The Wheeling daily register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1864-1878, 1869-03-02
HE KNEW HE WAS RIGHT.
BY ANTHONY TROLLoPE.
CHAPTER XXXII.
Continued

The boy was got ready, and Hugh
walked with him in his arms around
the corner to the Full Moon. He had
to pass by the bar, and the bar-maid
and potboy looked at him very hard.
There's a young 'ooman has to do with
that 'ere little game" said the petboy.
"And its two to one the young CONAN
has the worst of it, said the bar-maid.
"Tbey mostly does" said the potboy, |
not without some feeling of pride in
the immunities of his sex. "Here he is"
said Hugh, as he entered the parlor.
"My boy, there's papa" The child at
this time was more than year old, and
could crawl about and use his own legs
with the assistance of finger to his
little hand, and could utter n sound
which the fond mother Interpreted TO
mean papa; for, with all her hot anger
against her husband, the mother was
above all things anxious that her child
should he taught to love his fathers
name. She would talk of her separa-
ton from her husband as though it must
be permanent; she would declare TO her
sister how impossible it was that they
should ever again live together, she
would repeat to herself over and over
the tale of the injustice that had been
done to her, assuring herself that 1T was
out of the question that she should ever
pardon the man; but yet, at the bottom
of her heart, there was hope that the
quarrel should be healed before her boy
would be old enough to understand the
nature ofquarrelling.
Trevelyan took the child on to his
knee, and kissed him, but the poor lit
tie fellow, startled by his transterence
from one male set of arms to another, |
confused by the strangeness ofthe room,
and by the absence of things familiar to
his sight, burst out into loud tears. He
had stood the journey round the corner
in Hugh's arms manfully, and, though |
he had looked about him with very seri- |
GUS eyes as he passed through the bar, |
he had borne that and his carriage up |
the stories; but when he was transferred |
to his father, whose air, as he took the
boy, was melancholy and lugubrious in
the extreme, the poor little fellow could |
endure no longer a mode OF treatment
so unusual, and, with a grimace which
for moment OF two threatened the
coming storm, burst out with an infan-
tile howl. "That's how he has been
taught" said Trevelyan.
"Nonsense," said Stanbury. "He's not
been taught at all. It's nature"
Mature, that he should be afraid of
his own father! He did not cry when he
was with you"
"No; as it happened he did not. l
played with him when was at Nun
combe; bat, of course one can't tell
when child will cry, and when it
won't"
"My darling, my dearest, my own
sonw said Trevelyan, caressing the |
child, and trying to- comfort him; but |
the poor little fellow only cried the
louder. 1t was nearly two months since
he had seen his father, and, when age is
counted by months only, almost every
thing may be forgotten In six weeks.
81 suppose you must take him back |
again." said Trevelyan, sadly.
"Of course, / must take him back
again. Come along, Louey, my boy"
at is cruel, very cruel" said Trevel-
yam. "No man living could love his
child better than love mise; or. for
the matter of fact, his wife. 1t is very
cruel"
The remedy is in your own hands,
Trevelyan," said Staabury, as he march
ed off with the boy in his arms.
Trevelyan had now become so accus-
toned to being told by everybody that
he was wrong, and was at the same
time so convinced that he was right,
that he regarded the perversity of his
friends as a part of the persecution to
which he was subjected. Even Lady
Milborough, who objected to Colonel
Osborne quite as strongly as did Trevel-
van hir'self, even she blamed him now,
telling him that he had done wrong to
himself from his wife. Mr..
the old family lawyer, was
of the same opinion. Trevelyan had
spoken to Mr.. Bideawhile as to the ex-
pedieucy of making some lasting ar
for q permanent mainten-
ance for his wife; but the attorney had
told him that nothing of the kind could
be held to be lasting. 1t was clearly
the husbands duty to look forward to
and Mr.. Bideawhile be-
came quite severe in the tone of rebuke
which he assumed. Stanbury treated
hlm almost as though he were mad
man. And as for his wife herself, when
she wrote TO him, she would not even
pretend 10 express any feeling of affec-
Ii"n' anu yet as he thou ht, no man
had ever done NOR for a wife. When
Sianbury had gone with the child, he
sat waiting for him IN the parlor of the
public house, as miserable a man as one
could find. He had promised himself ,
something that should be akin 70
pleasure III seeing his boy; but it had
been all disappointment and balm. ,
What was it that they expected him to
dot What was it that they desiredi
His wife had behaved with such indis.
cretion as almost to have compromised
his honor; and in return for that he was
to beg her pardon, confess himself to
have done wrong, and allow her to re-