"MY NOVEL. "

By Edward Bulwer-Lytton

BOOK FIRST. 

INITIAL CHAPTER

--SHOWING HOW MY NOVEL CAME TO BE WRITTEN. 

Scene, the hall in UNCLE ROLAND'S tower; time, night; season, winter. 

MR. CAXTON is seated before a great geographical globe, which he isturning round leisurely, and "for his own recreation, " as, according toSir Thomas Browne, a philosopher should turn round the orb of which thatglobe professes to be the representation and effigies. My mother havingjust adorned a very small frock with a very smart braid, is holdingit out at arm's length, the more to admire the effect. Blanche, thoughleaning both hands on my mother's shoulder, is not regarding the frock, but glances towards PISISTRATUS, who, seated near the fire, leaning backin the chair, and his head bent over his breast, seems in a very badhumour. Uncle Roland, who has become a great novel-reader, is deep inthe mysteries of some fascinating Third Volume. Mr. Squills has broughtthe "Times" in his pocket for his own special profit and delectation, and is now bending his brows over "the state of the money market, " ingreat doubt whether railway shares can possibly fall lower, --for Mr. Squills, happy man! has large savings, and does not know what to do withhis money, or, to use his own phrase, "how to buy in at the cheapest inorder to sell out at the dearest. "

MR. CAXTON (musingly). --"It must have been a monstrous long journey. Itwould be somewhere hereabouts, I take it, that they would split off. "

MY MOTHER (mechanically, and in order to show Austin that she paid himthe compliment of attending to his remarks). --"Who split off, my dear?"

"Bless me, Kitty, " said my father, in great admiration, "you askjust the question which it is most difficult to answer. An ingeniousspeculator on races contends that the Danes, whose descendants make thechief part of our northern population (and indeed, if his hypothesiscould be correct, we must suppose all the ancient worshippers of Odin), are of the same origin as the Etrurians. And why, Kitty, --I just askyou, why?"

My mother shook her head thoughtfully, and turned the frock to the otherside of the light. 

"Because, forsooth, " cried my father, exploding, --"because the Etrurianscalled their gods the 'AEsar, ' and the Scandinavians called theirs the'AEsir, ' or 'Aser'! And where do you think this adventurous scholar putstheir cradle?"

"Cradle!" said my mother, dreamily, "it must be in the nursery. "

MR. CAXTON. --"Exactly, --in the nursery of the human race, just here, "and my father pointed to the globe; "bounded, you see, by the riverHalys, and in that region which, taking its name from Ees, or As (aword designating light or fire), has been immemorially called Asia. Now, Kitty, from Ees, or As, our ethnological speculator would derive notonly Asia, the land, but AEsar, or Aser, its primitive inhabitants. Hence he supposes the origin of the Etrurians and the Scandinavians. Butif we give him so much, we must give him more, and deduce from the sameorigin the Es of the Celt and the Ized of the Persian, and--what willbe of more use to him, I dare say, poor man, than all the rest puttogether--the AEs of the Romans, --that is, the God of Copper-money--avery powerful household god he is to this day!"

My mother looked musingly at her frock, as if she were taking myfather's proposition into serious consideration. 

"So perhaps, " resumed my father, "and not unconformably with sacredrecords, from one great parent horde came all those various tribes, carrying with them the name of their beloved Asia; and whether theywandered north, south, or west, exalting their own emphatic designationof 'Children of the Land of Light' into the title of gods. And to think"(added Mr. Caxton pathetically, gazing upon that speck on the globe onwhich his forefinger rested), --"to think how little they changed forthe better when they got to the Don, or entangled their rafts amidst theicebergs of the Baltic, --so comfortably off as they were here, if theycould but have stayed quiet. "

"And why the deuce could not they?" asked Mr. Squills. "Pressure ofpopulation, and not enough to live upon, I suppose, " said my father. 

PISISTRATUS (sulkily). --"More probably they did away with the Corn Laws, sir. "

"Papae!" quoth my father, "that throws a new light on the subject. "

PISISTRATUS (full of his grievances, and not caring three straws aboutthe origin of the Scandinavians). --"I know that if we are to lose L500every year on a farm which we hold rent-free, and which the best judgesallow to be a perfect model for the whole country, we had better makehaste and turn AEsir, or Aser, or whatever you call them, and fix asettlement on the property of other nations, otherwise, I suspect, ourprobable settlement will be on the parish. "

MR. SQUILLS (who, it must be remembered, is an enthusiasticFree-trader). "You have only got to put more capital on the land. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Well, Mr. Squills, as you think so well of thatinvestment, put your capital on it. I promise that you shall have everyshilling of profit. "

MR. SQUILLS (hastily retreating behind the "Times")--"I don't thinkthe Great Western can fall any lower, though it is hazardous; I can butventure a few hundreds--"

PISISTRATUS. --"On our land, Squills?--Thank you. "

MR. SQUILLS. --"No, no, --anything but that; on the Great Western. "

Pisistratus relaxes into gloom. Blanche steals up coaxingly, and getssnubbed for her pains. 

A pause. 

MR. CAXTON. --"There are two golden rules of life; one relates to themind, and the other to the pockets. The first is, If our thoughts getinto a low, nervous, aguish condition, we should make them change theair; the second is comprised in the proverb, 'It is good to have twostrings to one's bow. ' Therefore, Pisistratus, I tell you what you mustdo, --Write a book!"

PISISTRATUS. --"Write a book! Against the abolition of the Corn Laws?Faith, sir, the mischief's done! It takes a much better pen than mine towrite down an act of parliament. "

MR. CAXTON. --"I only said, 'Write a book. ' All the rest is the additionof your own headlong imagination. "

PISISTRATUS (with the recollection of The Great Book rising beforehim). --"Indeed, sir, I should think that that would just finish us!"

MR. CAXTON (not seeming to heed the interruption). --"A book that willsell; a book that will prop up the fall of prices; a book that willdistract your mind from its dismal apprehensions, and restore youraffection to your species and your hopes in the ultimate triumph ofsound principles--by the sight of a favourable balance at the end ofthe yearly accounts. It is astonishing what a difference that littlecircumstance makes in our views of things in general. I rememberwhen the bank in which Squills had incautiously left L1000 broke, oneremarkably healthy year, that he became a great alarmist, and said thatthe country was on the verge of ruin; whereas you see now, when, thanksto a long succession of sickly seasons, he has a surplus capital to riskin the Great Western, he is firmly persuaded that England was never inso prosperous a condition. "

MR. SQUILLS (rather sullenly). --"Pooh, pooh. "

MR. CAXTON. --"Write a book, my son, --write a book. Need I tell you thatMoney or Moneta, according to Hyginus, was the mother of the Muses?Write a book. "

BLANCHE and my MOTHER (in full chorus). --"O yes, Sisty, a book! a book!you must write a book. "

"I am sure, " quoth my Uncle Roland, slamming down the volume he had justconcluded, "he could write a devilish deal better book than this; andhow I come to read such trash night after night is more than I couldpossibly explain to the satisfaction of any intelligent jury, if I wereput into a witness-box, and examined in the mildest manner by my owncounsel. "

MR. CAXTON. --"You see that Roland tells us exactly what sort of a bookit shall be. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Trash, sir?"

MR. CAXTON. --"No, --that is, not necessarily trash; but a book of thatclass which, whether trash or not, people can't help reading. Novelshave become a necessity of the age. You must write a novel. "

PISISTRATUS (flattered, but dubious). -"A novel! But every subject onwhich novels can be written is preoccupied. There are novels of lowlife, novels of high life, military novels, naval novels, novelsphilosophical, novels religious, novels historical, novels descriptiveof India, the Colonies, Ancient Rome, and the Egyptian Pyramids. Fromwhat bird, wild eagle, or barn-door fowl, can I

 "'Pluck one unwearied plume from Fancy's wing?'"

MR. CAXTON (after a little thought). --"You remember the story whichTrevanion (I beg his pardon, Lord Ulswater) told us the other night?That gives you something of the romance of real life for your plot, putsyou chiefly among scenes with which you are familiar, and furnishes youwith characters which have been very sparingly dealt with since the timeof Fielding. You can give us the country Squire, as you remember himin your youth; it is a specimen of a race worth preserving, the oldidiosyncrasies of which are rapidly dying off, as the railways bringNorfolk and Yorkshire within easy reach of the manners of London. Youcan give us the old-fashioned Parson, as in all essentials he may yet befound--but before you had to drag him out of the great Tractarian bog;and, for the rest, I really think that while, as I am told, many popularwriters are doing their best, especially in France, and perhaps a littlein England, to set class against class, and pick up every stone in thekennel to shy at a gentleman with a good coat on his back, somethinguseful might be done by a few good-humoured sketches of those innocentcriminals a little better off than their neighbours, whom, however wedislike them, I take it for granted we shall have to endure, in oneshape or another, as long as civilization exists; and they seem, on thewhole, as good in their present shape as we are likely to get, shake thedice-box of society how we will. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Very well said, sir; but this rural country gentlemanlife is not so new as you think. There's Washington Irving--"

MR. CAXTON. --"Charming; but rather the manners of the last century thanthis. You may as well cite Addison and Sir Roger de Coverley. "

PISISTRATUS. --"'Tremaine' and 'De Vere. '"

MR. CAXTON. --"Nothing can be more graceful, nor more unlike what I mean. The Pales and Terminus I wish you to put up in the fields are familiarimages, that you may cut out of an oak tree, --not beautiful marblestatues, on porphyry pedestals, twenty feet high. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Miss Austen; Mrs. Gore, in her masterpiece of 'Mrs. Armytage;' Mrs. Marsh, too; and then (for Scottish manners) MissFerrier!"

MR. CAXTON (growing cross). --"Oh, if you cannot treat on bucolics butwhat you must hear some Virgil or other cry 'Stop thief, ' you deserveto be tossed by one of your own 'short-horns. '" (Still morecontemptuously)--"I am sure I don't know why we spend so much moneyon sending our sons to school to learn Latin, when that Anachronismof yours, Mrs. Caxton, can't even construe a line and a half ofPhaedrus, --Phaedrus, Mrs. Caxton, a book which is in Latin what GoodyTwo-Shoes is in the vernacular!"

MRS. CAXTON (alarmed and indignant). --"Fie! Austin I I am sure you canconstrue Phaedrus, dear!"

Pisistratus prudently preserves silence. 

MR. CAXTON. --"I'll try him--

 "'Sua cuique quum sit animi cogitatio Colurque proprius. '

"What does that mean?"

PISISTRATITS (smiling)--"That every man has some colouring matter withinhim, to give his own tinge to--"

"His own novel, " interrupted my father. "Contentus peragis!"

During the latter part of this dialogue, Blanche had sewn together threequires of the best Bath paper, and she now placed them on a little tablebefore me, with her own inkstand and steel pen. 

My mother put her finger to her lip, and said, "Hush!" my fatherreturned to the cradle of the AEsas; Captain Roland leaned his cheek onhis hand, and gazed abstractedly on the fire; Mr. Squills fell into aplacid doze; and, after three sighs that would have melted a heart ofstone, I rushed into--MY NOVEL. 

CHAPTER II. 

"There has never been occasion to use them since I've been in theparish, " said Parson Dale. 

"What does that prove?" quoth the squire, sharply, and looking theparson full in the face. 

"Prove!" repeated Mr. Dale, with a smile of benign, yet too conscioussuperiority, "what does experience prove?"

"That your forefathers were great blockheads, and that their descendantis not a whit the wiser. "

"Squire, " replied the parson, "although that is a melancholy conclusion, yet if you mean it to apply universally, and not to the family of theDales in particular; it is not one which my candour as a reasoner, andmy humility as a mortal, will permit me to challenge. "

"I defy you, " said Mr. Hazeldean, triumphantly. "But to stick to thesubject (which it is monstrous hard to do when one talks with a parson), I only just ask you to look yonder, and tell me on your conscience--Idon't even say as a parson, but as a parishioner--whether you ever saw amore disreputable spectacle?"

While he spoke, the squire, leaning heavily on the parson's leftshoulder, extended his cane in a line parallel with the right eye ofthat disputatious ecclesiastic, so that he might guide the organ ofsight to the object he had thus unflatteringly described. 

"I confess, " said the parson, "that, regarded by the eye of the senses, it is a thing that in its best day had small pretensions to beauty, andis not elevated into the picturesque even by neglect and decay. But, myfriend, regarded by the eye of the inner man, --of the rural philosopherand parochial legislator, --I say it is by neglect and decay that itis rendered a very pleasing feature in what I may call 'the moraltopography of a parish. '"

The squire looked at the parson as if he could have beaten him; and, indeed, regarding the object in dispute not only with the eye of theouter man, but the eye of law and order, the eye of a country gentlemanand a justice of the peace, the spectacle was scandalously disreputable. It was moss-grown; it was worm-eaten; it was broken right in the middle;through its four socketless eyes, neighboured by the nettle, peeredthe thistle, --the thistle! a forest of thistles!--and, to complete thedegradation of the whole, those thistles had attracted the donkey ofan itinerant tinker; and the irreverent animal was in the very act oftaking his luncheon out of the eyes and jaws of--THE PARISH STOCKS. 

The squire looked as if he could have beaten the parson; but as he wasnot without some slight command of temper, and a substitute was luckilyat hand, he gulped down his resentment, and made a rush--at the donkey!

Now the donkey was hampered by a rope to its fore-feet, to the which wasattached a billet of wood, called technically "a clog, " so that it hadno fair chance of escape from the assault its sacrilegious luncheon hadjustly provoked. But the ass turning round with unusual nimbleness atthe first stroke of the cane, the squire caught his foot in the rope, and went head over heels among the thistles. The donkey gravely bentdown, and thrice smelt or sniffed its prostrate foe; then, havingconvinced itself that it had nothing further to apprehend for thepresent, and very willing to make the best of the reprieve, accordingto the poetical admonition, "Gather your rosebuds while you may, " itcropped a thistle in full bloom, close to the ear of the squire, --soclose, indeed, that the parson thought the ear was gone; and with themore probability, inasmuch as the squire, feeling the warm breath of thecreature, bellowed out with all the force of lungs accustomed to give aView-hallo!

"Bless me, is it gone?" said the parson, thrusting his person betweenthe ass and the squire. 

"Zounds and the devil!" cried the squire, rubbing himself, as he rose tohis feet. 

"Hush!" said the parson, gently. "What a horrible oath!"

"Horrible oath! If you had my nankeens on, " said the squire, stillrubbing himself, "and had fallen into a thicket of thistles, with adonkey's teeth within an inch of your ear--"

"It is not gone, then?" interrupted the parson. 

"No, --that is, I think not, " said the squire, dubiously; and he clappedhis hand to the organ in question. "No! it is not gone!"

"Thank Heaven!" said the good clergyman, kindly. "Hum, " growled thesquire, who was now once more engaged in rubbing himself. "Thank Heavenindeed, when I am as full of thorns as a porcupine! I should just liketo know what use thistles are in the world. "

"For donkeys to eat, if you will let them, Squire, " answered the parson. 

"Ugh, you beast!" cried Mr. Hazeldean, all his wrath reawakened, whetherby the reference to the donkey species, or his inability to reply tothe parson, or perhaps by some sudden prick too sharp forhumanity--especially humanity in nankeens--to endure without kicking. "Ugh, you beast!" he exclaimed, shaking his cane at the donkey, which, at the interposition of the parson, had respectfully recoiled a fewpaces, and now stood switching its thin tail, and trying vainly to liftone of its fore-legs--for the flies teased it. 

"Poor thing!" said the parson, pityingly. "See, it has a raw place onthe shoulder, and the flies have found out the sore. "

"I am devilish glad to hear it, " said the squire, vindictively. 

"Fie, fie!"

"It is very well to say 'Fie, fie. ' It was not you who fell among thethistles. What 's the man about now, I wonder?"

The parson had walked towards a chestnut-tree that stood on the villagegreen; he broke off a bough, returned to the donkey, whisked away theflies, and then tenderly placed the broad leaves over the sore, as aprotection from the swarms. The donkey turned round its head, and lookedat him with mild wonder. 

"I would bet a shilling, " said the parson, softly, "that this is thefirst act of kindness thou hast met with this many a day. And slightenough it is, Heaven knows. "

With that the parson put his hand into his pocket, and drew out anapple. It was a fine large rose-cheeked apple, one of the last winter'sstore from the celebrated tree in the parsonage garden, and he wastaking it as a present to a little boy in the village who had notablydistinguished himself in the Sunday-school. "Nay, in common justice, Lenny Fairfield should have the preference, " muttered the parson. Theass pricked up one of its ears, and advanced its head timidly. "ButLenny Fairfield would be as much pleased with twopence; and what couldtwopence do to thee?" The ass's nose now touched the apple. "Take it, in the name of Charity, " quoth the parson; "Justice is accustomed to beserved last;" and the ass took the apple. "How had you the heart!" saidthe parson, pointing to the squire's cane. 

The ass stopped munching, and looked askant at the squire. "Pooh! eaton; he'll not beat thee now. "

"No, " said the squire, apologetically. "But after all, he is not anass of the parish; he is a vagrant, and he ought to be pounded. But thepound is in as bad a state as the stocks, thanks to your new-fashioneddoctrines. "

"New-fashioned!" cried the parson, almost indignantly, for he had agreat disdain of new fashions. "They are as old as Christianity; nay, as old as Paradise, which you will observe is derived from a Greek, or rather a Persian word, and means something more than 'garden, 'corresponding" (pursued the parson, rather pedantically) "with theLatin--vivarium, --namely, grove or park full of innocent dumb creatures. Depend on it, donkeys were allowed to eat thistles there. "

"Very possibly, " said the squire, dryly. "But Hazeldeau, though avery pretty village, is not Paradise. The stocks shall be mendedto-morrow, --ay, and the pound too, and the next donkey found trespassingshall go into it, as sure as my name's Hazeldean. "

"Then, " said the parson, gravely, "I can only hope that the next parishmay not follow your example; or that you and I may never be caughtstraying. "

CHAPTER III. 

