Then, gradually, the mist
cleared, and the old man dropped back in a lounging posture with an ugly
sound in his throat that was like a snarl. Doubtless that was her game;
doubtless--doubtless! He had always known that a day would come when
something of the kind would happen. Piers was young, wealthy,
handsome,--a catch for any woman; but--fiercely he swore it--he should
fall a prey to no schemer. When he married--as marry eventually he
must--he should make an alliance of which any man might be proud. The
Evesham blood should mix with none but the highest. In Piers he would see
the father's false step counteracted. He thanked Heaven that he had never
been able to detect in the boy any trace of the piece of cheap prettiness
that had given him birth. He might have been his own son, son of the
woman who had been the rapture and the ruin of his life. There were times
when Sir Beverley almost wished he had been, albeit in the bitterness of
his soul he had never had any love for the child she had borne him.
He had never wanted to love Piers either, but somehow the matter had not
rested with him. From the arms of Victor, Piers had always yearned to his
grandfather, wailing lustily till he found himself held to the hard old
heart that had nought but harshness and intolerance for all the world
beside. He had as it were taken that unwilling heart by storm, claiming
it as his right before he was out of his cradle.
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