Part 117 (1/2)
Frank turned pale, and began to meditate dreadful bloodthirsty thoughts, of which hair-triggers and Lord's Cricket-ground formed the staple.
Certainly there was apparent ground for a lover's jealousy; for Harley and Beatrice now conversed in a low tone, and Beatrice seemed agitated, and Harley earnest. Randal himself grew more and more perplexed. Was Lord L'Estrange really enamoured of the marchesa? If so, farewell to all hopes of Frank's marriage with her! Or was he merely playing a part in Riccabocca's interest; pretending to be the lover, in order to obtain an influence over her mind, rule her through her ambition, and secure an ally against her brother? Was this finesse compatible with Randal's notions of Harley's character? Was it consistent with that chivalric and soldierly spirit of honour which the frank n.o.bleman affected, to make love to a woman in mere ruse de guerre? Could mere friends.h.i.+p for Riccabocca be a sufficient inducement to a man, who, whatever his weaknesses or his errors, seemed to wear on his very forehead a soul above deceit, to stoop to paltry means, even for a worthy end? At this question, a new thought flashed upon Randal,--might not Lord L'Estrange have speculated himself upon winning Violante; would not that account for all the exertions he had made on behalf of her inheritance at the court of Vienna,--exertions of which Peschiera and Beatrice had both complained? Those objections which the Austrian government might take to Violante's marriage with some obscure Englishman would probably not exist against a man like Harley L'Estrange, whose family not only belonged to the highest aristocracy of England, but had always supported opinions in vogue amongst the leading governments of Europe. Harley himself, it is true, had never taken part in politics, but his notions were, no doubt, those of a high-born soldier, who had fought, in alliance with Austria, for the restoration of the Bourbons. And this immense wealth--which Violante might lose, if she married one like Randal himself--her marriage with the heir of the Lansmeres might actually tend only to secure. Could Harley, with all his own expectations, be indifferent to such a prize?--and no doubt he had learned Violante's rare beauty in his correspondence with Riccabocca.
Thus considered, it seemed natural to Randal's estimate of human nature that Harley's more prudish scruples of honour, as regards what is due to women, could not resist a temptation so strong. Mere friends.h.i.+p was not a motive powerful enough to shake them, but ambition was.
While Randal was thus cogitating, Frank thus suffering, and many a whisper, in comment on the evident flirtation between the beautiful hostess and the accomplished guest, reached the ears both of the brooding schemer and the jealous lover, the conversation between the two objects of remark and gossip had taken a new turn. Indeed, Beatrice had made an effort to change it.
”It is long, my Lord,” said she, still speaking Italian, ”since I have heard sentiments like those you address to me; and if I do not feel myself wholly unworthy of them, it is from the pleasure I have felt in reading sentiments equally foreign to the language of the world in which I live.” She took a book from the table as she spoke: ”Have you seen this work?”
Harley glanced at the t.i.tle-page. ”To be sure I have, and I know the author.”
”I envy you that honour. I should so like also to know one who has discovered to me deeps in my own heart which I had never explored.”
”Charming marchesa, if the book has done this, believe me that I have paid you no false compliment,--formed no overflattering estimate of your nature; for the charm of the work is but in its simple appeal to good and generous emotions, and it can charm none in whom those emotions exist not!”
”Nay, that cannot be true, or why is it so popular?”
”Because good and generous emotions are more common to the human heart than we are aware of till the appeal comes.”
”Don't ask me to think that! I have found the world so base.”
”Pardon me a rude question; but what do you know of the world?”
Beatrice looked first in surprise at Harley, then glanced round the room with significant irony.
”As I thought; you call this little room 'the world.' Be it so. I will venture to say, that if the people in this room were suddenly converted into an audience before a stage, and you were as consummate in the actor's art as you are in all others that please and command--”
”Well?”
”And were to deliver a speech full of sordid and base sentiments, you would be hissed. But let any other woman, with half your powers, arise and utter sentiments sweet and womanly, or honest and lofty, and applause would flow from every lip, and tears rush to many a worldly eye. The true proof of the inherent n.o.bleness of our common nature is in the sympathy it betrays with what is n.o.ble wherever crowds are collected. Never believe the world is base; if it were so, no society could hold together for a day. But you would know the author of this book? I will bring him to you.”
”Do.”
”And now,” said Harley, rising, and with his candid, winning smile, ”do you think we shall ever be friends?”
”You have startled me so that I can scarcely answer. But why would you be friends with me?”
”Because you need a friend. You have none?”
”Strange flatterer!” said Beatrice, smiling, though very sadly; and looking up, her eye caught Randal's.
”Pooh!” said Harley, ”you are too penetrating to believe that you inspire friends.h.i.+p there. Ah, do you suppose that; all the while I have been conversing with you, I have not noticed the watchful gaze of Mr.
Randal Leslie? What tie can possibly connect you together I know not yet; but I soon shall.”
”Indeed! you talk like one of the old Council of Venice. You try hard to make me fear you,” said Beatrice, seeking to escape from the graver kind of impression Harley had made on her, by the affectation partly of coquetry, partly of levity.
”And I,” said L'Estrange, calmly, ”tell you already that I fear you no more.” He bowed, and pa.s.sed through the crowd to rejoin Audley, who was seated in a corner whispering with some of his political colleagues.
Before Harley reached the minister, he found himself close to Randal and young Hazeldean.
He bowed to the first, and extended his hand to the last. Randal felt the distinction, and his sullen, bitter pride was deeply galled,--a feeling of hate towards Harley pa.s.sed into his mind. He was pleased to see the cold hesitation with which Frank just touched the hand offered to him. But Randal had not been the only person whose watch upon Beatrice the keen-eyed Harley had noticed. Harley had seen the angry looks of Frank Hazeldean, and divined the cause. So he smiled forgivingly at the slight he had received. ”You are like me, Mr.