Hence his piteous recommendation of him to Oliver, and Oliver's ready
promise to be father, mother, and brother to the youngster.
All this was in Lionel's mind as he sat musing there, and again he
struggled with that hideous insistent thought that if things should go
ill with his brother at Arwenack, there would be great profit to
himself; that these things he now enjoyed upon another's bounty he
would then enjoy in his own right. A devil seemed to mock him with the
whispered sneer that were Oliver to die his own grief would not be
long-lived. Then in revolt against that voice of an egoism so
loathsome that in his better moments it inspired even himself with
horror, he bethought him of Oliver's unvarying, unwavering affection;
he pondered all the loving care and kindness that through these years
past Oliver had ever showered upon him; and he cursed the rottenness of
a mind that could even admit such thoughts as those which he had been
entertaining. So wrought upon was he by the welter of his emotions, by
that fierce strife between his conscience and his egotism, that he came
abruptly to his feet, a cry upon his lips.
"Vade retro, Sathanas!"
Old Nicholas, looking up abruptly, saw the lad's face, waxen, his brow
bedewed with sweat.
"Master Lionel! Master Lionel!" he cried, his small bright eyes
concernedly scanning his young master's face. "What be amiss?"
Lionel mopped his brow.
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