'Why have you not come to me before this?' Mrs. Eldon asked when her
son had seated himself, with his eyes turned upon the fire.
'I was unable to, mother. I have been ill.'
She cast a glance at him. There was no doubting the truth of what he
said; at this moment he looked feeble and pain-worn.
'Where did your illness come upon you?' she asked, her tone
unsoftened.
'In Germany. I started only a few hours after receiving the letter
in which you told me of the death.'
'My other letters you paid no heed to?'
'I could not reply to them.'
He spoke after hesitation, but firmly, as one does who has something
to brave out.
'It would have been better for you if you had been able, Hubert.
Your refusal has best you dear.'
He looked up inquiringly.
'Mr. Mutimer,' his mother continued, a tremor in her voice,
'destroyed his will a day or two before he died.'
Hubert said nothing. His fingers, looked together before him,
twitched a little; his face gave no sign.
'Had you come to me at once,' Mrs. Eldon pursued, 'had you listened
to my entreaties, to my commands'--her voice rang right
queenly--'this would not have happened. Mr. Mutimer behaved as
generously as he always has. As soon as there came to him certain
news of you, he told me everything. I refused to believe what people
were saying, and he too wished to do so.
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