Parson Dale and Squire Hazeldean parted company; the latter to inspecthis sheep, the former to visit some of his parishioners, including LennyFairfield, whom the donkey had defrauded of his apple. 

Lenny Fairfield was sure to be in the way, for his mother rented afew acres of grass-land from the squire, and it was now hay-time. AndLeonard, commonly called Lenny, was an only son, and his mother a widow. The cottage stood apart, and somewhat remote, in one of the many nooksof the long, green village lane. And a thoroughly English cottage itwas, three centuries old at least; with walls of rubble let into oakframes, and duly whitewashed every summer, a thatched roof, small panesof glass, an old doorway raised from the ground by two steps. There wasabout this little dwelling all the homely rustic elegance whichpeasant life admits of; a honeysuckle was trained over the door; a fewflower-pots were placed on the window-sills; the small plot of groundin front of the house was kept with great neatness, and even taste; somelarge rough stones on either side the little path having been formedinto a sort of rockwork, with creepers that were now in flower; and thepotato-ground was screened from the eye by sweet peas and lupine. Simpleelegance, all this, it is true; but how well it speaks for peasant andlandlord, when you see that the peasant is fond of his home, and hassome spare time and heart to bestow upon mere embellishment! Sucha peasant is sure to be a bad customer to the alehouse, and a safeneighbour to the squire's preserves. All honour and praise to him, except a small tax upon both, which is due to the landlord!

Such sights were as pleasant to the parson as the most beautifullandscapes of Italy can be to the dilettante. He paused a moment at thewicket to look around him, and distended his nostrils voluptuously toinhale the smell of the sweet peas, mixed with that of the new-mown hayin the fields behind, which a slight breeze bore to him. He thenmoved on, carefully scraped his shoes, clean and well-polished as theywere, --for Mr. Dale was rather a beau in his own clerical way, --on thescraper without the door, and lifted the latch. 

Your virtuoso looks with artistical delight on the figure of some nymphpainted on an Etruscan vase, engaged in pouring out the juice of thegrape from her classic urn. And the parson felt as harmless, if not aselegant a pleasure, in contemplating Widow Fairfield brimming high aglittering can, which she designed for the refreshment of the thirstyhaymakers. 

Mrs. Fairfield was a middle-aged, tidy woman, with that alert precisionof movement which seems to come from an active, orderly mind; and as shenow turned her head briskly at the sound of the parson's footstep, sheshowed a countenance prepossessing though not handsome, --a countenancefrom which a pleasant, hearty smile, breaking forth at that moment, effaced some lines that, in repose, spoke "of sorrows, but of sorrowspast;" and her cheek, paler than is common to the complexions even ofthe fair sex, when born and bred amidst a rural population, might havefavoured the guess that the earlier part of her life had been spent inthe languid air and "within-doors" occupations of a town. 

"Never mind me, " said the parson, as Mrs. Fairfield dropped her quickcourtesy, and smoothed her apron; "if you are going into the hayfield, Iwill go with you; I have something to say to Lenny, --an excellent boy. "

WIDOW. --"Well, sir, and you are kind to say it, --but so he is. "

PARSON. --"He reads uncommonly well, he writes tolerably; he is the bestlad in the whole school at his Catechism and in the Bible lessons; and Iassure you, when I see his face at church, looking up so attentively, Ifancy that I shall read my sermon all the better for such a listener!"

WIDOW (wiping her eyes with the corner of her apron). --"'Deed, sir, whenmy poor Mark died, I never thought I could have lived on as I have done. But that boy is so kind and good, that when I look at him sitting therein dear Mark's chair, and remember how Mark loved him, and all he usedto say to me about him, I feel somehow or other as if my good man smiledon me, and would rather I was not with him yet, till the lad had grownup, and did not want me any more. "

PARSON (looking away, and after a pause). --"You never hear anything ofthe old folks at Lansmere?"

"'Deed, sir, sin' poor Mark died, they han't noticed me nor the boy;but, " added the widow, with all a peasant's pride, "it isn't that Iwants their money; only it's hard to feel strange like to one's ownfather and mother!"

PARSON. --"You must excuse them. Your father, Mr. Avenel, was never quitethe same man after that sad event which--but you are weeping, my friend, pardon me; your mother is a little proud; but so are you, though inanother way. "

WIDOW. --"I proud! Lord love ye, sir, I have not a bit o' pride in me!and that's the reason they always looked down on me. "

PARSON. --"Your parents must be well off; and I shall apply to them in ayear or two on behalf of Lenny, for they promised me to provide for himwhen he grew up, as they ought. "

WIDOW (with flashing eyes). --"I am sure, sir, I hope you will do no suchthing; for I would not have Lenny beholden to them as has never givenhim a kind word sin' he was born!"

The parson smiled gravely, and shook his head at poor Mrs. Fairfield'shasty confutation of her own self-acquittal from the charge of pride;but he saw that it was not the time or moment for effectual peace-makingin the most irritable of all rancours, --namely, that nourished againstone's nearest relations. He therefore dropped the subject, and said, "Well, time enough to think of Lenny's future prospects; meanwhile weare forgetting the haymakers. Come. "

The widow opened the back door, which led across a little apple orchardinto the fields. 

PARSON. --"You have a pleasant place here; and I see that my friend Lennyshould be in no want of apples. I had brought him one, but I have givenit away on the road. "

WIDOW. --"Oh, sir, it is not the deed, --it is the will; as I feltwhen the squire, God bless him! took two pounds off the rent the yearhe--that is, Mark--died. "

PARSON. --"If Lenny continues to be such a help to you, it will not belong before the squire may put the two pounds on again. "

"Yes, sir, " said the widow, simply; "I hope he will. "

"Silly woman!" muttered the parson. "That's not exactly what theschoolmistress would have said. You don't read nor write, Mrs. Fairfield; yet you express yourself with great propriety. "

"You know Mark was a schollard, sir, like my poor, poor sister; andthough I was a sad stupid girl afore I married, I tried to take afterhim when we came together. "

CHAPTER IV. 

They were now in the hayfield, and a boy of about sixteen, but, likemost country lads, to appearance much younger than he was, looked upfrom his rake, with lively blue eyes beaming forth under a profusion ofbrown curly hair. 

Leonard Fairfield was indeed a very handsome boy, --not so stout nor soruddy as one would choose for the ideal of rustic beauty, nor yet sodelicate in limb and keen in expression as are those children of cities, in whom the mind is cultivated at the expense of the body; but stillhe had the health of the country in his cheeks, and was not without thegrace of the city in his compact figure and easy movements. There wasin his physiognomy something interesting from its peculiar character ofinnocence and simplicity. You could see that he had been brought up bya woman, and much apart from familiar contact with other children; andsuch intelligence as was yet developed in him was not ripened by thejokes and cuffs of his coevals, but fostered by decorous lecturings fromhis elders, and good-little-boy maxims in good-little-boy books. 

PARSON. --"Come hither, Lenny. You know the benefit of school, I see: itcan teach you nothing better than to be a support to your mother. "

LENNY (looking down sheepishly, and with a heightened glow over hisface). --"Please, sir, that may come one of these days. "

PARSON. --"That's right, Lenny. Let me see! why, you must be nearly aman. How old are you?"

Lenny looks up inquiringly at his mother. 

PARSON. --"You ought to know, Lenny: speak for yourself. Hold yourtongue, Mrs. Fairfield. "

LENNY (twirling his hat, and in great perplexity). --"Well, and there isFlop, neighbour Dutton's old sheep-dog. He be very old now. "

PARSON. --"I am not asking Flop's age, but your own. "

LENNY. --"'Deed, sir, I have heard say as how Flop and I were pupstogether. That is, I--I--"

For the parson is laughing, and so is Mrs. Fairfield; and the haymakers, who have stood still to listen, are laughing too. And poor Lenny hasquite lost his head, and looks as if he would like to cry. 

PARSON (patting the curly locks, encouragingly). --"Never mind; it is notso badly answered, after all. And how old is Flop?"

LENNY. --"Why, he must be fifteen year and more. . "

PARSON. --"How old, then, are you?"

LENNY (looking up, with a beam of intelligence). --"Fifteen year andmore. "

Widow sighs and nods her head. 

"That's what we call putting two and two together, " said the parson. "Or, in other words, " and here he raised his eyes majestically towardsthe haymakers--"in other words, thanks to his love for his book, simple as he stands here, Lenny Fairfield has shown himself capable ofINDUCTIVE RATIOCINATION. "

At those words, delivered ore rotundo, the haymakers ceased laughing;for even in lay matters they held the parson to be an oracle, and wordsso long must have a great deal in them. Lenny drew up his head proudly. 

"You are very fond of Flop, I suppose?"

"'Deed he is, " said the widow, "and of all poor dumb creatures. "

"Very good. Suppose, my lad, that you had a fine apple, and that you meta friend who wanted it more than you, what would you do with it?"

"Please you, sir, I would give him half of it. "

The parson's face fell. "Not the whole, Lenny?"

Lenny considered. "If he was a friend, sir, he would not like me to givehim all. "

"Upon my word, Master Leonard, you speak so well that I must e'entell the truth. I brought you an apple, as a prize for good conduct inschool. But I met by the way a poor donkey, and some one beat him foreating a thistle, so I thought I would make it up by giving him theapple. Ought I only to have given him the half?"

Lenny's innocent face became all smile; his interest was aroused. "Anddid the donkey like the apple?"

"Very much, " said the parson, fumbling in his pocket; but thinking ofLeonard Fairfield's years and understanding, and moreover observing, inthe pride of his heart, that there were many spectators to his deed, he thought the meditated twopence not sufficient, and he generouslyproduced a silver sixpence. 

"There, my man, that will pay for the half apple which you would havekept for yourself. " The parson again patted the curly locks, and aftera hearty word or two with the other haymakers, and a friendly "Good-day"to Mrs. Fairfield, struck into a path that led towards his own glebe. 

He had just crossed the stile, when he heard hasty but timorous feetbehind him. He turned, and saw his friend Lenny. 

LENNY (half-crying, and holding out the sixpence). --"Indeed, sir, Iwould rather not. I would have given all to the Neddy. "

PARSON. --"Why, then, my man, you have a still greater right to thesixpence. "

LENNY. --"No, sir; 'cause you only gave it to make up for the half apple. And if I had given the whole, as I ought to have done, why, I shouldhave had no right to the sixpence. Please, sir, don't be offended; dotake it back, will you?"

The parson hesitated. And the boy thrust the sixpence into his hand, asthe ass had poked its nose there before in quest of the apple. 

"I see, " said Parson Dale, soliloquizing, "that if one don't giveJustice the first place at the table, all the other Virtues eat up hershare. "

Indeed, the case was perplexing. Charity, like a forward, impudentbaggage as she is, always thrusting herself in the way, and taking otherpeople's apples to make her own little pie, had defrauded Lenny of hisdue; and now Susceptibility, who looks like a shy, blush-faced, awkwardVirtue in her teens--but who, nevertheless, is always engaged inpicking the pockets of her sisters--tried to filch from him his lawfulrecompense. The case was perplexing; for the parson held Susceptibilityin great honour, despite her hypocritical tricks, and did not like togive her a slap in the face, which might frighten her away forever. SoMr. Dale stood irresolute, glancing from the sixpence to Lenny, and fromLenny to the sixpence. 

"Buon giorno, Good-day to you, " said a voice behind, in an accentslightly but unmistakably foreign, and a strange-looking figurepresented itself at the stile. 

Imagine a tall and exceedingly meagre man, dressed in a rusty suit ofblack, --the pantaloons tight at the calf and ankle, and there forming aloose gaiter over thick shoes, buckled high at the instep; an old cloak, lined with red, was thrown over one shoulder, though the day was sultry;a quaint, red, outlandish umbrella, with a carved brass handle, wasthrust under one arm, though the sky was cloudless: a profusion of ravenhair, in waving curls that seemed as fine as silk, escaped from thesides of a straw hat of prodigious brim; a complexion sallow andswarthy, and features which, though not without considerable beautyto the eye of the artist, were not only unlike what we fair, well-fed, neat-faced Englishmen are wont to consider comely, but exceedingly likewhat we are disposed to regard as awful and Satanic, --to wit, a longhooked nose, sunken cheeks, black eyes, whose piercing brilliancy tooksomething wizard-like and mystical from the large spectacles throughwhich they shone; a mouth round which played an ironical smile, and inwhich a physiognomist would have remarked singular shrewdness, andsome closeness, complete the picture. Imagine this figure, grotesque, peregrinate, and to the eye of a peasant certainly diabolical; thenperch it on the stile in the midst of those green English fields, andin sight of that primitive English village; there let it sit straddling, its long legs dangling down, a short German pipe emitting clouds fromone corner of those sardonic lips, its dark eyes glaring through thespectacles full upon the parson, yet askant upon Lenny Fairfield. LennyFairfield looked exceedingly frightened. 

"Upon my word, Dr. Riccabocca, " said Mr. Dale, smiling, "you come ingood time to solve a very nice question in casuistry;" and herewith theparson explained the case, and put the question, "Ought Lenny Fairfieldto have the sixpence, or ought he not?"

"Cospetto!" said the doctor, "if the hen would but hold her tongue, nobody would know that she had laid an egg. "

CHAPTER V. 

"Granted, " said the parson; "but what follows? The saying is good, but Idon't see the application. "

"A thousand pardons!" replied Dr. Riccabocca, with all the urbanity ofan Italian; "but it seems to me that if you had given the sixpence tothe fanciullo, that is, to this good little boy, without telling him thestory about the donkey, you would never have put him and yourself intothis awkward dilemma. "

"But, my dear sir, " whispered the parson, mildly, as he inclined hislips to the doctor's ear, "I should then have lost the opportunity ofinculcating a moral lesson--you understand?"

Dr. Riccabocca shrugged his shoulders, restored his pipe to his mouth, and took a long whiff. It was a whiff eloquent, though cynical, --a whiffpeculiar to your philosophical smoker, a whiff that implied the mostabsolute but the most placid incredulity as to the effect of theparson's moral lesson. 

"Still you have not given us your decision, " said the parson, after apause. 

The doctor withdrew the pipe. "Cospetto!" said he, --"he who scrubs thehead of an ass wastes his soap. "

"If you scrubbed mine fifty times over with those enigmatical proverbsof yours, " said the parson, testily, "you would not make it any thewiser. "

"My good sir, " said the doctor, bowing low from his perch on the stile, "I never presumed to say that there were more asses than one in thestory; but I thought that I could not better explain my meaning, whichis simply this, --you scrubbed the ass's head, and therefore you mustlose the soap. Let the fanciullo have the sixpence; and a great sum itis, too, for a little boy, who may spend it all as pocketmoney!"

"There, Lenny, you hear?" said the parson, stretching out the sixpence. But Lenny retreated, and cast on the umpire a look of great aversion anddisgust. 

"Please, Master Dale, " said he, obstinately, "I'd rather not. 

"It is a matter of feeling, you see, " said the parson, turning to theumpire; "and I believe the boy is right. "

"If it be a matter of feeling, " replied Dr. Riccabocca, "there is nomore to be said on it. When Feeling comes in at the door, Reason hasnothing to do but to jump out of the window. "

"Go, my good boy, " said the parson, pocketing the coin; "but, stop! giveme your hand first. There--I understand you;--good-by!"

Lenny's eyes glistened as the parson shook him by the hand, and, nottrusting himself to speak, he walked off sturdily. The parson wiped hisforehead, and sat himself down on the stile beside the Italian. The viewbefore them was lovely, and both enjoyed it (though not equally) enoughto be silent for some moments. On the other side the lane, seen betweengaps in the old oaks and chestnuts that hung over the mossgrown pales ofHazeldean Park, rose gentle, verdant slopes, dotted with sheep and herdsof deer. A stately avenue stretched far away to the left, and ended atthe right hand within a few yards of a ha-ha that divided the park froma level sward of tableland, gay with shrubs and flower-pots, relieved bythe shade of two mighty cedars. And on this platform, only seen in part, stood the squire's old-fashioned house, red-brick, with stone mullions, gable-ends, and quaint chimney-pots. On this side the road, immediatelyfacing the two gentlemen, cottage after cottage whitely emerged fromthe curves in the lane, while, beyond, the ground declining gave anextensive prospect of woods and cornfields, spires and farms. Behind, from a belt of lilacs and evergreens, you caught a peep of theparsonage-house, backed by woodlands, and a little noisy rill running infront. The birds were still in the hedgerows, --only (as if from the veryheart of the most distant woods), there came now and then the mellownote of the cuckoo. 

"Verily, " said Mr. Dale, softly, "my lot has fallen on a goodlyheritage. "

The Italian twitched his cloak over him, and sighed almost inaudibly. Perhaps he thought of his own Summer Land, and felt that, amidst allthat fresh verdure of the North, there was no heritage for the stranger. 

However, before the parson could notice the sigh or conjecture thecause, Dr. Riccabocca's thin lips took an expression almost malignant. 

"Per Bacco!" said he; "in every country I observe that the rooks settlewhere the trees are the finest. I am sure that, when Noah first landedon Ararat, he must have found some gentleman in black already settled inthe pleasantest part of the mountain, and waiting for his tenth of thecattle as they came out of the Ark. "

The parson fixed his meek eyes on the philosopher, and there was in themsomething so deprecating rather than reproachful that Dr. Riccaboccaturned away his face, and refilled his pipe. Dr. Riccabocca abhorredpriests; but though Parson Dale was emphatically a parson, he seemed atthat moment so little of what Dr. Riccabocca understood by a priestthat the Italian's heart smote him for his irreverent jest on thecloth. Luckily at this moment there was a diversion to that untowardcommencement of conversation in the appearance of no less a personagethan the donkey himself--I mean the donkey who ate the apple. 

CHAPTER VI. 

The tinker was a stout, swarthy fellow, jovial and musical withal, forhe was singing a stave as he flourished his staff, and at the end ofeach refrain down came the staff on the quarters of the donkey. Thetinker went behind and sang, the donkey went before and was thwacked. 

