"That is well. Then the next most important thing is that I should acknowledge him as my heir, which I will publicly do----"
"Again I say--God bless you, Charles. God ever bless you!"
"----and," he went on, "in this my house. Next week I have a gathering here of many of the peers who affect our interests,"--he was speaking of the Whig party. "Sir Robert sits firm now, and may do so for years to come. Yet 'tis ever wise to guard against aught the Tories may attempt. And I expect him to come as well as the Duke of Devonshire, and Lord Trevor--to them all you shall be presented. And 'tis well that Mr. Robert St. Amande affects not our side, he will be easier to deal with."
"What will you do to frustrate him?" my mother asked.
"Do?" the Marquis replied. "Why, first I will proclaim him to all as an utter villain who has falsely assumed a title to which he has no claim. Next, the new Irish Lord Chancellor, Wyndham,--who is indebted somewhat to me for his appointment--must be told to reverse his favours to the scoundrel, and this boy's name must be entered in his place. But next week when he has met my friends we can do more."
"And for that other unhappy one--that wretched Roderick?" said my mother, whose woman's heart could not but feel pity for the miseries to which he was now subjected, to which he must be subjected, "can naught be done for him? Could he not be rescued from the dreadful fate into which he has been plunged?"
"Doubtless," the Marquis replied. "Doubtless. Those who are sold to the planters, as distinguished from those who are convicts, can easily be bought back. Only it must be those of his own kind who do it. His worthy father seems to have some choice spirits in his pay; he may easily send out Mr. Considine or Mr. O'Rourke with a bagful of guineas to purchase him back again. For our side,"--and my mother and I told each other that night how good it was to hear our powerful relative identify himself with us as he did--"for our side we cannot do anything. Moreover, we are supposed to know nothing."
"Yet, my lord," I replied, "we _do_ know, and they know we do. Ere my uncle fainted in Considine's arms he had heard and knew all."
"Yes," the Marquis replied, "yes. But he also knew that your friend, Quin, held his indemnity for what was done. So, rely upon it, he will, nay, he must, hold his peace. Kidnapping, or authorising kidnapping, is punished, and righteously punished, for 'tis a fearful crime, so heavily by our laws that your uncle stands in imminent deadly peril for what he has done. And, remember, he is not a peer, therefore he has no benefit to claim. Rest assured that though he has lost his son he will never proclaim what has happened nor divulge a word on the subject. Though, that he may send agents to Virginia to endeavour to obtain his recall is most probable, since, wretch as he is, there must be some heart in his bosom for his own child."