I loved your mother, Reginald Eversleigh, and when
she died, within one short year of her husband's death, I swore that
her only child should be as dear to me as a son. I have kept that
promise. Few parents can find patience to forgive such follies as I
have forgiven. But my endurance is exhausted; my affection has been
worn out by your heartlessness: henceforward we are strangers."
"You cannot mean this, sir?" murmured Reginald Eversleigh.
There was a terrible fear at his heart--an inward conviction that his
uncle was in earnest.
"My solicitors will furnish you with all particulars of the deed I
spoke of," said Sir Oswald, without noticing his nephew's appealing
tones. "That deed will secure to you two hundred a year. You have a
soldier's career before you, and you are young enough to redeem the
past--at any rate, in the eyes of the world, if not before the sight of
heaven. If you find your regiment too expensive for your altered means,
I would recommend you to exchange into the line. And now, Mr.
Eversleigh, I wish you good morning."
"But, Sir Oswald--uncle--my dear uncle--you cannot surely cast me off
thus coldly--you--"
The baronet rang the bell.
"The door--for Mr. Eversleigh," he said to the servant who answered his
summons.
The young man rose, looking at his kinsman with an incredulous gaze.
He could not believe that all his hopes were utterly ruined; that he
was, indeed, cast off with a pittance which to him seemed positively
despicable.
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