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"I did not give my name as Sir Gaston Belward. That was Falby's conclusion, sir. But I am Gaston Robert Belward, just the same." Sir William was dazed, puzzled. He presently made a quick gesture, as if driving away some foolish thought, and, motioning to a chair, said: "Will you be seated?" They both sat, Sir William by his writing-table.
Gaston rang the bell, and went to open the door for his uncle to pass out. Ian Belward buttoned his close-fitting coat, cast a glance in the mirror, and then eyed Gaston's fine figure and well-cut clothes. In the presence of his nephew, there grew the envy of a man who knew that youth was passing while every hot instinct and passion remained. For his age he was impossibly young.
"Nerves, all nerves, Mr. Belward," he said, turning towards Gaston. "But, then, it was ticklish-ticklish." They did not shake hands. Gaston was looking at Delia, and he did not reply. Mr. Gasgoyne continued: "Nasty sea coming on afraid to try Point du Raz. Of course we didn't know you were here." He looked at Andree curiously. He was struck by the girl's beauty and force.
When Gaston looked at his father's clothes and turned them over, he had a twinge of honest emotion; but his mind was on the dinner and his heritage, and he only said, as he frowned at the tightness of the waistband: "Never mind, we'll make 'em pay, shot and wadding, for what you lost, Robert Belward; and wherever you are, I hope you'll see it."
Ian looked his nephew up and down with a cool kind of insolence as he passed, but did not make any salutation. Gaston went straight to the castle. He asked for his uncle, and was told that he had gone to Lady Belward. He wandered to the library: it was empty.
When Jacques had gone she shut herself up in her room. She was gathering all her life into the compass of an hour. She felt but one thing: the ruin of her happiness and Gaston's. "He is a good man," she said over and over to herself. And the other Ian Belward? All the barbarian in her was alive.
The room was full, and on the platform were gentlemen come to support Sir William Belward. They were interested to see how Gaston would carry it off. Mr. Babbs's speech was like a thousand others by the same kind of man. More speeches some opposing followed, and at last came the chairman to close the meeting. He addressed himself chiefly to a bunch of farmers, artisans, and labouring-men near.
Gaston Belward was different he had befriended her father. She had not singular scruples regarding men, for she despised most of them. She was not a Mademoiselle Cerise, nor a Madame Juliette, though they were higher on the plane of art than she; or so the world put it. She had not known a man who had not, one time or another, shown himself common or insulting.
He to pace the world beside this fine queenly creature Delia Gasgoyne carrying on the traditions of the Belwards! Was it, was it possible? "Pardon me," he said at last gently, as he saw Lady Belward shrink and then look curiously at him, "something struck me, and I couldn't help it." "Was what I said at all ludicrous?"
He glanced to the tomb under his hand. There was enough daylight yet to see the inscription on the marble. Besides, a single candle was burning just over his head. "A Sojourner as all my Fathers were." "'Gaston Robert Belward'!" He read the name over and over, his fingers tracing the letters. His first glance at the recumbent figure had been hasty. Now, however, he leaned over and examined it.
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