Sir Robert still made no verbal reply, but his countenance deepened
in gloom; and when Pembroke, with all the pathos of a deep regret,
attempted to describe the death of the palatine, the horrors which
attended the last hours of the countess, and the succeeding misery of
Thaddeus, who was now in England, no language can paint the frenzy
which burst at once from the baronet. He stamped on the ground, he
covered his face with his clenched hands; then turning on his son
with a countenance no longer recognizable, he exclaimed with fury,
"Pembroke! you have outraged my commands! Never will I pardon you if
that young man ever blasts me with his sight."
"Merciful Heaven!" cried Pembroke, thunderstruck at a violence which
he almost wished might proceed from real madness: "surely something
has agitated my father! What can this mean?"
Sir Robert shook his head, whilst his teeth ground against each
other. "Don't mistake me," replied he, in a firm voice "I am
perfectly in my senses. It depends on _you_ that I continue so.
You know my oath against all of that nation! and I repeat again, if
you ever bring that young man into my presence, you shall never see
me more."
A cold dew overspread the body of Pembroke. He would have caught his
father's hand, but he held it back. "O sir," said he, "you surely
cannot intend that I shall treat with ingratitude the man who saved
my life?"
Sir Robert did not vouchsafe him an answer, but continued walking up
and down the room, until, his hesitation increasing at every step, he
opened the door of an interior apartment and retired, bidding his son
remain where he left him.
Pages:
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571