Part 167 (2/2)
”As to reparation or excuse,” said he, proudly, ”it must rest with Lord L'Estrange. I ask it not. Tell him only this,--that if the instant I heard that she whom I loved and held sacred for so many years was affianced to him, I resigned even the very wish to call her mine--if that were desertion of man's duties, I am guilty. If to have prayed night and day that she who would have blessed my lonely and toilsome life may give some charm to his, not bestowed by his wealth and his greatness--if that were ingrat.i.tude, I am ungrateful; let him still condemn me. I pa.s.s out of his sphere,--a thing that has crossed it a moment, and is gone. But Helen he must not blame, suspect; even by a thought. One word more. In this election, this strife for objects wholly foreign to all my habits, unsuited to my poverty, at war with aspirations so long devoted to fairer goals, though by obscurer paths, I obeyed but his will or whim,--at a moment too when my whole soul sickened for repose and solitude. I had forced myself at last to take interest in what I had before loathed. But in every hope for the future, every stimulant to ambition, Lord L'Estrange's esteem still stood before me. Now, what do I here longer? All of his conduct, save his contempt for myself, is an enigma. And sinless he repeat a wish, which I would fain still regard as a law, I retire from the contest he has embittered; I renounce the ambition he has poisoned; and, mindful of those humble duties which he implies that I disdain, I return to my own home.”
The parson nodded a.s.sent to each of these sentences; and Leonard, pa.s.sing by Violante and Helen, with a salutation equally distant to both, retraced his steps towards the town.
Meanwhile Violante and Helen had also been in close conference, and that conference had suddenly endeared each to the other; for Helen, taken by surprise, agitated, overpowered, had revealed to Violante that confession of another attachment, which she had made to Lord L'Estrange, the rupture of her engagement with the latter. Violante saw that Harley was free. Harley, too, had promised to free herself. By a sudden flash of conviction, recalling his words, looks, she felt that she was beloved,--deemed that honour alone (while either was yet shackled) had forbidden him to own that love. Violante stood a being transformed, ”blus.h.i.+ng celestial rosy red,” heaven at her heart, joy in her eyes,--she loved so well, and she trusted so implicitly! Then from out the overflow of her own hope and bliss she poured forth such sweet comfort to Helen, that Helen's arm stole around her; cheek touched cheek,--they were as sisters.
At another moment, Mr. Dale might have felt some amazement at the sudden affection which had sprung up between these young persons; for in his previous conversation with Violante, he had, as he thought, very artfully, and in a pleasant vein, sounded the young Italian as to her opinion of her fair friend's various good qualities, and Violante had rather shrunk from the t.i.tle of ”friend;” and though she had the magnanimity to speak with great praise of Helen, the praise did not sound cordial. But the good man was at this moment occupied in preparing his thoughts for his interview with Harley; he joined the two girls in silence, and, linking an arm of each within his own, walked slowly towards the house. As he approached the terrace he observed Riccabocca and Randal pacing the gravel walk side by side.
Violante, pressing his arm, whispered, ”Let us go round the other way; I would speak with you a few minutes undisturbed.”
Mr. Dale, supposing that Violante wished to dispense with the presence of Helen, said to the latter, ”My dear young lady, perhaps you will excuse me to Dr. Riccabocca,--who is beckoning to me, and no doubt very much surprised to see me here,--while I finish what I was saying to Violante when we were interrupted.”
Helen left them, and Violante led the parson round through the shrubbery, towards the side door in another wing of the house.
”What have you to say to me?” asked Mr. Dale, surprised that she remained silent.
”You will see Lord L'Estrange. Be sure that you convince him of Leonard's honour. A doubt of treachery so grieves his n.o.ble heart that perhaps it may disturb his judgment.”
”You seem to think very highly of the heart of this Lord L'Estrange, child!” said the parson, in some surprise. Violante blushed, but went on firmly, and with serious earnestness: ”Some words which he-that is, Lord L'Estrange--said to me very lately, make me so glad that you are here,--that you will see him; for I know how good you are, and how wise, dear, dear Mr. Dale! He spoke as one who had received some grievous wrong, which had abruptly soured all his views of life. He spoke of retirement, solitude,--he on whom his country has so many claims. I know not what he can mean, unless it be that his--his marriage with Helen Digby is broken off.”
”Broken off! Is that so?”
”I have it from herself. You may well be astonished that she could even think of another after having known him!” The parson fixed his eyes very gravely on the young enthusiast. But though her cheek glowed, there was in her expression of face so much artless, open innocence, that Mr. Dale contented himself with a slight shake of the head, and a dry remark,--
”I think it quite natural that Helen Digby should prefer Leonard Fairfield. A good girl, not misled by vanity and ambition,--temptations of which it behoves us all to beware; nor least, perhaps, young ladies suddenly brought in contact with wealth and rank. As to this n.o.bleman's merits, I know not yet whether to allow or to deny them; I reserve my judgment till after our interview. This is all you have to say to me?”
Violante paused a moment. ”I cannot think,” she said, half smiling,--”I cannot think that the change that has occurred in him,--for changed he is,--that his obscure hints as to injury received, and justice to be done, are caused merely by his disappointment with regard to Helen. But you can learn that; learn if he be so very much disappointed. Nay, I think not!”
She slipped her slight hand from the parson's arm, and darted away through the evergreens. Half concealed amidst the laurels, she turned back, and Mr. Dale caught her eye, half arch, half melancholy; its light came soft through a tear.
”I don't half like this,” muttered the parson; ”I shall give Dr.
Riccabocca a caution.” So muttering, he pushed open the side door, and finding a servant, begged admittance to Lord L'Estrange.
Harley at that moment was closeted with Levy, and his countenance was composed and fearfully stern. ”So, so, by this time to-morrow,” said he, ”Mr. Egerton will be tricked out of his election by Mr. Randal Leslie!
good! By this time to-morrow his ambition will be blasted by the treachery of his friends! good! By this time to-morrow the bailiffs will seize his person,--ruined, beggared, pauper, and captive,--all because he has trusted and been deceived! good! And if he blame you, prudent Baron Levy, if he accuse smooth Mr. Randal Leslie, forget not to say, 'We were both but the blind agents of your friend Harley L'Estrange. Ask him why you are so miserable a dupe.'”
”And might I now ask your Lords.h.i.+p for one word of explanation?”
”No, sir!--it is enough that I have spared you. But you were never my friend; I have no revenge against a man whose hand I never even touched.”
The baron scowled, but there was a power about his tyrant that cowed him into actual terror. He resumed, after a pause, ”And though Mr. Leslie is to be member for Lansmere,--thanks to you,--you still desire that I should--”
”Do exactly as I have said. My plans now never vary a hair's breadth.”
The groom of the chambers entered.
”My Lord, the Reverend Mr. Dale wishes to know if you can receive him.”
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