"Yours is a droll country, " quoth Dr. Riccabocca; "in mine, it is notthe ass that walks first in the procession that gets the blows. "

The parson jumped from the stile, and looking over the hedge thatdivided the field from the road--"Gently, gently, " said he; "the soundof the stick spoils the singing! Oh, Mr. Sprott, Mr. Sprott! a good manis merciful to his beast. "

The donkey seemed to recognize the voice of its friend, for it stoppedshort, pricked one ear wistfully, and looked up. The tinker touched hishat, and looked up too. "Lord bless your reverence! he does not mindit, --he likes it. I vould not hurt thee; would I, Neddy?"

The donkey shook his head and shivered; perhaps a fly had settled on thesore, which the chestnut leaves no longer protected. 

"I am sure you did not mean to hurt him, Sprott, " said the parson, more politely I fear than honestly, --for he had seen enough of thatcross-grained thing called the human heart, even in the little world ofa country parish, to know that it requires management and coaxingand flattering, to interfere successfully between a man and his owndonkey, --"I am sure you did not mean to hurt him; but he has already gota sore on his shoulder as big as my hand, poor thing!"

"Lord love 'un! yes; that was done a playing with the manger the day Igave 'un oats!" said the tinker. 

Dr. Riccabocca adjusted his spectacles, and surveyed the ass. The asspricked up his other ear, and surveyed Dr. Riccabocca. In that mutualsurvey of physical qualifications, each being regarded according to theaverage symmetry of its species, it may be doubted whether the advantagewas on the side of the philosopher. 

The parson had a great notion of the wisdom of his friend in all mattersnot purely ecclesiastical. 

"Say a good word for the donkey!" whispered he. 

"Sir, " said the doctor, addressing Mr. Sprott, with a respectfulsalutation, "there's a great kettle at my house--the Casino--which wantssoldering: can you recommend me a tinker?"

"Why, that's all in my line, " said Sprott; "and there ben't a tinker inthe county that I vould recommend like myself, tho'f I say it. "

"You jest, good sir, " said the doctor, smiling pleasantly. "A man whocan't mend a hole in his own donkey can never demean himself by patchingup my great kettle. "

"Lord, sir!" said the tinker, archly, "if I had known that poor Neddyhad had two sitch friends in court, I'd have seen he vas a gintleman, and treated him as sitch. "

"Corpo di Bacco!" quoth the doctor, "though that jest's not new, I thinkthe tinker comes very well out of it. "

"True; but the donkey!" said the parson; "I've a great mind to buy it. "

"Permit me to tell you an anecdote in point, " said Dr. Riccabocca. 

"Well?" said the parson, interrogatively. 

"Once on a time, " pursued Riccabocca, "the Emperor Adrian, going to thepublic baths, saw an old soldier, who had served under him, rubbing hisback against the marble wall. The emperor, who was a wise, and thereforea curious, inquisitive man, sent for the soldier, and asked him why heresorted to that sort of friction. 'Because, ' answered the veteran, 'Iam too poor to have slaves to rub me down. ' The emperor was touched, andgave him slaves and money. The next day, when Adrian went to the baths, all the old men in the city were to be seen rubbing themselves againstthe marble as hard as they could. The emperor sent for them, and askedthem the same question which he had put to the soldier; the cunning oldrogues, of course, made the same answer. 'Friends, ' said Adrian, 'sincethere are so many of you, you will just rub one another!' Mr. Dale, ifyou don't want to have all the donkeys in the county with holes in theirshoulders, you had better not buy the tinker's!"

"It is the hardest thing in the world to do the least bit of good, "groaned the parson, as he broke a twig off the hedge nervously, snappedit in two, and flung away the fragments: one of them hit the donkey onthe nose. If the ass could have spoken Latin he would have said, "Et tu, Brute!" As it was, he hung down his ears, and walked on. 

"Gee hup, " said the tinker, and he followed the ass. Then stopping, helooked over his shoulder, and seeing that the parson's eyes were gazingmournfully on his protege, "Never fear, your reverence, " cried thetinker, kindly, "I'll not spite 'un. "

CHAPTER VII. 

"Four, o'clock, " cried the parson, looking at his watch; "half an hourafter dinner-time, and Mrs. Dale particularly begged me to be punctual, because of the fine trout the squire sent us. Will you venture on whatour homely language calls 'pot-luck, ' Doctor?"

Now Riccabocca was a professed philosopher, and valued himself on hispenetration into the motives of human conduct. And when the parson thusinvited him to pot-luck, he smiled with a kind of lofty complacency; forMrs. Dale enjoyed the reputation of having what her friends styled"her little tempers. " And, as well-bred ladies rarely indulge "littletempers" in the presence of a third person not of the family, so Dr. Riccabocca instantly concluded that he was invited to stand between thepot and the luck! Nevertheless--as he was fond of trout, and a muchmore good-natured man than he ought to have been according to hisprinciples--he accepted the hospitality; but he did so with a sly lookfrom over his spectacles, which brought a blush into the guilty cheeksof the parson. Certainly Riccabocca had for once guessed right in hisestimate of human motives. 

The two walked on, crossed a little bridge that spanned the rill, andentered the parsonage lawn. Two dogs, that seemed to have sat on watchfor their master, sprang towards him, barking; and the sound drew thenotice of Mrs. Dale, who, with parasol in hand, sallied out from thesash window which opened on the lawn. Now, O reader! I know that, inthy secret heart, thou art chuckling over the want of knowledge in thesacred arcana of the domestic hearth betrayed by the author; thou artsaying to thyself, "A pretty way to conciliate 'little tempers' indeed, to add to the offence of spoiling the fish the crime of bringing anunexpected friend to eat it. Pot-luck, quotha, when the pot 's boiledover this half hour!"

But, to thy utter shame and confusion, O reader! learn that both theauthor and Parson Dale knew very well what they were about. 

Dr. Riccabocca was the special favourite of Mrs. Dale, and the onlyperson in the whole county who never put her out, by dropping in. Infact, strange though it may seem at first glance, Dr. Riccabocca hadthat mysterious something about him, which we of his own sex can solittle comprehend, but which always propitiates the other. He owed this, in part, to his own profound but hypocritical policy; for he looked uponwoman as the natural enemy to man, against whom it was necessary to bealways on the guard; whom it was prudent to disarm by every species offawning servility and abject complaisance. He owed it also, in part, tothe compassionate and heavenly nature of the angels whom his thoughtsthus villanously traduced--for women like one whom they can pity withoutdespising; and there was something in Signor Riccabocca's poverty, in his loneliness, in his exile, whether voluntary or compelled, thatexcited pity; while, despite his threadbare coat, the red umbrella, andthe wild hair, he had, especially when addressing ladies, that airof gentleman and cavalier, which is or was more innate in an educatedItalian, of whatever rank, than perhaps in the highest aristocracy ofany other country in Europe. For, though I grant that nothing is moreexquisite than the politeness of your French marquis of the old regime, nothing more frankly gracious than the cordial address of a high-bredEnglish gentleman, nothing more kindly prepossessing than the genialgood-nature of some patriarchal German, who will condescend to forgethis sixteen quarterings in the pleasure of doing you a favour, --yetthese specimens of the suavity of their several nations are rare;whereas blandness and polish are common attributes with your Italian. They seem to have been immemorially handed down to him, from ancestorsemulating the urbanity of Caesar, and refined by the grace of Horace. 

"Dr. Riccabocca consents to dine with us, " cried the parson, hastily. 

"If Madame permit?" said the Italian, bowing over the hand extended tohim, which, however, he forbore to take, seeing it was already full ofthe watch. 

"I am only sorry that the trout must be quite spoiled, " began Mrs. Dale, plaintively. 

"It is not the trout one thinks of when one dines with Mrs. Dale, " saidthe infamous dissimulator. 

"But I see James coming to say that dinner is ready, " observed theparson. 

"He said that three-quarters of an hour ago, Charles dear, " retortedMrs. Dale, taking the arm of Dr. Riccabocca. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

While the parson and his wife are entertaining their guest, I propose toregale the reader with a small treatise a propos of that "Charles dear, "murmured by Mrs. Dale, --a treatise expressly written for the benefit ofThe Domestic Circle. 

It is an old jest that there is not a word in the language that conveysso little endearment as the word "dear. " But though the saying itself, like most truths, be trite and hackneyed, no little novelty remainsto the search of the inquirer into the varieties of inimical importcomprehended in that malign monosyllable. For instance, I submit tothe experienced that the degree of hostility it betrays is in muchproportioned to its collocation in the sentence. When, glidingindirectly through the rest of the period, it takes its stand at theclose, as in that "Charles dear" of Mrs. Dale, it has spilled so much ofits natural bitterness by the way that it assumes even a smile, "amaralento temperet risu. " Sometimes the smile is plaintive, sometimes arch. For example:--

(Plaintive. ) "I know very well that whatever I do is wrong, Charlesdear. "

"Nay, I am very glad you amused yourself so much without me, Charlesdear. "

"Not quite so loud! If you had but my poor head, Charles dear, " etc. 

(Arch. ) "If you could spill the ink anywhere but on the best tablecloth, Charles dear!"

"But though you must always have your own way, you are not quitefaultless, own, Charles dear, " etc. 

When the enemy stops in the middle of the sentence, its venom isnaturally less exhausted. For example:--

"Really, I must say, Charles dear, that you are the most fidgetyperson, " etc. 

"And if the house bills were so high last week, Charles dear, I shouldjust like to know whose fault it was--that's all. "

"But you know, Charles dear, that you care no more for me and thechildren than--" etc. 

But if the fatal word spring up, in its primitive freshness, at the headof the sentence, bow your head to the storm. It then assumes the majestyof "my" before it; it is generally more than simple objurgation, --itprefaces a sermon. My candour obliges me to confess that this is themode in which the hateful monosyllable is more usually employed by themarital part of the one flesh; and has something about it of theodious assumption of the Petruchian paterfamilias--the head of thefamily--boding, not perhaps "peace and love, and quiet life, " butcertainly "awful rule and right supremacy. " For example:--

"My dear Jane, I wish you would just put by that everlasting crochet, and listen to me for a few moments, " etc. "My dear Jane, I wish youwould understand me for once; don't think I am angry, --no, but I amhurt! You must consider, " etc. 

"My dear Jane, I don't know if it is your intention to ruin me; but Ionly wish you would do as all other women do who care three straws fortheir husband's property, " etc. 

"My dear Jane, I wish you to understand that I am the last person inthe world to be jealous; but I'll be d---d if that puppy, CaptainPrettyman, " etc. 

Now, few so carefully cultivate the connubial garden, as to feel muchsurprise at the occasional sting of a homely nettle or two; but whoever expected, before entering that garden, to find himself pricked andlacerated by an insidious exotical "dear, " which he had been taught tobelieve only lived in a hothouse, along with myrtles and other tenderand sensitive shrubs which poets appropriate to Venus? NeverthelessParson Dale, being a patient man, and a pattern to all husbands, wouldhave found no fault with his garden, though there had not been a singlespecimen of "dear, "--whether the dear humilis or the dear superba; thedear pallida, rubra, or nigra; the dear suavis or the dear horrida, --no, not a single "dear" in the whole horticulture of matrimony, which Mrs. Dale had not brought to perfection. But this was far from being thecase; Mrs. Dale, living much in retirement, was unaware of the modernimprovements, in variety of colour and sharpness of prickle, which haverewarded the persevering skill of our female florists. 

CHAPTER IX. 

In the cool of the evening Dr. Riccabocca walked home across the fields. Mr. And Mrs. Dale had accompanied him half-way, and as they now turnedback to the parsonage, they looked behind to catch a glimpse of thetall, outlandish figure, winding slowly through the path amidst thewaves of the green corn. 

"Poor man!" said Mrs. Dale, feelingly; "and the button was off hiswristband! What a pity he has nobody to take care of him! He seems verydomestic. Don't you think, Charles, it would be a great blessing if wecould get him a good wife?"

"Um, " said the parson; "I doubt if he values the married state as heought. "

"What do you mean, Charles? I never saw a man more polite to ladies inmy life. "

"Yes, but--"

"But what? You are always so mysterious, Charles dear. "

"Mysterious! No, Carry; but if you could hear what the doctor says ofthe ladies sometimes. "

"Ay, when you men get together, my dear. I know what that means--prettythings you say of us! But you are all alike; you know you are, love!"

"I am sure, " said the parson, simply, "that I have good cause to speakwell of the sex--when I think of you and my poor mother. "

Mrs. Dale, who, with all her "tempers, " was an excellent woman, andloved her husband with the whole of her quick little heart, was touched. She pressed his hand, and did not call him dear all the way home. 

Meanwhile the Italian passed the fields, and came upon the high roadabout two miles from Hazeldean. On one side stood an old-fashionedsolitary inn, such as English inns used to be before they becamerailway hotels, --square, solid, old-fashioned, looking so hospitableand comfortable, with their great signs swinging from some elm-tree infront, and the long row of stables standing a little back, with a chaiseor two in the yard, and the jolly landlord talking of the crops to somestout farmer, whose rough pony halts of itself at the well-known door. Opposite this inn, on the other side of the road, stood the habitationof Dr. Riecabocca. 

A few years before the date of these annals, the stage-coach on its wayto London from a seaport town stopped at the inn, as was its wont, for agood hour, that its passengers might dine like Christian Englishmen--notgulp down a basin of scalding soup, like everlasting heathen Yankees, with that cursed railway-whistle shrieking like a fiend in their ears!It was the best dining-place on the whole road, for the trout in theneighbouring rill were famous, and so was the mutton which came fromHazeldean Park. 

From the outside of the coach had descended two passengers, who, aloneinsensible to the attractions of mutton and trout, refused to dine, --twomelancholy-looking foreigners, of whom one was Signor Riccabocca, much the same as we see him now, only that the black suit was lessthreadbare, the tall form less meagre, and he did not then wearspectacles; and the other was his servant. "They would walk aboutwhile the coach stopped. " Now the Italian's eye had been caught bya mouldering, dismantled house on the other side the road, whichnevertheless was well situated; half-way up a green hill, with itsaspect due south, a little cascade falling down artificial rockwork, aterrace with a balustrade, and a few broken urns and statues beforeits Ionic portico, while on the roadside stood a board, withcharacters already half effaced, implying that the house was "To be letunfurnished, with or without land. "

The abode that looked so cheerless, and which had so evidently hung longon hand, was the property of Squire Hazeldean. It had been built by hisgrandfather on the female side, --a country gentleman who had actuallybeen in Italy (a journey rare enough to boast of in those days), andwho, on his return home, had attempted a miniature imitation of anItalian villa. He left an only daughter and sole heiress, who marriedSquire Hazeldean's father; and since that time, the house, abandonedby its proprietors for the larger residence of the Hazeldeans, hadbeen uninhabited and neglected. Several tenants, indeed, had offeredthemselves; but your true country squire is slow in admitting upon hisown property a rival neighbour. Some wanted shooting. "That, " said theHazeldeans, who were great sportsmen and strict preservers, "was quiteout of the question. " Others were fine folks from London. "Londonservants, " said the Hazeldeans, who were moral and prudent people, "would corrupt their own, and bring London prices. " Others, again, were retired manufacturers, at whom the Hazeldeans turned up theiragricultural noses. In short, some were too grand, and others toovulgar. Some were refused because they were known so well: "Friends werebest at a distance, " said the Hazeldeans; others because they were notknown at all: "No good comes of strangers, " said the Hazeldeans. Andfinally, as the house fell more and more into decay, no one wouldtake it unless it was put into thorough repair: "As if one was made ofmoney!" said the Hazeldeans. In short, there stood the house unoccupiedand ruinous; and there, on its terrace, stood the two forlorn Italians, surveying it with a smile at each other, as for the first time sincethey set foot in England, they recognized, in dilapidated pilasters andbroken statues, in a weed-grown terrace and the remains of an orangery, something that reminded them of the land they had left behind. 

On returning to the inn, Dr. Riccabocca took the occasion to learn fromthe innkeeper (who was indeed a tenant of the squire) such particularsas he could collect; and a few days afterwards Mr. Hazeldean receiveda letter from a solicitor of repute in London, stating that a veryrespectable foreign gentleman had commissioned him to treat for ClumpLodge, otherwise called the "Casino;" that the said gentleman did notshoot, lived in great seclusion, and, having no family, did notcare about the repairs of the place, provided only it were madeweather-proof, --if the omission of more expensive reparations couldrender the rent suitable to his finances, which were very limited. The offer came at a fortunate moment, when the steward had just beenrepresenting to the squire the necessity of doing something to keep theCasino from falling into positive ruin, and the squire was cursing thefates which had put the Casino into an entail--so that he could not pullit down for the building materials. Mr. Hazeldean therefore caught atthe proposal even as a fair lady, who has refused the best offers in thekingdom, catches, at last, at some battered old captain on half-pay, and replied that, as for rent, if the solicitor's client was a quiet, respectable man, he did not care for that, but that the gentleman mighthave it for the first year rent-free, on condition of paying the taxes, and putting the place a little in order. If they suited each other, theycould then come to terms. Ten days subsequently to this gracious reply, Signor Riccabocca and his servant arrived; and, before the year's end, the squire was so contented with his tenant that he gave him a runninglease of seven, fourteen, or twenty-one years, at a rent merely nominal, on condition that Signor Riccabocca would put and maintain the place inrepair, barring the roof and fences, which the squire generously renewedat his own expense. It was astonishing, by little and little, what apretty place the Italian had made of it, and, what is more astonishing, how little it had cost him. He had, indeed, painted the walls of thehall, staircase, and the rooms appropriated to himself, with his ownhands. His servant had done the greater part of the upholstery. The twobetween them had got the garden into order. 

The Italians seemed to have taken a joint love to the place, and to deckit as they would have done some favourite chapel to their Madonna. 

