'You see what you have done; you have cut me off from my own,' he said
terribly to the squire; but tried immediately to soothe the urchin with
nursery talk and the pats on the shoulder which encourage a little boy to
grow fast and tall. 'Four years of separation,' he resumed, 'and my son
taught to think that he has no father. By heavens! it is infamous, it
is a curst piece of inhumanity. Mr. Beltham, if I do not see my wife, I
carry off my son.'

'You may ask till you're hoarse, you shall never see her in this house
while I am here to command,' said the squire.

'Very well; then Harry Richmond changes homes. I take him. The affair
is concluded.'

'You take him from his mother?' the squire sang out.

'You swear to me she has lost her wits; she cannot suffer. I can. I
shall not expect from you, Mr. Beltham, the minutest particle of
comprehension of a father's feelings. You are earthy; you are an
animal.'

The squire saw that he was about to lift the boy, and said, 'Stop, never
mind that. Stop, look at the case. You can call again to-morrow, and
you can see me and talk it over.'

'Shall I see my wife?'

'No, you shan't.'