Part 160 (1/2)
”Hard! Nothing so easy. Allow me to tender to you the same explanations which satisfied one whom philosophy itself has made as open to truth as he is clear-sighted to imposture.”
”Another time, Mr. Leslie. If your bride's father be satisfied, what right have I to doubt? By the way, you stand for Lansmere. Do me the favour to fix your quarters at the Park during the election. You will, of course, accompany Mr. Egerton.”
”You are most kind,” answered Randal, greatly surprised.
”You accept? That is well. We shall then have ample opportunity for those explanations which you honour me by offering; and, to make your visit still more agreeable, I may perhaps induce our friends at Norwood to meet you. Good-day.” Harley walked on, leaving Randal motionless in amaze, but tormented with suspicion. What could such courtesies in Lord L'Estrange portend? Surely no good.
”I am about to hold the balance of justice,” said Harley to himself. ”I will cast the light-weight of that knave into the scale. Violante never can be mine; but I did not save her from a Peschiera to leave her to a Randal Leslie. Ha, ha! Audley Egerton has some human feeling,--tenderness for that youth whom he has selected from the world, in which he left Nora's child to the jaws of Famine. Through that side I can reach at his heart, and prove him a fool like myself, where he esteemed and confided! Good.”
Thus soliloquizing, Lord L'Estrange gained the corner of Bruton Street, when he was again somewhat abruptly accosted.
”My dear Lord L'Estrange, let me shake you by the hand; for Heaven knows when I may see you again, and you have suffered me to a.s.sist in one good action.”
”Frank Hazeldean, I am pleased indeed to meet you. Why do you indulge in that melancholy doubt as to the time when I may see you again?”
”I have just got leave of absence. I am not well, and I am rather hipped, so I shall go abroad for a few weeks.”
In spite of himself, the sombre, brooding man felt interest and sympathy in the dejection that was evident in Frank's voice and countenance.
”Another dupe to affection,” thought he, as if in apology to himself,--”of course, a dupe; he is honest and artless--at present.” He pressed kindly on the arm which he had involuntarily twined within his own. ”I conceive how you now grieve, my young friend,” said he; ”but you will congratulate yourself hereafter on what this day seems to you an affliction.”
”My dear Lord--”
”I am much older than you, but not old enough for such formal ceremony.
Pray call me L'Estrange.”
”Thank you; and I should indeed like to speak to you as a friend.
There is a thought on my mind which haunts me. I dare say it is foolish enough, but I am sure you will not laugh at me. You heard what Madame di Negra said to me last night. I have been trifled with and misled, but I cannot forget so soon how dear to me that woman was. I am not going to bore you with such nonsense; but from what I can understand, her brother is likely to lose all his fortune; and, even if not, he is a sad scoundrel. I cannot bear the thought that she should be so dependent on him, that she may come to want. After all, there must be good in her,--good in her to refuse my hand if she did not love me. A mercenary woman so circ.u.mstanced would not have done that.”
”You are quite right. But do not torment yourself with such generous fears. Madame di Negra shall not come to want, shall not be dependent on her infamous brother. The first act of the Duke of Serrano, on regaining his estates, will be a suitable provision for his kinswoman. I will answer for this.”
”You take a load off my mind. I did mean to ask you to intercede with Riccabocca,--that is, the duke (it is so hard to think he can be a duke!)--I, alas! have nothing in my power to bestow upon Madame di Negra. I may, indeed, sell my commission; but then I have a debt which I long to pay off, and the sale of the commission would not suffice even for that; and perhaps my father might be still more angry if I do sell it. Well, good-by. I shall now go away happy,--that is, comparatively.
One must bear things like--a man!”
”I should like, however, to see you again before you go abroad. I will call on you. Meanwhile, can you tell me the number of one Baron Levy? He lives in this street, I know.”
”Levy! Oh, have no dealings with him, I advise, I entreat you! He is the most plausible, dangerous rascal; and, for Heaven's sake! pray be warned by me, and let nothing entangle you into--a POST-OBIT!”
”Be re-a.s.sured, I am more accustomed to lend money than borrow it; and as to a post-obit, I have a foolish prejudice against such transactions.”
”Don't call it foolish, L'Estrange; I honour you for it. How I wish I had known you earlier--so few men of the world are like you. Even Randal Leslie, who is so faultless in most things, and never gets into a sc.r.a.pe himself, called my own scruples foolish. However--”
”Stay--Randal Leslie! What! He advised you to borrow on a post-obit, and probably shared the loan with you?”
”Oh, no; not a s.h.i.+lling.”
”Tell me all about it, Frank. Perhaps, as I see that Levy is mixed up in the affair, your information may be useful to myself, and put me on my guard in dealing with that popular gentleman.”