” “It is no use arguing with women,” said Randolph, white with rage. “I don’t understand this nonsense about my father wanting him. I don’t believe a word of it. But I tell you this, Mary, if he is the heir, I am his uncle, his next friend; and I say, he sha’n’t lose his time here and get ruined among a pack of women. He must go to school. Supposing even that my father did want him (which is absolute absurdity; why, my father pretends not to know of his existence!) would you put a selfish old man’s fancy against the boy’s good?” “Randolph! how do you dare, when he is so ill,” cried Mary, with trembling lips, “to speak of my father so!” “It is true enough anyhow,” said the undutiful son. “When he is so ill! Why, that is the reason I can speak freely. One would not hurt his feelings if he could ever know it. But he was always known to be selfish. I did not think there was any doubt about that. The boy must not be ruined for an old man’s whim, even if it is true.”