It was long before the natives reconciled themselves to the odd waysof the foreign settlers. The first thing that offended them was theexceeding smallness of the household bills. Three days out of the seven, indeed, both man and master dined on nothing else but the vegetables inthe garden, and the fishes in the neighbouring rill; when no troutcould be caught they fried the minnows (and certainly, even in the beststreams, minnows are more frequently caught than trout). The next thingwhich angered the natives quite as much, especially the female part ofthe neighbourhood, was the very sparing employment the two he creaturesgave to the sex usually deemed so indispensable in household matters. Atfirst, indeed, they had no woman-servant at all. But this createdsuch horror that Parson Dale ventured a hint upon the matter, whichRiccabocca took in very good part; and an old woman was forthwithengaged after some bargaining--at three shillings a week--to wash andscrub as much as she liked during the daytime. She always returnedto her own cottage to sleep. The man-servant, who was styled in theneighbourhood "Jackeymo, " did all else for his master, --smoothed hisroom, dusted his papers, prepared his coffee, cooked his dinner, brushedhis clothes, and cleaned his pipes, of which Riccabocca had a largecollection. But however close a man's character, it generally creeps outin driblets; and on many little occasions the Italian had shown acts ofkindness, and, on some more rare occasions, even of generosity, which had served to silence his calumniators, and by degrees he hadestablished a very fair reputation, --suspected, it is true, of being alittle inclined to the Black Art, and of a strange inclination to starveJackeymo and himself, in other respects harmless enough. 

Signor Riccabocca had become very intimate, as we have seen, at theParsonage. But not so at the Hall. For though the squire was inclinedto be very friendly to all his neighbours, he was, like most countrygentlemen, rather easily huffed. Riccabocca had, with great politeness, still with great obstinacy, refused Mr. Hazeldean's earlier invitationsto dinner; and when the squire found that the Italian rarely declinedto dine at the Parsonage, he was offended in one of his weakpoints, --namely, his pride in the hospitality of Hazeldean Hall, --and heceased altogether invitations so churlishly rejected. Nevertheless, asit was impossible for the squire, however huffed, to bear malice, he nowand then reminded Riccabocca of his existence by presents of game, andwould have called on him more often than he did, but that Riccaboccareceived him with such excessive politeness that the blunt countrygentleman felt shy and put out, and used to say that "to call onRickeybockey was as bad as going to Court. "

But we have left Dr. Riccabocca on the high road. By this time he hasascended a narrow path that winds by the side of the cascade, he haspassed a trellis-work covered with vines, from which Jackeymo haspositively succeeded in making what he calls wine, --a liquid, indeed, that if the cholera had been popularly known in those days, would havesoured the mildest member of the Board of Health; for Squire Hazeldean, though a robust man who daily carried off his bottle of port withimpunity, having once rashly tasted it, did not recover the effect tillhe had had a bill from the apothecary as long as his own arm. Passingthis trellis, Dr. Riccabocca entered upon the terrace, with its stonepavement as smoothed and trimmed as hands could make it. Here, on neatstands, all his favourite flowers were arranged; here four orange treeswere in full blossom; here a kind of summer-house, or belvidere, builtby Jackeymo and himself, made his chosen morning room from May tillOctober; and from this belvidere there was as beautiful an expanse ofprospect as if our English Nature had hospitably spread on her greenboard all that she had to offer as a banquet to the exile. 

A man without his coat, which was thrown over the balustrade, wasemployed in watering the flowers, --a man with movements so mechanical, with a face so rigidly grave in its tawny hues, that he seemed like anautomaton made out of mahogany. 

"Giacomo, " said Dr. Riccabocca, softly. 

The automaton stopped its hand, and turned its head. 

"Put by the watering-pot, and come hither, " continued Riccabocca, inItalian; and, moving towards the balustrade, he leaned over it. Mr. Mitford, the historian, calls Jean Jacques "John James. " Following thatillustrious example, Giacomo shall be Anglified into Jackeymo. Jackeymocame to the balustrade also, and stood a little behind his master. "Friend, " said Riccabocca, "enterprises have not always succeeded withus. Don't you think, after all, it is tempting our evil star to rentthose fields from the landlord?" Jackeymo crossed himself, and made somestrange movement with a little coral charm which he wore set in a ringon his finger. 

"If the Madonna send us luck, and we could hire a lad cheap?" saidJackeymo, doubtfully. 

"Piu vale un presente che dui futuri, "--["A bird in the hand is worthtwo in the bush. "]--said Riccabocca. 

"Chi non fa quando pub, non pub, fare quando vuole, "--["He who will notwhen he may, when he wills it shall have nay. "]--answered Jackeymo, assententiously as his master. "And the Padrone should think in time thathe must lay by for the dower of the poor signorina. "

Riccabocca sighed, and made no reply. 

"She must be that high now!" said Jackeymo, putting his hand on someimaginary line a little above the balustrade. Riccabocca's eyes, raisedover the spectacles, followed the hand. 

"If the Padrone could but see her here--"

"I thought I did, " muttered the Italian. 

"He would never let her go from his side till she went to a husband's, "continued Jackeymo. 

"But this climate, --she could never stand it, " said Riccabocca, drawinghis cloak round him, as a north wind took him in the rear. 

"The orange trees blossom even here with care, " said Jackeymo, turningback to draw down an awning where the orange trees faced the north. "See!" he added, as he returned with a sprig in full bud. 

Dr. Riccabocca bent over the blossom, and then placed it in his bosom. 

"The other one should be there too, " said Jackeymo. 

"To die--as this does already!" answered Riccabocca. "Say no more. "

Jackeymo shrugged his shoulders; and then, glancing at his master, drewhis hand over his eyes. 

There was a pause. Jackeymo was the first to break it. "But, whetherhere or there, beauty without money is the orange tree without shelter. If a lad could be got cheap, I would hire the land, and trust for thecrop to the Madonna. "

"I think I know of such a lad, " said Riccabocca, recovering himself, and with his sardonic smile once more lurking about the corners of hismouth, --"a lad made for us. "

"Diavolo!"

"No, not the Diavolo! Friend, I have this day seen a boy who--refusedsixpence!"

"Cosa stupenda!" exclaimed Jackeymo, opening his eyes, and letting fallthe watering-pot. 

"It is true, my friend. "

"Take him, Padrone, in Heaven's name, and the fields will grow gold. "

"I will think of it, for it must require management to catch such aboy, " said Riccabocca. "Meanwhile, light a candle in the parlour, andbring from my bedroom that great folio of Machiavelli. "

CHAPTER X. 

In my next chapter I shall present Squire Hazeldean in patriarchalstate, --not exactly under the fig-tree he has planted, but before thestocks he has reconstructed, --Squire Hazeldean and his family on thevillage green! The canvas is all ready for the colours. 

But in this chapter I must so far afford a glimpse into antecedents asto let the reader know that there is one member of the family whom heis not likely to meet at present, if ever, on the village green atHazeldean. 

Our squire lost his father two years after his birth; his motherwas very handsome--and so was her jointure; she married again at theexpiration of her year of mourning; the object of her second choice wasColonel Egerton. 

In every generation of Englishmen (at least since the lively reign ofCharles II. ) there are a few whom some elegant Genius skims off fromthe milk of human nature, and reserves for the cream of society. ColonelEgerton was one of these terque quaterque beati, and dwelt apart ona top shelf in that delicate porcelain dish--not bestowed upon vulgarbuttermilk--which persons of fashion call The Great World. Mighty wasthe marvel of Pall Mall, and profound was the pity of Park Lane, when this supereminent personage condescended to lower himself into ahusband. But Colonel Egerton was not a mere gaudy butterfly; he had theprovident instincts ascribed to the bee. Youth had passed from him, andcarried off much solid property in its flight; he saw that a time wasfast coming when a home, with a partner who could help to maintain it, would be conducive to his comforts, and an occasional hum-drum eveningby the fireside beneficial to his health. In the midst of one season atBrighton, to which gay place he had accompanied the Prince of Wales, he saw a widow, who, though in the weeds of mourning, did not appearinconsolable. Her person pleased his taste; the accounts of her jointuresatisfied his understanding; he contrived an introduction, and broughta brief wooing to a happy close. The late Mr. Hazeldean had so faranticipated the chance of the young widow's second espousals, that, incase of that event, he transferred, by his testamentary dispositions, the guardianship of his infant heir from the mother to two squires whomhe had named his executors. This circumstance combined with her new tiessomewhat to alienate Mrs. Hazeldean from the pledge of her former loves;and when she had borne a son to Colonel Egerton, it was upon that childthat her maternal affections gradually concentrated. 

William Hazeldean was sent by his guardians to a large provincialacademy, at which his forefathers had received their education time outof mind. At first he spent his holidays with Mrs. Egerton; but as shenow resided either in London, or followed her lord to Brighton, topartake of the gayeties at the Pavilion, so as he grew older, William, who had a hearty affection for country life, and of whose bluff mannersand rural breeding Mrs. Egerton (having grown exceedingly refined) wasopenly ashamed, asked and obtained permission to spend his vacationseither with his guardians or at the old Hall. He went late to a smallcollege at Cambridge, endowed in the fifteenth century by some ancestralHazeldean; and left it, on coming of age, without taking a degree. Afew years afterwards he married a young lady, country born and bred likehimself. 

Meanwhile his half-brother, Audley Egerton, may be said to have begunhis initiation into the beau monde before he had well cast aside hiscoral and bells; he had been fondled in the lap of duchesses, andhad galloped across the room astride on the canes of ambassadors andprinces. For Colonel Egerton was not only very highly connected, notonly one of the Dii majores of fashion, but he had the still rarer goodfortune to be an exceedingly popular man with all who knew him, --sopopular, that even the fine ladies whom he had adored and abandonedforgave him for marrying out of "the set, " and continued to be asfriendly as if he had not married at all. People who were commonlycalled heartless were never weary of doing kind things to the Egertons. When the time came for Audley to leave the preparatory school at whichhis infancy budded forth amongst the stateliest of the little liliesof the field, and go to Eton, half the fifth and sixth forms had beencanvassed to be exceedingly civil to young Egerton. The boy soon showedthat he inherited his father's talent for acquiring popularity, andthat to this talent he added those which put popularity to use. Withoutachieving any scholastic distinction, he yet contrived to establish atEton the most desirable reputation which a boy can obtain, --namely, thatamong his own contemporaries, the reputation of a boy who was sure todo something when he grew to be a man. As a gentleman-commoner at ChristChurch, Oxford, he continued to sustain this high expectation, though hewon no prizes, and took but an ordinary degree; and at Oxford the future"something" became more defined, --it was "something in public life" thatthis young man was to do. 

While he was yet at the University, both his parents died, within a fewmonths of each other. And when Audley Egerton came of age, he succeededto a paternal property which was supposed to be large, and indeed hadonce been so; but Colonel Egerton had been too lavish a man to enrichhis heir, and about L1500 a year was all that sales and mortgages leftof an estate that had formerly approached a rental of L10, 000. 

Still, Audley was considered to be opulent; and he did not dispel thatfavourable notion by any imprudent exhibition of parsimony. On enteringthe world of London, the Clubs flew open to receive him, and he wokeone morning to find himself, not indeed famous--but the fashion. To thisfashion he at once gave a certain gravity and value, he associated asmuch as possible with public men and political ladies, he succeeded inconfirming the notion that he was "born to ruin or to rule the State. "

The dearest and most intimate friend of Audley Egerton was LordL'Estrange, from whom he had been inseparable at Eton, and who now, ifAudley Egerton was the fashion, was absolutely the rage in London. 

Harley, Lord L'Estrange, was the only son of the Earl of Lansmere, anobleman of considerable wealth, and allied, by intermarriages, tothe loftiest and most powerful families in England. Lord Lansmere, nevertheless, was but little known in the circles of London. He livedchiefly on his estates, occupying himself with the various duties of agreat proprietor, and when he came to the metropolis, it was rather tosave than to spend; so that he could afford to give his son a very ampleallowance, when Harley, at the age of sixteen (having already attainedto the sixth form at Eton), left school for one of the regiments of theGuards. 

Few knew what to make of Harley L'Estrange, --and that was, perhaps, the reason why he was so much thought of. He had been by far themost brilliant boy of his time at Eton, --not only the boast of thecricket-ground, but the marvel of the schoolroom; yet so full of whimsand oddities, and seeming to achieve his triumphs with so little aidfrom steadfast application, that he had not left behind him the sameexpectations of solid eminence which his friend and senior, AudleyEgerton, had excited. His eccentricities, his quaint sayings, andout-of-the-way actions, became as notable in the great world as they hadbeen in the small one of a public school. That he was very clever therewas no doubt, and that the cleverness was of a high order might besurmised, not only from the originality but the independence of hischaracter. He dazzled the world, without seeming to care for its praiseor its censure, --dazzled it, as it were, because he could not helpshining. He had some strange notions, whether political or social, whichrather frightened his father. According to Southey, "A man should beno more ashamed of having been a republican than of having been young. "Youth and extravagant opinions naturally go together. I don't knowwhether Harley L'Estrange was a republican at the age of eighteen; butthere was no young man in London who seemed to care less for being heirto an illustrious name and some forty or fifty thousand pounds a year. It was a vulgar fashion in that day to play the exclusive, and cutpersons who wore bad neckcloths, and called themselves Smith or Johnson. Lord L'Estrange never cut any one, and it was quite enough to slightsome worthy man because of his neckcloth or his birth to insure tothe offender the pointed civilities of this eccentric successor to theBelforts and the Wildairs. 

It was the wish of his father that Harley, as soon as he came of age, should represent the borough of Lansmere (which said borough was thesingle plague of the earl's life). But this wish was never realized. Suddenly, when the young idol of London still wanted some two or threeyears of his majority, a new whim appeared to seize him. Hewithdrew entirely from society; he left unanswered the most pressingthree-cornered notes of inquiry and invitation that ever strewed thetable of a young Guardsman; he was rarely seen anywhere in his formerhaunts, --when seen, was either alone or with Egerton; and his gayspirits seemed wholly to have left him. A profound melancholy waswritten in his countenance, and breathed in the listless tones ofhis voice. About this time a vacancy happening to occur for therepresentation of Lansmere, Harley made it his special request to hisfather that the family interest might be given to Audley Egerton, --arequest which was backed by all the influence of his lady mother, who shared in the esteem which her son felt for his friend. The earlyielded; and Egerton, accompanied by Harley, went down to Lansmere Park, which adjoined the borough, in order to be introduced to the electors. This visit made a notable epoch in the history of many personages whofigure in my narrative; but at present I content myself with sayingthat circumstances arose which, just as the canvass for the new electioncommenced, caused both L'Estrange and Audley to absent themselves fromthe scene of action, and that the last even wrote to Lord Lansmereexpressing his intention of declining to contest the borough. 

Fortunately for the parliamentary career of Audley Egerton, the electionhad become to Lord Lansmere not only a matter of public importance, butof personal feeling. He resolved that the battle should be fought out, even in the absence of the candidate, and at his own expense. Hithertothe contest for this distinguished borough had been, to use the languageof Lord Lansmere, "conducted in the spirit of gentlemen, "--that is tosay, the only opponents to the Lansmere interest had been found in oneor the other of the two rival families in the same county; and as theearl was a hospitable, courteous man, much respected and liked by theneighbouring gentry, so the hostile candidate had always interlarded hisspeeches with profuse compliments to his Lordship's high character, and civil expressions as to his Lordship's candidate. But, thanks tosuccessive elections, one of these two families had come to an end, and its actual representative was now residing within the Rules of theBench; the head of the other family was the sitting member, and, by anamicable agreement with the Lansinere interest, he remained as neutralas it is in the power of any sitting member to be amidst the passionsof an intractable committee. Accordingly it had been hoped that Egertonwould come in without opposition, when, the very day on which he hadabruptly left the place, a handbill, signed "Haverill Dashmore, CaptainR. N. , Baker Street, Portman Square, " announced, in very spiritedlanguage, the intention of that gentleman "to emancipate the boroughfrom the unconstitutional domination of an oligarchical faction, notwith a view to his own political aggrandizement, --indeed at greatpersonal inconvenience, --but actuated solely by abhorrence to tyranny, and patriotic passion for the purity of election. "

This announcement was followed, within two hours, by the arrival ofCaptain Dashmore himself, in a carriage and four, covered with yellowfavours, and filled, inside and out, with harumscarum-looking friends, who had come down with him to share the canvass and partake the fun. 

Captain Dashmore was a thorough sailor, who had, however, conceived adisgust to the profession from the date in which a minister's nephew hadbeen appointed to the command of a ship to which the captain consideredhimself unquestionably entitled. It is just to the minister to add thatCaptain Dashmore had shown as little regard for orders from a distanceas had immortalized Nelson himself; but then the disobedience had notachieved the same redeeming success as that of Nelson, and CaptainDashmore ought to have thought himself fortunate in escaping a severertreatment than the loss of promotion. But no man knows when he iswell off; and retiring on half pay, just as he came into unexpectedpossession of some forty or fifty thousand pounds, bequeathed by adistant relation, Captain Dashmore was seized with a vindictivedesire to enter parliament, and inflict oratorical chastisement on theAdministration. 

