Various trifling incidents and cryptic sayings
of the old man, not now so much on his guard as formerly, had led
Faversham to this conclusion. He realized that he himself had been
haunted of late by the constant expectation that they might turn up.
Well, now they had turned up. Was he at once to make way for them, as
Tatham clearly took for granted?--to advise Melrose to tear up his newly
made will, and gracefully surrender his expectations as Melrose's heir to
this girl of twenty-one? By no means!
What is the claim of birth in such a case, if you come to that? Look at
it straight in the face. A child is born to a certain father; is then
torn from that father against his will, and brought up for twenty years
out of his reach. What claim has that child, when mature, upon the
father--beyond, of course, a claim for reasonable provision--unless
he chooses to acknowledge a further obligation? None whatever. The father
has lived his life, and accumulated his fortune, without the child's
help, without the child's affection or tendance. His possessions are
morally and legally his own, to deal with as he pleases.
In the course of life, other human beings become connected with him,
attached to him, and he to them. Natural claims must be considered and
decently satisfied--agreed! But for the disposal of a man's
superfluities, of such a fortune as Melrose's, there is no law--there
ought to be no law; and the English character, as distinct from the
French, has decided that there shall be no law.
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