New imbroglio in that ever-recurring, never-to-be-settled question,
"What will he do with it?"

With a disappointed glare and a baffled shrug of the shoulder, Mr.
Darrell turned from the dining-room, and passed up the stairs to Lionel's
chamber, opened the door quickly, and extending his hand said, in that
tone which had disarmed the wrath of ambitious factions, and even (if
fame lie not) once seduced from the hostile Treasury-bench a placeman's
vote, "I must have hurt your feelings, and I come to beg your pardon!"

But before this time Lionel's proud heart, in which ungrateful anger
could not long find room, had smitten him for so ill a return to well-
meant and not indelicate kindness. And, his wounded egotism appeased
by its very outburst, he had called to mind Fairthorn's allusions to
Darrell's secret griefs,--griefs that must have been indeed stormy so to
have revulsed the currents of a life. And, despite those griefs, the
great man had spoken playfully to him,--playfully in order to make light
of obligations. So when Guy Darrell now extended that hand, and stooped
to that apology, Lionel was fairly overcome. Tears, before refused, now
found irresistible way. The hand he could not take, but, yielding to his
yearning impulse, he threw his arms fairly round his host's neck, leaned
his young cheek upon that granite breast, and sobbed out incoherent words
of passionate repentance, honest, venerating affection. Darrell's face
changed, looking for a moment wondrous soft; and then, as by an effort of
supreme self-control, it became severely placid. He did not return that
embrace, but certainly he in no way repelled it; nor did he trust himself
to speak till the boy had exhausted the force of his first feelings, and
had turned to dry his tears.