A very few hours sufficed to show the sea-captain to be a most capitalelectioneerer for a popular but not enlightened constituency. It is truethat he talked the saddest nonsense ever heard from an open window; butthen his jokes were so broad, his manner so hearty, his voice so big, that in those dark days, before the schoolmaster was abroad, he wouldhave beaten your philosophical Radical and moralizing Democrat hollow. Moreover, he kissed all the women, old and young, with the zest of asailor who has known what it is to be three years at sea withoutsight of a beardless lip; he threw open all the public-houses, asked anumerous committee every day to dinner, and, chucking his purse up inthe air, declared "he would stick to his guns while there was a shot inthe locker. " Till then, there had been but little political differencebetween the candidate supported by Lord Lansmere's interest and theopposing parties; for country gentlemen, in those days, were prettymuch of the same way of thinking, and the question had been reallylocal, --namely, whether the Lansmere interest should or should notprevail over that of the two squire-archical families who had alone, hitherto, ventured to oppose it. But though Captain Dashmore was reallya very loyal man, and much too old a sailor to think that the State(which, according to established metaphor, is a vessel par excellence)should admit Jack upon quarterdeck, yet, what with talking against lordsand aristocracy, jobs and abuses, and searching through no very refinedvocabulary for the strongest epithets to apply to those irritatingnouns-substantive, his bile had got the better of his understanding, and he became fuddled, as it were, by his own eloquence. Thus, thoughas innocent of Jacobinical designs as he was incapable of setting theThames on fire, you would have guessed him, by his speeches, to be oneof the most determined incendiaries that ever applied a match to thecombustible materials of a contested election; while, being by no meansaccustomed to respect his adversaries, he could not have treatedthe Earl of Lansmere with less ceremony if his Lordship had been aFrenchman. He usually designated that respectable nobleman, who wasstill in the prime of life, by the title of "Old Pompous;" and themayor, who was never seen abroad but in top-boots, and the solicitor, who was of a large build, received from his irreverent wit the jointsobriquet of "Tops and Bottoms"! Hence the election had now become, as Isaid before, a personal matter with my Lord, and, indeed, with the greatheads of the Lansmere interest. The earl seemed to consider his verycoronet at stake in the question. "The Man from Baker Street, " with hispreternatural audacity, appeared to him a being ominous and awful--notso much to be regarded with resentment as with superstitious terror. Hefelt as felt the dignified Montezuma, when that ruffianly Cortez, withhis handful of Spanish rapscallions, bearded him in his own capital, and in the midst of his Mexican splendour. The gods were menaced ifman could be so insolent! wherefore, said my Lord tremulously, "The Constitution is gone if the Man from Baker Street comes in forLansmere!"

But in the absence of Audley Egerton, the election looked extremelyugly, and Captain Dashmore gained ground hourly, when the Lansmeresolicitor happily bethought him of a notable proxy for the missingcandidate. The Squire of Hazeldean, with his young wife, had beeninvited by the earl in honour of Audley; and in the squire the solicitorbeheld the only mortal who could cope with the sea-captain, --a man witha voice as burly and a face as bold; a man who, if permitted for thenonce by Mrs. Hazeldean, would kiss all the women no less heartily thanthe captain kissed them; and who was, moreover, a taller and a handsomerand a younger man, --all three great recommendations in the kissingdepartment of a contested election. Yes, to canvass the borough, andto speak from the window, Squire Hazeldean would be even more popularlypresentable than the London-bred and accomplished Audley Egertonhimself. 

The squire, applied to and urged on all sides, at first said bluntlythat he would do anything in reason to serve his brother, but that hedid not like, for his own part, appearing, even in proxy, as a lord'snominee; and moreover, if he was to be sponsor for his brother, why, he must promise and vow, in his name, to be stanch and true to the landthey lived by! And how could he tell that Audley, when once he got intothe House, would not forget the land, and then he, William Hazeldean, would be made a liar, and look like a turncoat!

But these scruples being overruled by the arguments of the gentlemenand the entreaties of the ladies, who took in the election that intenseinterest which those gentle creatures usually do take in all matters ofstrife and contest, the squire at length consented to confront the Manfrom Baker Street, and went accordingly into the thing with that goodheart and old English spirit with which he went into everything whereonhe had once made up his mind. 

The expectations formed of the squire's capacities for popularelectioneering were fully realized. He talked quite as much nonsense asCaptain Dashmore on every subject except the landed interest; there hewas great, for he knew the subject well, --knew it by the instinct thatcomes with practice, and compared to which all your showy theories aremere cobwebs and moonshine. 

The agricultural outvoters--many of whom, not living under LordLansmere, but being small yeomen, had hitherto prided themselves ontheir independence, and gone against my Lord--could not in their heartsgo against one who was every inch the farmer's friend. They began toshare in the earl's personal interest against the Man from Baker Street;and big fellows, with legs bigger round than Captain Dashmore's tightlittle body, and huge whips in their hands, were soon seen enteringthe shops, "intimidating the electors, " as Captain Dashmore indignantlydeclared. 

These new recruits made a great difference in the musterroll of theLansmere books; and when the day for polling arrived, the result was afair question for even betting. At the last hour, after a neck-and-neckcontest, Mr. Audley Egerton beat the captain by two votes; and the namesof these voters were John Avenel, resident freeman, and his son-in-law, Mark Fairfield, an outvoter, who, though a Lansmere freeman, had settledin Hazeldean, where he had obtained the situation of head carpenter onthe squire's estate. 

These votes were unexpected; for though Mark Fairfield had come toLansmere on purpose to support the squire's brother, and though theAvenels had been always stanch supporters of the Lansmere Blue interest, yet a severe affliction (as to the nature of which, not desiring tosadden the opening of my story, I am considerately silent) had befallenboth these persons, and they had left the town on the very day afterLord L'Estrange and Mr. Egerton had quitted Lansmere Park. 

Whatever might have been the gratification of the squire, as a canvasserand a brother, at Mr. Egerton's triumph, it was much damped when, onleaving the dinner given in honour of the victory at the Lansmere Arms, and about, with no steady step, to enter a carriage which was to conveyhim to his Lordship's house, a letter was put into his hands by one ofthe gentlemen who had accompanied the captain to the scene of action;and the perusal of that letter, and a few whispered words from thebearer thereof, sent the squire back to Mrs. Hazeldean a much sobererman than she had ventured to hope for. The fact was, that on the day ofnomination, the captain having honoured Mr. Hazeldean with many poeticaland figurative appellations, --such as "Prize Ox, " "Tony Lumpkin, ""Blood-sucking Vampire, " and "Brotherly Warming-Pan, "--the squire hadretorted by a joke about "Saltwater Jack;" and the captain, who like allsatirists was extremely susceptible and thin-skinned, could not consentto be called "Salt-water Jack" by a "Prize Ox" and a "BloodsuckingVampire. "

The letter, therefore, now conveyed to Mr. Hazeldean by a gentleman, who, being from the Sister Country, was deemed the most fittingaccomplice in the honourable destruction of a brother mortal, containednothing more nor less than an invitation to single combat; and thebearer thereof, with the suave politeness enjoined by etiquette on suchwell-bred homicidal occasions, suggested the expediency of appointingthe place of meeting in the neighbourhood of London, in order to preventinterference from the suspicious authorities of Lansmere. 

The natives of some countries--the warlike French in particular--thinklittle of that formal operation which goes by the name of DUELLING. Indeed, they seem rather to like it than otherwise. But there is nothingyour thorough-paced Englishman--a Hazeldean of Hazeldean--considers withmore repugnance and aversion than that same cold-blooded ceremonial. Itis not within the range of an Englishman's ordinary habits of thinking. He prefers going to law, --a much more destructive proceeding of the two. Nevertheless, if an Englishman must fight, why, he will fight. He says"It is very foolish;" he is sure "it is most unchristianlike;" he agreeswith all that Philosophy, Preacher, and Press have laid down on thesubject; but he makes his will, says his prayers, and goes out--like aheathen. 

It never, therefore, occurred to the squire to show the white featherupon this unpleasant occasion. The next day, feigning excuse to attendthe sale of a hunting stud at Tattersall's, he ruefully went up toLondon, after taking a peculiarly affectionate leave of his wife. Indeed, the squire felt convinced that he should never return homeexcept in a coffin. "It stands to reason, " said he to himself, "thata man who has been actually paid by the King's Government for shootingpeople ever since he was a little boy in a midshipman's jacket, mustbe a dead hand at the job. I should not mind if it was withdouble-barrelled Mantons and small shot; but ball and pistol, they aren't human nor sportsmanlike!" However, the squire, after settling hisworldly affairs, and hunting up an old college friend who undertook tobe his second, proceeded to a sequestered corner of Wimbledon Common, and planted himself, not sideways, as one ought to do in such encounters(the which posture the squire swore was an unmanly way of shirking), but full front to the mouth of his adversary's pistol, with such sturdycomposure that Captain Dashmore, who, though an excellent shot, was atbottom as good-natured a fellow as ever lived, testified his admirationby letting off his gallant opponent with a ball in the fleshy part ofthe shoulder, after which he declared himself perfectly satisfied. The parties then shook hands, mutual apologies were exchanged, andthe squire, much to his astonishment to find himself still alive, was conveyed to Limmer's Hotel, where, after a considerable amount ofanguish, the ball was extracted and the wound healed. Now it was allover, the squire felt very much raised in his own conceit; and when hewas in a humour more than ordinarily fierce, that perilous event becamea favourite allusion with him. 

He considered, moreover, that his brother had incurred at his hand themost lasting obligations; and that, having procured Audley's return toparliament, and defended his interests at risk of his own life, he hadan absolute right to dictate to that gentleman how to vote, --upon allmatters, at least, connected with the landed interest. And when, notvery long after Audley took his seat in parliament (which he did notdo for some months), he thought proper both to vote and to speak in amanner wholly belying the promises the squire had made on his behalf, Mr. Hazeldean wrote him such a trimmer that it could not but producean unconciliatory reply. Shortly afterwards the squire's exasperationreached the culminating point; for, having to pass through Lansmere ona market-day, he was hooted by the very farmers whom he had induced tovote for his brother; and, justly imputing the disgrace to Audley, henever heard the name of that traitor to the land mentioned without aheightened colour and an indignant expletive. M. De Ruqueville--who wasthe greatest wit of his day--had, like the squire, a half-brother, withwhom he was not on the best of terms, and of whom he always spoke ashis "frere de loin!" Audley Egerton was thus Squire Hazeldean's"distant-brother"!

Enough of these explanatory antecedents, --let us return to the stocks. 

CHAPTER XI. 

The squire's carpenters were taken from the park pales and set towork at the parish stocks. Then came the painter and coloured thema beautiful dark blue, with white border--and a white rim round theholes--with an ornamental flourish in the middle. It was the gayestpublic edifice in the whole village, though the village possessedno less than three other monuments of the Vitruvian genius of theHazeldeans, --to wit, the almshouse, the school, and the parish pump. 

A more elegant, enticing, coquettish pair of stocks never gladdened theeye of a justice of the peace. 

And Squire Hazeldean's eye was gladdened. In the pride of his heart hebrought all the family down to look at the stocks. The squire's family(omitting the frere de loin) consisted of Mrs. Hazeldean, his wife;next, of Miss Jemima Hazeldean, his first cousin; thirdly, of Mr. Francis Hazeldean, his only son; and fourthly, of Captain BarnabasHigginbotham, a distant relation, --who, indeed, strictly speaking, was not of the family, but only a visitor ten months in the year. Mrs. Hazeldean was every inch the lady, --the lady of the parish. In hercomely, florid, and somewhat sunburned countenance, there was an equalexpression of majesty and benevolence; she had a blue eye that invitedliking, and an aquiline nose that commanded respect. Mrs. Hazeldean hadno affectation of fine airs, no wish to be greater and handsomer andcleverer than she was. She knew herself, and her station, and thankedHeaven for it. There was about her speech and manner something of theshortness and bluntness which often characterizes royalty; and if thelady of a parish is not a queen in her own circle, it is never the faultof a parish. Mrs. Hazeldean dressed her part to perfection. She woresilks that seemed heirlooms, --so thick were they, so substantial andimposing; and over these, when she was in her own domain, the whitestof aprons; while at her waist was seen no fiddle-faddle chatelaine, withbreloques and trumpery, but a good honest gold watch to mark thetime, and a long pair of scissors to cut off the dead leaves from herflowers, --for she was a great horticulturalist. When occasion needed, Mrs. Hazeldean could, however, lay by her more sumptuous and imperialraiment for a stout riding-habit, of blue Saxony, and canter by herhusband's side to see the hounds throw off. Nay, on the days on whichMr. Hazeldean drove his famous fast-trotting cob to the market town, itwas rarely that you did not see his wife on the left side of the gig. She cared as little as her lord did for wind and weather, and in themidst of some pelting shower her pleasant face peeped over the collarand capes of a stout dreadnought, expanding into smiles and bloom assome frank rose, that opens from its petals, and rejoices in the dews. It was easy to see that the worthy couple had married for love; theywere as little apart as they could help it. And still, on the firstof September, if the house was not full of company which demanded hercares, Mrs. Hazeldean "stepped out" over the stubbles by her husband'sside, with as light a tread and as blithe an eye as when, in the firstbridal year, she had enchanted the squire by her genial sympathy withhis sports. 

So there now stands Harriet Hazeldean, one hand leaning on the squire'sbroad shoulder, the other thrust into her apron, and trying her best toshare her husband's enthusiasm for his own public-spirited patriotism, in the renovation of the parish stocks. A little behind, with twofingers resting on the thin arm of Captain Barnabas, stood Miss Jemima, the orphan daughter of the squire's uncle, by a runaway imprudentmarriage with a young lady who belonged to a family which had been atwar with the Hazeldeans since the reign of Charles the First respectinga right of way to a small wood (or rather spring) of about an acre, through a piece of furze land, which was let to a brickmaker at twelveshillings a year. The wood belonged to the Hazeldeans, the furze landto the Sticktorights (an old Saxon family, if ever there was one). Everytwelfth year, when the fagots and timber were felled, this feud brokeout afresh; for the Sticktorights refused to the Hazeldeans the right tocart off the said fagots and timber through the only way by which a cartcould possibly pass. It is just to the Hazeldeans to say that they hadoffered to buy the land at ten times its value. But the Sticktorights, with equal magnanimity, had declared that they would not "alienate thefamily property for the convenience of the best squire that ever stoodupon shoe leather. " Therefore, every twelfth year, there was alwaysa great breach of the peace on the part of both Hazeldeans andSticktorights, magistrates and deputy-lieutenants though they were. The question was fairly fought out by their respective dependants, and followed by various actions for assault and trespass. As the legalquestion of right was extremely obscure, it never had been properlydecided; and, indeed, neither party wished it to be decided, each atheart having some doubt of the propriety of its own claim. A marriagebetween a younger son of the Hazeldeans and a younger daughter of theSticktorights was viewed with equal indignation by both families;and the consequence had been that the runaway couple, unblessed andunforgiven, had scrambled through life as they could, upon the scantypay of the husband, who was in a marching regiment, and the interestof L1000, which was the wife's fortune independent of her parents. Theydied and left an only daughter (upon whom the maternal L1000 had beensettled), about the time that the squire came of age and into possessionof his estates. And though he inherited all the ancestral hostilitytowards the Sticktorights, it was not in his nature to be unkind to apoor orphan, who was, after all, the child of a Hazeldean. Therefore hehad educated and fostered Jemima with as much tenderness as if she hadbeen his sister; put out her L1000 at nurse, and devoted, from the readymoney which had accrued from the rents during his minority, as much asmade her fortune (with her own accumulated at compound interest) no lessthan L4000, the ordinary marriage portion of the daughters of Hazeldean. On her coming of age, he transferred this sum to her absolute disposal, in order that she might feel herself independent, see a little more ofthe world than she could at Hazeldean, have candidates to choose fromif she deigned to marry; or enough to live upon, if she chose to remainsingle. Miss Jemima had somewhat availed herself of this liberty, byoccasional visits to Cheltenham and other watering-places. But hergrateful affection to the squire was such that she could never bear tobe long away from the Hall. And this was the more praise to her heart, inasmuch as she was far from taking kindly to the prospect of beingan old maid; and there were so few bachelors in the neighbourhood ofHazeldean, that she could not but have that prospect before her eyeswhenever she looked out of the Hall windows. Miss Jemima was indeedone of the most kindly and affectionate of beings feminine; and if shedisliked the thought of single blessedness, it really was from thoseinnocent and womanly instincts towards the tender charities of hearthand home, without which a lady, however otherwise estimable, is littlebetter than a Minerva in bronze. But, whether or not, despite herfortune and her face, which last, though not strictly handsome, waspleasing, and would have been positively pretty if she had laughed moreoften (for when she laughed, there appeared three charming dimples, invisible when she was grave), --whether or not, I say, it was the faultof our insensibility or her own fastidiousness, Miss Jemima approachedher thirtieth year, and was still Miss Jemima. Now, therefore, thatbeautifying laugh of hers was very rarely heard, and she had of latebecome confirmed in two opinions, not at all conducive to laughter. Onewas a conviction of the general and progressive wickedness of the malesex, and the other was a decided and lugubrious belief that the worldwas coming to an end. Miss Jemima was now accompanied by a small caninefavourite, true Blenheim, with a snub nose. It was advanced in life, and somewhat obese. It sat on its haunches, with its tongue out of itsmouth, except when it snapped at the flies. There was a strong platonicfriendship between Miss Jemima and Captain Barnabas Higginbotham; forhe, too, was unmarried, and he had the same ill opinion of your sex, mydear madam, that Miss Jemima had of, ours. The captain was a man ofa slim and elegant figure; the less said about the face the better, atruth of which the captain himself was sensible, for it was a favouritemaxim of his, "that in a man, everything is a slight, gentlemanlikefigure. " Captain Barnabas did not absolutely deny that the world wascoming to an end, only he thought it would last his time. 

Quite apart from all the rest, with the nonchalant survey of virgindandyism, Francis Hazeldean looked over one of the high starchedneckcloths which were then the fashion, --a handsome lad, fresh from Etonfor the summer holidays, but at that ambiguous age when one disdains thesports of the boy, and has not yet arrived at the resources of the man. 

"I should be glad, Frank, " said the squire, suddenly turning round tohis son, "to see you take a little more interest in duties which, oneday or other, you may be called upon to discharge. I can't bear to thinkthat the property should fall into the hands of a fine gentleman, whowill let things go to rack and ruin, instead of keeping them up as Ido. "

And the squire pointed to the stocks. 

Master Frank's eye followed the direction of the cane, as well as hiscravat would permit; and he said dryly, --

"Yes, sir; but how came the stocks to be so long out of repair?"

"Because one can't see to everything at once, " retorted the squire, tartly. "When a man has got eight thousand acres to look after, he mustdo a bit at a time. "

"Yes, " said Captain Barnabas. "I know that by experience. "

"The deuce you do!" cried the squire, bluntly. "Experience in eightthousand acres!"

"No; in my apartments in the Albany, --No. 3 A. I have had them tenyears, and it was only last Christmas that I bought my Japan cat. "

"Dear me, " said Miss Jemima; "a Japan cat! that must be very curious. What sort of a creature is it?"

