"
"Quite right," said Bassett, wearily.
"I gave you the woman's address; so the matter is in your hands now, I
consider."
"Yes," said Bassett, wearily; "Move no further in it."
"Certainly not; and, frankly, I should be glad to see you abandon it."
"I _have_ abandoned it. Why should I stir the mud now? I and mine are
thrown out forever; the only question is, shall a son of Sir Charles or
the parson's son inherit? I'm for the wrongful heir. Ay," he cried,
starting up, and beating the air with his fists in sudden fury, "since
the right Bassetts are never to have it, let the wrong Bassetts be
thrown out, at all events; I'm on my back, but Sir Charles is no better
off; a bastard will succeed him, thanks to that cursed woman who
defeated _me."_
This turn took Wheeler by surprise. It also gave him real pain.
"Bassett," said he, "I pity you. What sort of a life has yours been for
the last eight years? Yet, when there's no fuel left for war and
hatred, you blow the embers. You are incurable."
"I am," said Richard. "I'll hate those two with my last breath and
curse them in my last prayer."
CHAPTER XXXVI.
LADY BASSETT'S forebodings, like most of our insights into the future,
were confuted by the event.
She became the happy mother of a flaxen-haired boy.
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