The Adventures of Harry Richmond | Page 7

as you say--Oh! ten
thousand times the stronger my claim, my absolute claim, to cherish

her. Make way for me, Mr. Beltham. I solicit humbly the holiest
privilege sorrow can crave of humanity. My wife! my wife! Make way
for me, sir.'
His figure was bent to advance. The squire shouted an order to Sewis to
run round to the stables and slip the dogs loose.
'Is it your final decision?' Mr. Richmond asked.
'Damn your fine words! Yes, it is. I keep my flock clear of a foul
sheep.'
'Mr. Beltham, I implore you, be merciful. I submit to any conditions:
only let me see her. I will walk the park till morning, but say that an
interview shall be granted in the morning. Frankly, sir, it is not my
intention to employ force: I throw myself utterly on your mercy. I love
the woman; I have much to repent of. I see her, and I go; but once I
must see her. So far I also speak positively.'
'Speak as positively as you like,' said the squire.
'By the laws of nature and the laws of man, Marian Richmond is mine
to support and comfort, and none can hinder me, Mr. Beltham; none, if
I resolve to take her to myself.'
'Can't they!' said the squire.
'A curse be on him, heaven's lightnings descend on him, who keeps
husband from wife in calamity!'
The squire whistled for his dogs.
As if wounded to the quick by this cold-blooded action, Mr. Richmond
stood to his fullest height.
'Nor, sir, on my application during to-morrow's daylight shall I see
her?'
'Nor, sir, on your application'--the squire drawled in uncontrollable

mimicking contempt of the other's florid forms of speech, ending in his
own style,--'no, you won't.'
'You claim a paternal right to refuse me: my wife is your child. Good. I
wish to see my son.'
On that point the squire was equally decided. 'You can't. He's asleep.'
'I insist.'
'Nonsense: I tell you he's a-bed and asleep.'
'I repeat, I insist.'
'When the boy's fast asleep, man!'
'The boy is my flesh and blood. You have spoken for your daughter-- I
speak for my son. I will see him, though I have to batter at your doors
till sunrise.'
Some minutes later the boy was taken out of his bed by his aunt
Dorothy, who dressed him by the dark window-light, crying bitterly,
while she said, ' Hush, hush!' and fastened on his small garments
between tender huggings of his body and kissings of his cheeks. He
was told that he had nothing to be afraid of. A gentleman wanted to see
him: nothing more. Whether the gentleman was a good gentleman, and
not a robber, he could not learn but his aunt Dorothy, having wrapped
him warm in shawl and comforter, and tremblingly tied his hat-strings
under his chin, assured him, with convulsive caresses, that it would
soon be over, and he would soon be lying again snug and happy in his
dear little bed. She handed him to Sewis on the stairs, keeping his
fingers for an instant to kiss them: after which, old Sewis, the lord of
the pantry, where all sweet things were stored, deposited him on the
floor of the hall, and he found himself facing the man of the night. It
appeared to him that the stranger was of enormous size, like the giants
of fairy books: for as he stood a little out of the doorway there was a
peep of night sky and trees behind him, and the trees looked very much
smaller, and hardly any sky was to be seen except over his shoulders.

The squire seized one of the boy's hands to present him and retain him
at the same time: but the stranger plucked him from his grandfather's
hold, and swinging him high, exclaimed, 'Here he is! This is Harry
Richmond. He has grown a grenadier.'
'Kiss the little chap and back to bed with him,' growled the squire.
The boy was heartily kissed and asked if he had forgotten his papa. He
replied that he had no papa: he had a mama and a grandpapa. The
stranger gave a deep groan.
'You see what you have done; you have cut me off from my own,' he
said terribly to the squire; but tried immediately to soothe the urchin
with nursery talk and the pats on the shoulder which encourage a little
boy to grow fast and tall. 'Four years of separation,' he resumed, 'and
my son taught to think that he has no father. By heavens! it is infamous,
it is a curst piece of inhumanity. Mr. Beltham, if I do not see my wife, I
carry off my son.'
'You may ask till you're hoarse, you shall never see her