"Don't you know? Bless me, a thing with three legs, and holds toast! Inever thought of it, I assure you, till my friend Cosey said to me onemorning when he was breakfasting at my rooms, 'Higginbotham, how is itthat you, who like to have things comfortable about you, don't havea cat?' 'Upon my life, ' said I, 'one can't think of everything at atime, '--just like you, Squire. "

"Pshaw, " said Mr. Hazeldean, gruffly, "not at all like me. And I'llthank you another time, Cousin Higginbotham, not to put me out when I'mspeaking on matters of importance; poking your cat into my stocks! Theylook something like now, my stocks, don't they, Harry? I declare thatthe whole village seems more respectable. It is astonishing how much alittle improvement adds to the--to the--"

"Charm of the landscape, " put in Miss Jemina, sentimentally. 

The squire neither accepted nor rejected the suggested termination; butleaving his sentence uncompleted, broke suddenly off with--

"And if I had listened to Parson Dale--"

"You would have done a very wise thing, " said a voice behind, as theparson presented himself in the rear. 

"Wise thing? Why, surely, Mr. Dale, " said Mrs. Hazeldean, with spirit, for she always resented the least contradiction to her lord andmaster--perhaps as an interference with her own special right andprerogative!--"why, surely if it is necessary to have stocks, it isnecessary to repair them. "

"That's right! go it, Harry!" cried the squire, chuckling, andrubbing his hands as if he had been setting his terrier at the parson:"St--St--at him! Well, Master Dale, what do you say to that?"

"My dear ma'am, " said the parson, replying in preference to the lady, "there are many institutions in the country which are very old, lookvery decayed, and don't seem of much use; but I would not pull them downfor all that. "

"You would reform them, then, " said Mrs. Hazeldean, doubtfully, andwith a look at her husband, as much as to say, "He is on politicsnow, --that's your business. "

"No, I would not, ma'am, " said the parson, stoutly. "What on earth wouldyou do, then?" quoth the squire. "Just let 'em alone, " said the parson. "Master Frank, there's a Latin maxim which was often put in the mouth ofSir Robert Walpole, and which they ought to put into the Eton grammar, 'Quieta non movere. ' If things are quiet, let them be quiet! I would notdestroy the stocks, because that might seem to the ill-disposed like alicense to offend; and I would not repair the stocks, because that putsit into people's heads to get into them. "

The squire was a stanch politician of the old school, and he didnot like to think that, in repairing the stocks, he had perhaps beenconniving at revolutionary principles. 

"This constant desire of innovation, " said Miss Jemima, suddenlymounting the more funereal of her two favourite hobbies, "is one of thegreat symptoms of the approaching crash. We are altering and mending andreforming, when in twenty years at the utmost the world itself maybe destroyed!" The fair speaker paused, and Captain Barnabas saidthoughtfully, "Twenty years!--the insurance officers rarely compute thebest life at more than fourteen. " He struck his hand on the stocks as hespoke, and added, with his usual consolatory conclusion, "The odds arethat it will last our time, Squire. "

But whether Captain Barnabas meant the stocks or the world he did notclearly explain, and no one took the trouble to inquire. 

"Sir, " said Master Frank to his father, with that furtive spirit ofquizzing, which he had acquired amongst other polite accomplishments atEton, --"sir, it is no use now considering whether the stocks should orshould not have been repaired. The only question is, whom you will getto put into them. "

"True, " said the squire, with much gravity. 

"Yes, there it is!" said the parson, mournfully. "If you would but learn'non quieta movere'!"

"Don't spout your Latin at me, Parson, " cried the squire, angrily; "Ican give you as good as you bring, any day. 

 "'Propria quae maribus tribuuntur mascula dicas. -- As in praesenti, perfectum format in avi. '

"There, " added the squire, turning triumphantly towards his Harry, wholooked with great admiration at this unprecedented burst of learning onthe part of Mr. Hazeldean, --"there, two can play at that game! And nowthat we have all seen the stocks, we may as well go home and drink tea. Will you come up and play a rubber, Dale? No! hang it, man, I've notoffended you?--you know my ways. "

"That I do, and they are among the things I would not have altered, "cried the parson, holding out his hand cheerfully. The squire gave it ahearty shake, and Mrs. Hazeldean hastened to do the same. 

"Do come; I am afraid we've been very rude: we are sad blunt folks. Docome; that's a dear good man; and of course poor Mrs. Dale too. " Mrs. Hazeldean's favourite epithet for Mrs. Dale was poor, and that forreasons to be explained hereafter. 

"I fear my wife has got one of her bad headaches, but I will give heryour kind message, and at all events you may depend upon me. "

"That's right, " said the squire; "in half an hour, eh? How d' ye do, mylittle man?" as Lenny Fairfield, on his way home from some errand in thevillage, drew aside and pulled off his hat with both hands. "Stop; yousee those stocks, eh? Tell all the bad boys in the parish to takecare how they get into them--a sad disgrace--you'll never be in such aquandary?"

"That at least I will answer for, " said the parson. 

"And I too, " added Mrs. Hazeldean, patting the boy's curly head. "Tell your mother I shall come and have a good chat with her to-morrowevening. "

And so the party passed on, and Lenny stood still on the road, staringhard at the stocks, which stared back at him from its four great eyes. 

Put Lenny did not remain long alone. As soon as the great folks hadfairly disappeared, a large number of small folks emerged timorouslyfrom the neighbouring cottages, and approached the site of the stockswith much marvel, fear, and curiosity. 

In fact, the renovated appearance of this monster a propos de bottes, as one may say--had already excited considerable sensation among thepopulation of Hazeldean. And even as when an unexpected owl makes hisappearance in broad daylight all the little birds rise from tree andhedgerow, and cluster round their ominous enemy, so now gathered all themuch-excited villagers round the intrusive and portentous phenomenon. 

"D' ye know what the diggins the squire did it for, Gaffer Solomons?"asked one many-childed matron, with a baby in arms, an urchin of threeyears old clinging fast to her petticoat, and her hand maternallyholding back a more adventurous hero of six, who had a great desire tothrust his head into one of the grisly apertures. All eyes turned to asage old man, the oracle of the village, who, leaning both hands on hiscrutch, shook his head bodingly. 

"Maw be, " said Gaffer Solomons, "some of the boys ha' been robbing theorchards. "

"Orchards!" cried a big lad, who seemed to think himself personallyappealed to; "why, the bud's scarce off the trees yet!"

"No more it ain't, " said the dame with many children, and she breathedmore freely. 

"Maw be, " said Gaffer Solomons, "some o' ye has been sitting snares. "

"What for?" said a stout, sullen-looking young fellow, whom consciencepossibly pricked to reply, --"what for, when it bean't the season? And ifa poor man did find a hear in his pocket i' the haytime, I should liketo know if ever a squire in the world would let 'un off with the stocks, eh?"

This last question seemed a settler, and the wisdom of Gaffer Solomonswent down fifty per cent in the public opinion of Hazeldean. 

"Maw be, " said the gaffer--this time with a thrilling effect, whichrestored his reputation, --"maw be some o' ye ha' been getting drunk, andmaking beestises o' yoursel's!"

There was a dead pause, for this suggestion applied too generally tobe met with a solitary response. At last one of the women said, with ameaning glance at her husband, "God bless the squire; he'll make some on us happy women if that's all!"

There then arose an almost unanimous murmur of approbation among thefemale part of the audience; and the men looked at each other, and thenat the phenomenon, with a very hang-dog expression of countenance. 

"Or, maw be, " resumed Gaffer Solomons, encouraged to a fourth suggestionby the success of its predecessor, --"maw be some o' the misseses ha'been making a rumpus, and scolding their good men. I heard say inmy granfeyther's time, arter old Mother Bang nigh died o' theducking-stool, them 'ere stocks were first made for the women, out o'compassion like! And every one knows the squire is a koind-hearted man, God bless 'un!"

"God bless 'un!" cried the men, heartily; and they gathered lovinglyround the phenomenon, like heathens of old round a tutelary temple. Butthen there rose one shrill clamour among the females as they retreatedwith involuntary steps towards the verge of the green, whence theyglared at Solomons and the phenomenon with eyes so sparkling, andpointed at both with gestures so menacing, that Heaven only knows if amorsel of either would have remained much longer to offend the eyes ofthe justly-enraged matronage of Hazeldean, if fortunately Master Stirn, the squire's right-hand man, had not come up in the nick of time. 

Master Stirn was a formidable personage, --more formidable than thesquire himself, --as, indeed, a squire's right hand is generally moreformidable than the head can pretend to be. He inspired the greater awe, because, like the stocks of which he was deputed guardian, his powerswere undefined and obscure, and he had no particular place in theout-of-door establishment. He was not the steward, yet he did much ofwhat ought to be the steward's work; he was not the farm-bailiff, for the squire called himself his own farm-bailiff; nevertheless, Mr. Hazeldean sowed and ploughed, cropped and stocked, bought and sold, verymuch as Mr. Stirn condescended to advise. He was not the park-keeper, for he neither shot the deer nor superintended the preserves; but it washe who always found out who had broken a park pale or snared a rabbit. In short, what may be called all the harsher duties of a large landedproprietor devolved, by custom and choice, upon Mr. Stirn. If a labourerwas to be discharged or a rent enforced, and the squire knew that heshould be talked over, and that the steward would be as soft as himself, Mr. Stirn was sure to be the avenging messenger, to pronounce the wordsof fate; so that he appeared to the inhabitants of Hazeldean like thepoet's Saeva Necessitas, a vague incarnation of remorseless power, armedwith whips, nails, and wedges. The very brute creation stood in awe ofMr. Stirn. The calves knew that it was he who singled out which shouldbe sold to the butcher, and huddled up into a corner with beatinghearts at his grim footstep; the sow grunted, the duck quacked, the henbristled her feathers and called to her chicks when Mr. Stirn drew near. Nature had set her stamp upon him. Indeed, it may be questioned whetherthe great M. De Chambray himself, surnamed the brave, had an aspect soawe-inspiring as that of Mr. Stirn; albeit the face of that hero was soterrible, that a man who had been his lackey, seeing his portrait afterhe had been dead twenty years, fell a trembling all over like a leaf!

"And what the plague are you doing here?" said Mr. Stirn, as he wavedand smacked a great cart-whip which he held in his hand, "making sucha hullabaloo, you women, you! that I suspect the squire will be sendingout to know if the village is on fire. Go home, will ye? High timeindeed to have the stocks ready, when you get squalling and conspiringunder the very nose of a justice of the peace, just as the Frenchrevolutioners did afore they cut off their king's head! My hair standson end to look at ye. " But already, before half this address wasdelivered, the crowd had dispersed in all directions, --the women stillkeeping together, and the men sneaking off towards the ale-house. Suchwas the beneficent effect of the fatal stocks on the first day of theirresuscitation. However, in the break up of every crowd there must alwaysbe one who gets off the last; and it so happened that our friend LennyFairfield, who had mechanically approached close to the stocks, thebetter to hear the oracular opinions of Gaffer Solomons, had no lessmechanically, on the abrupt appearance of Mr. Stirn, crept, as he hoped, out of sight behind the trunk of the elm-tree which partially shaded thestocks; and there now, as if fascinated, he still cowered, not daringto emerge in full view of Mr. Stirn, and in immediate reach of thecartwhip, when the quick eye of the right-hand man detected his retreat. 

"Hallo, sir--what the deuce, laying a mine to blow up the stocks! justlike Guy Fox and the Gunpowder Plot, I declares! What ha' you got inyour willanous little fist there?"

"Nothing, sir, " said Lenny, opening his palm. "Nothing--um!" said Mr. Stirn, much dissatisfied; and then, as he gazed more deliberately, recognizing the pattern boy of the village, a cloud yet darker gatheredover his brow; for Mr. Stirn, who valued himself much on his learning, and who, indeed, by dint of more knowledge as well as more wit thanhis neighbours, had attained his present eminent station of life, wasextremely anxious that his only son should also be a scholar. Thatwish--

 "The gods dispersed in empty air. "

Master Stirn was a notable dunce at the parson's school, while LennyFairfield was the pride and boast of it; therefore Mr. Stirn wasnaturally, and almost justifiably, ill-disposed towards Lenny Fairfield, who had appropriated to himself the praises which Mr. Stirn had designedfor his son. 

"Um!" said the right-hand man, glowering on Lenny malignantly, "youare the pattern boy of the village, are you? Very well, sir! then I putthese here stocks under your care, and you'll keep off the other boysfrom sitting on 'em, and picking off the paint, and playing three-holesand chuck-farthing, as I declare they've been a doing, just in front ofthe elewation. Now, you knows your 'sponsibilities, little boy, --and agreat honour they are too, for the like o' you. 

"If any damage be done, it is to you I shall look; d' yeunderstand?--and that's what the squire says to me. So you sees what itis to be a pattern boy, Master Lenny!" With that Mr. Stirn gave a loudcrack of the cart-whip, by way of military honours, over the head ofthe vicegerent he had thus created, and strode off to pay a visit to twoyoung unsuspecting pups, whose ears and tails he had graciously promisedtheir proprietors to crop that evening. Nor, albeit few charges couldbe more obnoxious than that of deputy-governor or charge-d'affairesextraordinaires to the parish stocks, nor one more likely to renderLenny Fairfield odious to his contemporaries, ought he to have beeninsensible to the signal advantage of his condition over that of the twosufferers, against whose ears and tails Mr. Stirn had no special motivesof resentment. To every bad there is a worse; and fortunately forlittle boys, and even for grown men, whom the Stirns of the world regardmalignly, the majesty and law protect their ears, and the mercifulforethought of nature deprived their remote ancestors of the privilegeof entailing tails upon them. Had it been otherwise--considering whathandles tails would have given to the oppressor, how many traps envywould have laid for them, how often they must have been scratched andmutilated by the briars of life, how many good excuses would have beenfound for lopping, docking, and trimming them--I fear that only thelap-dogs of Fortune would have gone to the grave tail-whole. 

CHAPTER XII. 

The card-table was set out in the drawing-room at Hazeldean Hall; thoughthe little party were still lingering in the deep recess of the largebay window, which (in itself of dimensions that would have swallowed upa moderate-sized London parlour) held the great round tea-table, withall appliances and means to boot, --for the beautiful summer moon shed onthe sward so silvery a lustre, and the trees cast so quiet a shadow, and the flowers and new-mown hay sent up so grateful a perfume, thatto close the windows, draw the curtains, and call for other lights thanthose of heaven would have been an abuse of the prose of life which evenCaptain Barnabas, who regarded whist as the business of town and theholiday of the country, shrank from suggesting. Without, the scene, beheld by the clear moonlight, had the beauty peculiar to thegarden-ground round those old-fashioned country residences which, thougha little modernized, still preserve their original character, --thevelvet lawn, studded with large plots of flowers, shaded and scented, here to the left by lilacs, laburnums, and rich syringas; there, to theright, giving glimpses, over low clipped yews, of a green bowling-alley, with the white columns of a summer-house built after the Dutch taste, in the reign of William III. ; and in front stealing away under covertof those still cedars, into the wilder landscape of the well-woodedundulating park. Within, viewed by the placid glimmer of the moon, thescene was no less characteristic of the abodes of that race which has noparallel in other lands, and which, alas! is somewhat losing its nativeidiosyncrasies in this, --the stout country gentleman, not the finegentleman of the country; the country gentleman somewhat softened andcivilized from the mere sportsman or farmer, but still plain and homely;relinquishing the old hall for the drawing-room, and with books notthree months old on his table, instead of Fox's "Martyrs" and Baker's"Chronicle, " yet still retaining many a sacred old prejudice, that, likethe knots in his native oak, rather adds to the ornament of the grainthan takes from the strength of the tree. Opposite to the window, thehigh chimneypiece rose to the heavy cornice of the ceiling, with darkpanels glistening against the moonlight. The broad and rather clumsychintz sofas and settees of the reign of George III. Contrasted atintervals with the tall-backed chairs of a far more distant generation, when ladies in fardingales and gentlemen in trunk-hose seem never tohave indulged in horizontal positions. The walls, of shining wainscot, were thickly covered, chiefly with family pictures; though now and thensome Dutch fair or battle-piece showed that a former proprietor had beenless exclusive in his taste for the arts. The pianoforte stood opennear the fireplace; a long dwarf bookcase at the far end added its sobersmile to the room. That bookcase contained what was called "The Lady'sLibrary, "--a collection commenced by the squire's grandmother, of piousmemory, and completed by his mother, who had more taste for the lighterletters, with but little addition from the bibliomaniac tendenciesof the present Mrs. Hazeldean, who, being no great reader, contentedherself with subscribing to the Book Club. In this feminine Bodleian, the sermons collected by Mrs. Hazeldean, the grandmother, stoodcheek-by-jowl beside the novels purchased by Mrs. Hazeldean, themother, --

 "Mixtaque ridenti colocasia fundet acantho!"

But, to be sure, the novels, in spite of very inflammatory titles, suchas "Fatal Sensibility, " "Errors of the Heart, " etc. , were so harmlessthat I doubt if the sermons could have had much to say against theirnext-door neighbours, --and that is all that can be expected by the bestof us. 

A parrot dozing on his perch; some goldfish fast asleep in their glassbowl; two or three dogs on the rug, and Flimsey, Miss Jemima's spaniel, curled into a ball on the softest sofa; Mrs. Hazeldean's work-tablerather in disorder, as if it had been lately used; the "St. James'sChronicle" dangling down from a little tripod near the squire'sarmchair; a high screen of gilt and stamped leather fencing off thecard-table, --all these, dispersed about a room large enough to hold themall and not seem crowded, offered many a pleasant resting-place for theeye, when it turned from the world of nature to the home of man. 

