The Marquess of Sutcombe, with an air of desperation, motioned to a
chair, and fell to pacing up and down the room. "I swear that I thought
you were dead, Wilfred! When you disappeared, father--all of us--did our
best to find you; we searched for you everywhere. We were in the
greatest distress, perplexity; for we did not know why you had gone--I
don't know even now--I can't, no, I can't believe that it is you! Why
did you--disappear?"
"There is no need why I should tell you, Talbot," said Mr. Clendon,
calmly. "It is my secret; it must remain so."
"But--but, consider my position!" exclaimed the Marquess, with
agitation. "You must do so! Here am I, bearing the title and--and the
rest of it, under the impression that my elder brother has died.
Wilfred, you must explain. We all believed the report of your death----"
"I know," said Mr. Clendon, quietly, but not apologetically. "I took
care that the evidence should satisfy you. Once more, there is no cause
for alarm----"
"No cause for alarm! You talk--absurdly! You forget that the fact of
your sitting there proves that I am a--a usurper; that I have no right
to the title, the estate; that everything belongs to you. By Heaven,
Wilfred, I can scarcely believe that you have done this thing, that you
could have found it possible to do me--and Percy--such a wrong! Put
yourself in my place. How would you like to discover that you were
living under false pretences, that you had no right to--everything you
hold. Yes; put yourself in my place!"
"That is exactly what I have refused, and still refuse, to do," said Mr.
Clendon, quietly. "I see that you think I have come to disclose my
identity, to displace you. You are mistaken. To do so after I, of my own
free will, have effaced myself all these years, and allowed you to step
into my place, would be unjust, would be impossible for--well, one of
us, Sutcombe."
"And--and there's Percy, my son," went on the Marquess, as if he
ignored, or had not heard, the other man's assurance. "It's hard on me,
but it's harder on him; for I--well, I am well-nigh weary of everything,
of life itself. My wife died--you may have heard of it--there was
nothing left but Percy, and--yes, perhaps you know it--he's a bad lot.
He has given me a great deal of trouble, will give me more. He has
married beneath him. I had hoped, much as I disapprove of the match,
that it might steady him; but I fear----All the same, bad as he is, it's
hard on him----"