But see, Captain Barnabas, fortified by his fourth cup of tea, has atlength summoned courage to whisper to Mrs. Hazeldean, "Don't you thinkthe parson will be impatient for his rubber?" Mrs. Hazeldean glanced atthe parson and smiled; but she gave the signal to the captain, and thebell was rung, lights were brought in, the curtains let down; in a fewmoments more, the group had collected round the cardtable. The best ofus are but human--that is not a new truth, I confess, but yet peopleforget it every day of their lives--and I dare say there are many whoare charitably thinking at this very moment that my parson ought not tobe playing at whist. All I can say to those rigid disciplinarians is, "Every man has his favourite sin: whist was Parson Dale's!--ladies andgentlemen, what is yours?" In truth, I must not set up my poor parson, nowadays, as a pattern parson, --it is enough to have one pattern in avillage no bigger than Hazeldean, and we all know that Lenny Fairfieldhas bespoken that place, and got the patronage of the stocks for hisemoluments! Parson Dale was ordained, not indeed so very long ago, butstill at a time when Churchmen took it a great deal more easily thanthey do now. The elderly parson of that day played his rubber as amatter of course, the middle-aged parson was sometimes seen riding tocover (I knew a schoolmaster, a doctor of divinity, and an excellentman, whose pupils were chiefly taken from the highest families inEngland, who hunted regularly three times a week during the season), and the young parson would often sing a capital song--not composed byDavid--and join in those rotatory dances, which certainly David neverdanced before the ark. 

Does it need so long an exordium to excuse thee, poor Parson Dale, forturning up that ace of spades with so triumphant a smile at thy partner?I must own that nothing which could well add to the parson's offence waswanting. In the first place, he did not play charitably, and merely tooblige other people. He delighted in the game, he rejoiced in the game, his whole heart was in the game, --neither was he indifferent to themammon of the thing, as a Christian pastor ought to have been. He lookedvery sad when he took his shillings out of his purse, and exceedinglypleased when he put the shillings that had just before belonged toother people into it. Finally, by one of those arrangements common withmarried people who play at the same table, 'Mr. And--Mrs. Hazeldean wereinvariably partners, and no two people could play worse; while CaptainBarnabas, who had played at Graham's with honour and profit, necessarilybecame partner to Parson Dale, who himself played a good steady parsonicgame. So that, in strict truth, it was hardly fair play; it was almostswindling, --the combination of these two great dons against thatinnocent married couple! Mr. Dale, it is true, was aware of thisdisproportion of force, and had often proposed either to change partnersor to give odds, --propositions always scornfully scouted by the squireand his lady, so that the parson was obliged to pocket his conscience, together with the ten points which made his average winnings. 

The strangest thing in the world is the different way in which whistaffects the temper. It is no test of temper, as some pretend, --not atall! The best-tempered people in the world grow snappish at whist; andI have seen the most testy and peevish in the ordinary affairs of lifebear their losses with the stoicism of Epictetus. This was notablymanifested in the contrast between the present adversaries of the Halland the Rectory. The squire, who was esteemed as choleric a gentleman asmost in the county, was the best-humoured fellow you could imagine whenyou set him down to whist opposite the sunny face of his wife. You neverheard one of those incorrigible blunderers scold each other; on thecontrary, they only laughed when they threw away the game, with fourby honours in their hands. The utmost that was ever said was a "Well, Harry, that was the oddest trump of yours. Ho, ho, ho!" or a "Bless me, Hazeldean--why, they made three tricks in clubs, and you had the ace inyour hand all the time! Ha, ha, ha!"

Upon which occasions Captain Barnabas, with great goodhumour, alwaysechoed both the squire's Ho, ho, ho! and Mrs. Hazeldean's Ha, ha, ha!

Not so the parson. He had so keen and sportsmanlike an interest in thegame, that even his adversaries' mistakes ruffled him. And you wouldhear him, with elevated voice and agitated gestures, laying downthe law, quoting Hoyle, appealing to all the powers of memory andcommon-sense against the very delinquencies by which he was enriched, --awaste of eloquence that always heightened the hilarity of Mr. And Mrs. Hazeldean. While these four were thus engaged, Mrs. Dale, who had comewith her husband despite her headache, sat on the sofa beside MissJemima, or rather beside Miss Jemima's Flimsey, which had alreadysecured the centre of the sofa, and snarled at the very idea of beingdisturbed. And Master Frank--at a table by himself--was employedsometimes in looking at his pumps and sometimes at Gilray's Caricatures, which his mother had provided for his intellectual requirements. Mrs. Dale, in her heart, liked Miss Jemima better than Mrs. Hazeldean, ofwhom she was rather in awe, notwithstanding they had been little girlstogether, and occasionally still called each other Harry and Carry. Butthose tender diminutives belonged to the "Dear" genus, and were rarelyemployed by the ladies, except at times when, had they been little girlsstill, and the governess out of the way, they would have slapped andpinched each other. Mrs. Dale was still a very pretty woman, asMrs. Hazeldean was still a very fine woman. Mrs. Dale painted inwater-colours, and sang, and made card-racks and penholders, and wascalled an "elegant, accomplished woman;" Mrs. Hazeldean cast up thesquire's accounts, wrote the best part of his letters, kept a largeestablishment in excellent order, and was called "a clever, sensiblewoman. " Mrs. Dale had headaches and nerves; Mrs. Hazeldean had neithernerves nor headaches. Mrs. Dale said, "Harry had no real harm in her, but was certainly very masculine;" Mrs. Hazeldean said, "Carry wouldbe a good creature but for her airs and graces. " Mrs. Dale said Mrs. Hazeldean was "just made to be a country squire's lady;" Mrs. Hazeldeansaid, "Mrs. Dale was the last person in the world who ought to havebeen a parson's wife. " Carry, when she spoke of Harry to a third person, said, "Dear Mrs. Hazeldean;" Harry, when she referred incidentallyto Carry, said, "Poor Mrs. Dale. " And now the reader knows why Mrs. Hazeldean called Mrs. Dale "poor, "--at least as well as I do. For, afterall, the word belonged to that class in the female vocabulary which maybe called "obscure significants, " resembling the Konx Ompax, which hathso puzzled the inquirers into the Eleusinian Mysteries: the applicationis rather to be illustrated than the meaning to be exactly explained. 

"That's really a sweet little dog of yours, Jemima, " said Mrs. Dale, who was embroidering the word CAROLINE on the border of a cambric pockethandkerchief; but edging a little farther off, as she added, "he'll notbite, will he?"

"Dear me, no!" said Miss Jemima; "but" (she added in a confidentialwhisper) "don't say he, --'t is a lady dog!"

"Oh, " said Mrs. Dale, edging off still farther, as if that confession ofthe creature's sex did not serve to allay her apprehensions, --"oh, then, you carry your aversion to the gentlemen even to lap-dogs, --that isbeing consistent indeed, Jemima!"

MISS JEMIMA. --"I had a gentleman dog once, --a pug!--pugs are gettingvery scarce now. I thought he was so fond of me--he snapped at every oneelse; the battles I fought for him! Well, will you believe--I had beenstaying with my friend Miss Smilecox at Cheltenham. Knowing that Williamis so hasty, and his boots are so thick, I trembled to think what a kickmight do. So, on coming here I left Bluff--that was his name--with MissSmilecox. " (A pause. )

MRS. DALE (looking up languidly). --"Well, my love?"

MISS JEMIMA. --"Will you believe it, I say, when I returned toCheltenham, only three months afterwards, Miss Smilecox had seduced hisaffections from me, and the ungrateful creature did not even know meagain? A pug, too--yet people say pugs are faithful! I am sure theyought to be, nasty things! I have never had a gentleman dog since, --theyare all alike, believe me, heartless, selfish creatures. "

MRS. DALE. --"Pugs? I dare say they are!"

MISS JEMIMA (with spirit). -"MEN!--I told you it was a gentleman dog!"

MRS. DALE (apologetically). --"True, my love, but the whole thing was somixed up!"

MISS JEMIMA. --"You saw that cold-blooded case of Breach of Promise ofMarriage in the papers, --an old wretch, too, of sixty-four. No age makesthem a bit better. And when one thinks that the end of all flesh isapproaching, and that--"

MRS. DALE (quickly, for she prefers Miss Jemima's other hobby tothat black one upon which she is preparing to precede the bier of theuniverse). --"Yes, my love, we'll avoid that subject, if you please. Mr. Dale has his own opinions, and it becomes me, you know, as a parson'swife" (said smilingly: Mrs. Dale has as pretty a dimple as any of MissJemima's, and makes more of that one than Miss Jemima of three), "toagree with him, --that is, in theology. "

MISS JEMIMA (earnestly). --"But the thing is so clear, if you will butlook into--"

MRS. DALE (putting her hand on Miss Jemima's lips playfully). --"Not aword more. Pray, what do you think of the squire's tenant at the Casino, Signor Riccabocca? An interesting creature, is he not?"

MISS JEMIMA. --"Interesting! not to me. Interesting? Why is heinteresting?"

Mrs. Dale is silent, and turns her handkerchief in her pretty littlewhite hands, appearing to contemplate the R in Caroline. 

MISS JEMIMA (half pettishly, half coaxingly). --"Why is he interesting?I scarcely ever looked at him; they say he smokes, and never eats. Ugly, too!"

MRS. DALE. --"Ugly, --no. A fine bead, --very like Dante's; but what isbeauty?"

MISS JEMIMA. --"Very true: what is it indeed? Yes, as you say, I thinkthere is something interesting about him; he looks melancholy, but thatmay be because he is poor. "

MRS. DALE. --"It is astonishing how little one feels poverty when oneloves. Charles and I were very poor once, --before the squire--" Mrs. Dale paused, looked towards the squire, and murmured a blessing, thewarmth of which brought tears into her eyes. "Yes, " she added, after apause, "we were very poor, but we were happy even then, --more thanksto Charles than to me;" and tears from a new source again dimmed thosequick, lively eyes, as the little woman gazed fondly on her husband, whose brows were knit into a black frown over a bad hand. 

MISS JEMIMA. --"It is only those horrid men who think of money as asource of happiness. I should be the last person to esteem a gentlemanless because he was poor. "

MRS. DALE. --"I wonder the squire does not ask Signor Riccabocca heremore often. Such an acquisition we find him!"

The squire's voice from the card-table. --"Whom ought I to ask moreoften, Mrs. Dale?"

Parson's voice, impatiently. --"Come, come, come, squire: play to myqueen of diamonds, --do!"

SQUIRE. --"There, I trump it! pick up the trick, Mrs. H. "

PARSON. --"Stop! Stop! trump my diamond?"

THE CAPTAIN (solemnly). --"'Trick turned; play on, Squire. "

SQUIRE. --"The king of diamonds. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"Lord! Hazeldean, why, that's the most barefacedrevoke, --ha, ha, ha! trump the queen of diamonds and play out the king!well, I never! ha, ha, ha!"

CAPTAIN BARNABAS (in tenor). --"Ha, ha, ha!"

SQUIRE. --"Ho, ho, ho! bless my soul! ho, ho, ho!"

CAPTAIN BARNABAS (in bass). --"Ho, ho, ho!"

Parson's voice raised, but drowned by the laughter of his adversariesand the firm, clear tone of Captain Barnabas. --"Three to ourscore!--game!"

SQUIRE (wiping his eyes). --"No help for it; Harry, deal for me. Whomought I to ask, Mrs. Dale?" (Waxing angry. ) "First time I ever heard thehospitality of Hazeldean called in question!"

MRS. DALE. --"My dear sir, I beg a thousand pardons, but listeners--youknow the proverb. "

SQUIRE (growling like a bear). --"I hear nothing but proverbs ever sincewe had that Mounseer among us. Please to speak plainly, ma'am. "

Mrs. DALE (sliding into a little temper at being thus roughlyaccosted). --"It was of Mounseer, as you call him, that I spoke, Mr. Hazeldean. "

SQUIRE. --"What! Rickeybockey?"

MRS. DALE (attempting the pure Italian accentuation). --"SignorRiccabocca. "

PARSON (slapping his cards on the table in despair). --"Are we playing atwhist, or are we not?"

The squire, who is fourth player, drops the king to CaptainHigginbotham's lead of the ace of hearts. Now the captain has leftqueen, knave, and two other hearts, four trumps to the queen, andnothing to win a trick with in the two other suits. This hand istherefore precisely one of those in which, especially after the fallof that king of hearts in the adversary's hand, it becomes a matter ofreasonable doubt whether to lead trumps or not. The captain hesitates, and not liking to play out his good hearts with the certainty of theirbeing trumped by the squire, nor, on the other hand, liking to open theother suits, in which he has not a card that can assist his partner, resolves, as becomes a military man in such dilemma, to make a bold pushand lead out trumps in the chance of finding his partner strong and sobringing in his long suit. 

SQUIRE (taking advantage of the much meditating pause made bythe captain). --"Mrs. Dale, it is not my fault. I have askedRickeybockey, --time out of mind. But I suppose I am not fine enough forthose foreign chaps. He'll not come, --that's all I know. "

PARSON (aghast at seeing the captain play out trumps, of which he, Mr. Dale, has only two, wherewith he expects to ruff the suit of spades, ofwhich he has only one, the cards all falling in suits, while he has nota single other chance of a trick in his hand). --"Really, Squire, we hadbetter give up playing if you put out my partner in this extraordinaryway, --jabber, jabber, jabber!"

SQUIRE. --"Well, we must be good children, Harry. What!--trumps, Barney?Thank ye for that!" And the squire might well be grateful, for theunfortunate adversary has led up to ace king knave, with two othertrumps. Squire takes the parson's ten with his knave, and plays out aceking; then, having cleared all the trumps except the captain's queenand his own remaining two, leads off tierce major in that very suit ofspades of which the parson has only one, --and the captain, indeed, buttwo, --forces out the captain's queen, and wins the game in a canter. 

PARSON (with a look at the captain which might have become the awfulbrows of Jove, when about to thunder). --"That, I suppose, is thenew-fashioned London play! In my time the rule was, 'First save thegame, then try to win it. '"

CAPTAIN. --"Could not save it, sir. "

PARSON (exploding)--"Not save it!--two ruffs in my own hand, --two trickscertain till you took them out! Monstrous! The rashest trump. "--Seizesthe cards, spreads them on the table, lip quivering, hands trembling, tries to show how five tricks could have been gained, --N. B. It is shortwhist which Captain Barnabas had introduced at the Hall, --can't make outmore than four; Captain smiles triumphantly; Parson in a passion, andnot at all convinced, mixes all the cards together again, and fallingback in his chair, groans, with tears in his voice. --"The cruellesttrump! the most wanton cruelty!"

The Hazeldeans in chorus. --"Ho, ho, ho! Ha, ha, ha!" The captain, whodoes not laugh this time, and whose turn it is to deal, shuffles thecards for the conquering game of the rubber with as much caution andprolixity as Fabius might have employed in posting his men. Thesquire gets up to stretch his legs, and, the insinuation against hishospitality recurring to his thoughts, calls out to his wife, "Write toRickeybockey to-morrow yourself, Harry, and ask him to come and spendtwo or three days here. There, Mrs. Dale, you hear me?"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Dale, putting her hands to her ears in implied rebukeat the loudness of the squire's tone. "My dear sir, do remember that I'ma sad nervous creature. "

"Beg pardon, " muttered Mr. Hazeldean, turning to his son, who havinggot tired of the caricatures, had fished out for himself the great folioCounty History, which was the only book in the library that the squiremuch valued, and which he usually kept under lock and key, in his study, together with the field-books and steward's accounts, but which he hadreluctantly taken into the drawing-room that day, in order to obligeCaptain Higginbotham. For the Higginbothams--an old Saxon family, as thename evidently denotes--had once possessed lands in that very county;and the captain, during his visits to Hazeldean Hall, was regularly inthe habit of asking to look into the County History, for the purpose ofrefreshing his eyes, and renovating his sense of ancestral dignity, withthe following paragraph therein:

 To the left of the village of Dunder, and pleasantly situated in a hollow, lies Botham Hall, the residence of the ancient family of Higginbotham, as it is now commonly called. Yet it appears by the county rolls, and sundry old deeds, that the family formerly styled itself Higges, till the Manor House lying in Botham, they gradually assumed the appellation of Higges-in-Botham, and in process of time, yielding to the corruptions of the vulgar, Higginbotham. "

"What, Frank! my County History!" cried the squire. "Mrs. H. , he has gotmy County History!"

"Well, Hazeldean, it is time he should know something about the county. "

"Ay, and history too, " said Mrs. Dale, malevolently, for the littletemper was by no means blown over. 

FRANK. --"I'll not hurt it, I assure you, sir. But I'm very muchinterested just at present. "

THE CAPTAIN (putting down the cards to cut). --"You've got hold of thatpassage about Botham Hall, page 706, eh?"

FRANK. --"No; I was trying to make out how far it is to Mr. Leslie'splace, Rood Hall. Do you know, Mother?"

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"I can't say I do. The Leslies don't mix with thecounty; and Rood lies very much out of the way. "

FRANK. --"Why don't they mix with the county?"

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"I believe they are poor, and therefore I suppose theyare proud; they are an old family. "

PARSON (thrumming on the table with great impatience). --"Oldfiddle-dee!--talking of old families when the cards have been shuffledthis half-hour!"

CAPTAIN BARNABAS. --"Will you cut for your partner, ma'am?"

SQUIRE (who has been listening to Frank's inquiries with a musingair). --"Why do you want to know the distance to Rood Hall?"

FRANK (rather hesitatingly). --"Because Randal Leslie is there for theholidays, sir. "

PARSON. --"Your wife has cut for you, Mr. Hazeldean. I don't think itwas quite fair; and my partner has turned up a deuce, --deuce of hearts. Please to come and play, if you mean to play. "

The squire returns to the table, and in a few minutes the game isdecided by a dexterous finesse of the captain against the Hazeldeans. The clock strikes ten; the servants enter with a tray; the squire countsup his own and his wife's losings; and the captain and parson dividesixteen shillings between them. 

SQUIRE. --"There, Parson, I hope you'll be in a better humour. You winenough out of us to set up a coach-and-four. "

"Tut!" muttered the parson; "at the end of the year, I'm not a penny thericher for it all. "

And, indeed, monstrous as that assertion seemed, it was perfectly true, for the parson portioned out his gains into three divisions. One-thirdhe gave to Mrs. Dale, for her own special pocket-money; what became ofthe second third he never owned even to his better half, --but certainit was, that every time the parson won seven-and-sixpence, half-a-crown, which nobody could account for, found its way to the poor-box; while theremaining third, the parson, it is true, openly and avowedly retained;but I have no manner of doubt that, at the year's end, it got to thepoor quite as safely as if it had been put into the box. 

The party had now gathered round the tray, and were helping themselvesto wine and water, or wine without water, --except Frank, who stillremained poring over the map in the County History, with his headleaning on his hands, and his fingers plunged in his hair. 

"Frank, " said Mrs. Hazeldean, "I never saw you so studious before. "

Frank started up and coloured, as if ashamed of being accused of toomuch study in anything. 

SQUIRE (with a little embarrassment in his voice). --"Pray, Frank, whatdo you know of Randal Leslie?"

"Why, sir, he is at Eton. "

"What sort of a boy is he?" asked Mrs. Hazeldean. 

Frank hesitated, as if reflecting, and then answered, "They say he isthe cleverest boy in the school. But then he saps. "

"In other words, " said Mr. Dale, with proper parsonic gravity, "heunderstands that he was sent to school to learn his lessons, and helearns them. You call that sapping? call it doing his duty. But pray, who and what is this Randal Leslie, that you look so discomposed, Squire?"

"Who and what is he?" repeated the squire, in a low growl. "Why, youknow Mr. Audley Egerton married Miss Leslie, the great heiress; and thisboy is a relation of hers. I may say, " added the squire, "that he is anear relation of mine, for his grandmother was a Hazeldean; but all Iknow about the Leslies is, that Mr. Egerton, as I am told, having nochildren of his own, took up young Randal (when his wife died, poorwoman), pays for his schooling, and has, I suppose, adopted the boyas his heir. Quite welcome. Frank and I want nothing from Mr. AudleyEgerton, thank Heaven!"

"I can well believe in your brother's generosity to his wife's kindred, "said the parson, sturdily, "for I am sure Mr. Egerton is a man of strongfeeling. "

"What the deuce do you know about Mr. Egerton? I don't suppose you couldever have even spoken to him. "

"Yes, " said the parson, colouring up, and looking confused. "I had someconversation with him once;" and observing the squire's surprise, headded--"when I was curate at Lansmere, and about a painful businessconnected with the family of one of my parishioners. "

"Oh, one of your parishioners at Lansmere, --one of the constituents Mr. Audley Egerton threw over, after all the pains I had taken to get himhis seat. Rather odd you should never have mentioned this before, Mr. Dale!"

"My dear sir, " said the parson, sinking his voice, and in a mild tone ofconciliatory expostulation, "you are so irritable whenever Mr. Egerton'sname is mentioned at all. "

"Irritable!" exclaimed the squire, whose wrath had been long simmering, and now fairly boiled over, --"irritable, sir! I should think so: a manfor whom I stood godfather at the hustings, Mr. Dale! a man for whosesake I was called a 'prize ox, ' Mr. Dale! a man for whom I was hissed ina market-place, Mr. Dale! a man for whom I was shot at, in cold blood, by an officer in His Majesty's service, who lodged a ball in my rightshoulder, Mr. Dale! a man who had the ingratitude, after all this, to turn his back on the landed interest, --to deny that there was anyagricultural distress in a year which broke three of the best farmers Iever had, Mr. Dale!--a man, sir, who made a speech on the Currency whichwas complimented by Ricardo, a Jew! Good heavens! a pretty parson youare, to stand up for a fellow complimented by a Jew! Nice ideas you musthave of Christianity! Irritable, sir!" now fairly roared the squire, adding to the thunder of his voice the cloud of a brow, which evinceda menacing ferocity that might have done honour to Bussy d'Amboise orFighting Fitzgerald. "Sir, if that man had not been my own half-brother, I'd have called him out. I have stood my ground before now. I have had aball in my right shoulder. Sir, I'd have called him out. "

"Mr. Hazeldean! Mr. Hazeldean! I'm shocked at you, " cried the parson;and, putting his lips close to the squire's ear, he went on in awhisper, "What an example to your son! You'll have him fighting duelsone of these days, and nobody to blame but yourself. "

This warning cooled Mr. Hazeldean; and muttering, "Why the deuce did youset me off?" he fell back into his chair, and began to fan himself withhis pocket-handkerchief. 

The parson skilfully and remorselessly pursued the advantage he hadgained. "And now that you may have it in your power to show civility andkindness to a boy whom Mr. Egerton has taken up, out of respect tohis wife's memory, --a kinsman, you say, of your own, and who has neveroffended you, --a boy whose diligence in his studies proves him to bean excellent companion to your son-Frank" (here the parson raised hisvoice), "I suppose you would like to call on young Leslie, as you werestudying the county map so attentively. "

"Yes, yes, " answered Frank, rather timidly, "if my father does notobject to it. Leslie has been very kind tome, though he is in the sixthform, and, indeed, almost the head of the school. "

"Ah!" said Mrs. Hazeldean, "one studious boy has a fellow feeling foranother; and though you enjoy your holidays, Frank, I am sure you readhard at school. "

Mrs. Dale opened her eyes very wide, and stared in astonishment. 

Mrs. Hazeldean retorted that look, with great animation. "Yes, Carry, "said she, tossing her head, "though you may not think Frank clever, his masters find him so. He got a prize last half. That beautiful book, Frank--hold up your head, my love--what did you get it for?"

FRANK (reluctantly). --"Verses, ma'am. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN (with triumph). --"Verses!--there, Carry, verses!"

FRANK (in a hurried tone). --"Yes, but Leslie wrote them for me. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN (recoiling). --"O Frank! a prize for what another did foryou--that was mean. "

FRANK (ingenuously). --"You can't be more ashamed, Mother, than I waswhen they gave me the prize. "

MRS. DALE (though previously provoked at being snubbed by Harry, nowshowing the triumph of generosity over temper). --"I beg your pardon, Frank. Your mother must be as proud of that shame as she was of theprize. "

Mrs. Hazeldean puts her arm round Frank's neck, smiles beamingly on Mrs. Dale, and converses with her son in a low tone about Randal Leslie. Miss Jemima now approached Carry, and said in an "aside, " "But we areforgetting poor Mr. Riccabocca. Mrs. Hazeldean, though the dearestcreature in the world, has such a blunt way of inviting people--don'tyou think if you were to say a word to him, Carry?"

MRS. DALE (kindly, as she wraps her shawl round her). --"Suppose youwrite the note yourself? Meanwhile I shall see him, no doubt. "

PARSON (putting his hand on the squire's shoulder). --"You forgive myimpertinence, my kind friend. We parsons, you know, are apt to takestrange liberties, when we honour and love folks as I do. "

"Fish, " said the squire; but his hearty smile came to his lips in spiteof himself. "You always get your own way, and I suppose Frank must rideover and see this pet of my--"

"Brother's, " quoth the parson, concluding the sentence in a tone whichgave to the sweet word so sweet a sound that the squire would notcorrect the parson, as he had been about to correct himself. 

Mr. Dale moved on; but as he passed Captain Barnabas, the benignantcharacter of his countenance changed sadly. "The cruellest trump, Captain Higginbotham!" said he sternly, and stalked by-majestic. 

The night was so fine that the parson and his wife, as they walked home, made a little detour through the shrubbery. 

MRS. DALE. --"I think I have done a good piece of work to-night. "

PARSON (rousing himself from a revery). --"Have you, Carry?--it will be avery pretty handkerchief. "

MRS. DALE. --"Handkerchief?--nonsense, dear. Don't you think it wouldbe a very happy thing for both if Jemima and Signor Riccabocca could bebrought together?"

PARSON. --"Brought together!"

MRS. DALE. --"You do snap up one so, my dear; I mean if I could make amatch of it. "

PARSON. --"I think Riccabocca is a match already, not only for Jemima, but yourself into the bargain. "

MRS. DALE (smiling loftily). --"Well, we shall see. Was not Jemima'sfortune about L4000?"

PARSON (dreamily, for he is relapsing fast into his interruptedrevery). --"Ay--ay--I dare say. "

MRS. DALE. --"And she must have saved! I dare say it is nearly L6000 bythis time; eh! Charles dear, you really are so--good gracious, what'sthat!"

As Mrs. Dale made this exclamation, they had just emerged from theshrubbery into the village green. 

PARSON. --"What's what?"

MRS. DALE (pinching her husband's arm very nippingly). "Thatthing--there--there. "

PARSON. --"Only the new stocks, Carry; I don't wonder they frighten you, for you are a very sensible woman. I only wish they would frighten thesquire. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

 [Supposed to be a letter from Mrs. Hazeldean to A. Riccabocca, Esq. , The Casino; but, edited, and indeed composed, by Miss Jemima Hazeldean. ]HAZELDEAN HALL. 

DEAR SIR, --To a feeling heart it must always be painful to give painto another, and (though I am sure unconsciously) you have given thegreatest pain to poor Mr. Hazeldean and myself, indeed to all our littlecircle, in so cruelly refusing our attempts to become better acquaintedwith a gentleman we so highly ESTEEM. Do, pray, dear sir, make us theamende honorable, and give us the pleasure of your company for a fewdays at the Hall. May we expect you Saturday next?--our dinner hour issix o'clock. 

With the best compliments of Mr. And Miss Jemima Hazeldean, believe me, my dear sir, Yours truly, H. H. 

Miss Jemima having carefully sealed this note, which Mrs. Hazeldeanhad very willingly deputed her to write, took it herself into thestable-yard, in order to give the groom proper instructions to wait foran answer. But while she was speaking to the man, Frank, equipped forriding, with more than his usual dandyism, came into the yard, callingfor his pony in a loud voice; and singling out the very groom whom MissJemima was addressing--for, indeed, he was the smartest of all in thesquire's stables--told him to saddle the gray pad and accompany thepony. 

"No, Frank, " said Miss Jemima, "you can't have George; your father wantshim to go on a message, --you can take Mat. "

"Mat, indeed!" said Frank, grumbling with some reason; for Mat was asurly old fellow, who tied a most indefensible neckcloth, and alwayscontrived to have a great patch on his boots, --besides, he called Frank"Master, " and obstinately refused to trot down hill, --"Mat, indeed! letMat take the message, and George go with me. "

But Miss Jemima had also her reasons for rejecting Mat. Mat's foiblewas not servility, and he always showed true English independence in allhouses where he was not invited to take his ale in the servants'hall. Mat might offend Signor Riccabocca, and spoil all. An animatedaltercation ensued, in the midst of which the squire and his wifeentered the yard, with the intention of driving in the conjugal gig tothe market town. The matter was referred to the natural umpire by boththe contending parties. 

The squire looked with great contempt on his son. "And what do you wanta groom at all for? Are you afraid of tumbling off the pony?"

FRANK. --"No, Sir; but I like to go as a gentleman, when I pay a visit toa gentleman!"

SQUIRE (in high wrath). --"You precious puppy! I think I'm as good agentleman as you any day, and I should like to know when you ever sawme ride to call on a neighbour with a fellow jingling at my heels, likethat upstart Ned Spankie, whose father kept a cotton mill. First time Iever heard of a Hazeldean thinking a livery coat was necessary to provehis gentility!"

MRS. HAZELDEAN (observing Frank colouring, and about to reply). --"Hush, Frank, never answer your father, --and you are going to call on Mr. Leslie?"

"Yes, ma'am, and I am very much obliged to my father for letting me, "said Frank, taking the squire's hand. 

"Well, but, Frank, " continued Mrs. Hazeldean, "I think you heard thatthe Leslies were very poor. "

FRANK. --"Eh, Mother?"

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"And would you run the chance of wounding the prideof a gentleman as well born as yourself by affecting any show of beingricher than he is?"

SQUIRE (with great admiration). --"Harry, I'd give L10 to have saidthat!"

FRANK (leaving the squire's hand to take his mother's). --"You're quiteright, Mother; nothing could be more snobbish!"

SQUIRE. "Give us your fist, too, sir; you'll be a chip of the old block, after all. "

Frank smiled, and walked off to his pony. 

MRS. HAZELDEAN (to Miss Jemima). --"Is that the note you were to writefor me?"

MISS JEMIMA. --"Yes; I supposed you did not care about seeing it, so Ihave sealed it, and given it to George. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"But Frank will pass close by the Casino on his way tothe Leslies'. It may be more civil if he leaves the note himself. "

MISS JEMIMA (hesitatingly). --"Do you think so?"

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"Yes, certainly. Frank, Frank, as you pass by theCasino, call on Mr. Riccabocca, give this note, and say we shall beheartily glad if he will come. " Frank nods. 

"Stop a bit, " cried the squire. "If Rickeybockey is at home, 't is tento one if he don't ask you to take a glass of wine! If he does, mind, 't is worse than asking you to take a turn on the rack. Faugh! youremember, Harry?--I thought it was all up with me. "

"Yes, " cried Mrs. Hazeldean; "for Heaven's sake not a drop. Wine, indeed!"

"Don't talk of it, " cried the squire, making a wry face. 

"I'll take care, Sir!" said Frank, laughing as he disappeared within thestable, followed by Miss Jemima, who now coaxingly makes it up with him, and does not leave off her admonitions to be extremely polite to thepoor foreign gentleman till Frank gets his foot into the stirrup, andthe pony, who knows whom he has got to deal with, gives a preparatoryplunge or two, and then darts out of the yard. 

BOOK SECOND. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

INFORMING THE READER HOW THIS WORK CAME TO HAVE INITIAL CHAPTERS. 

"There can't be a doubt, " said my father, "that to each of the maindivisions of your work--whether you call them Books or Parts--you shouldprefix an Initial or Introductory Chapter. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Can't be a doubt, sir? Why so?"

MR. CAXTON. --"Fielding lays it down as an indispensable rule, which hesupports by his example; and Fielding was an artistical writer, and knewwhat he was about. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Do you remember any of his reasons, sir?"

MR. CAXTON. --"Why, indeed, Fielding says, very justly, that he is notbound to assign any reason; but he does assign a good many, here andthere, --to find which I refer you to 'Tom Jones. ' I will only observe, that one of his reasons, which is unanswerable, runs to the effect thatthus, in every Part or Book, the reader has the advantage of beginningat the fourth or fifth page instead of the first, --'a matter by no meansof trivial consequence, ' saith Fielding, 'to persons who read books withno other view than to say they have read them, --a more general motive toreading than is commonly imagined; and from which not only law books andgood books, but the pages of Homer and Virgil, Swift and Cervantes, havebeen often turned Over. ' There, " cried my father, triumphantly, "I willlay a shilling to twopence that I have quoted the very words. "

MRS. CANTON. --"Dear me, that only means skipping; I don't see any greatadvantage in writing a chapter, merely for people to skip it. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Neither do I!"

MR. CANTON (dogmatically). --"It is the repose in the picture, --Fieldingcalls it 'contrast. '--(Still more dogmatically. )--I say there can't be adoubt about it. Besides" added my father after a pause, --"besides, thisusage gives you opportunities to explain what has gone before, or toprepare for what's coming; or, since Fielding contends, with greattruth, that some learning is necessary for this kind of historicalcomposition, it allows you, naturally and easily, the introductionof light and pleasant ornaments of that nature. At each flight in theterrace you may give the eye the relief of an urn or a statue. Moreover, when so inclined, you create proper pausing-places for reflection; andcomplete by a separate, yet harmonious ethical department, the design ofa work, which is but a mere Mother Goose's tale if it does not embrace ageneral view of the thoughts and actions of mankind. "

PISISTRATUS. --"But then, in these initial chapters, the author thrustshimself forward; and just when you want to get on with the dramatispersonae, you find yourself face to face with the poet himself. "

MR. CANTON. --"Pooh! you can contrive to prevent that! Imitate the chorusof the Greek stage, who fill up the intervals between the action bysaying what the author would otherwise say in his own person. "

PISISTRATUS (slyly). --"That's a good idea, sir, --and I have a chorus, and a choregus too, already in my eye. "

MR. CANTON (unsuspectingly). --"Aha! you are not so dull a fellow as youwould make yourself out to be; and, even if an author did thrust himselfforward, what objection is there to that? It is a mere affectation tosuppose that a book can come into the world without an author. Everychild has a father, --one father at least, --as the great Conde says verywell in his poem. "

PISISTRATUS. --"The great Conde a poet! I never heard that before. "

MR. CANTON. --"I don't say he was a poet, but he sent a poem to Madame deMontansier. Envious critics think that he must have paid somebody elseto write it; but there is no reason why a great captain should not writea poem, --I don't say a good poem, but a poem. I wonder, Roland, if theduke ever tried his hand at 'Stanzas to Mary, ' or 'Lines to a SleepingBabe. '"

CAPTAIN ROLAND. --"Austin, I'm ashamed of you. Of course the duke couldwrite poetry if he pleased, --something, I dare say, in the way of thegreat Conde; that is, something warlike and heroic, I'll be bound. Let'shear!"

MR. CAXTON (reciting). --

 "Telle est du Ciel la loi severe Qu'il faut qu'un enfant ait un pere; On dit meme quelquefois Tel enfant en a jusqu'a trois. "

 ["That each child has a father Is Nature's decree; But, to judge by a rumour, Some children have three. "]

CAPTAIN ROLAND (greatly disgusted). --"Conde write such stuff!--I don'tbelieve it. "

PISISTRATUS. --"I do, and accept the quotations; you and Roland shall bejoint fathers to my child as well as myself. 

 "'Tel enfant en a jusqu'a trois. '"

MR. CAXTON (solemnly). --"I refuse the proffered paternity; but so faras administering a little wholesome castigation now and then, I have noobjection to join in the discharge of a father's duty. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Agreed. Have you anything to say against the infanthitherto?"

MR. CAXTON. --"He is in long clothes at present; let us wait till he canwalk. "

BLANCHE. --"But pray whom do you mean for a hero? And is Miss Jemima yourheroine?"

CAPTAIN ROLAND. --"There is some mystery about the--"

PISISTRATUS (hastily). -"Hush, Uncle: no letting the cat out of thebag yet. Listen, all of you! I left Frank Hazeldean on his way to theCasino. "

CHAPTER II. 

"It is a sweet pretty place, " thought Frank, as he opened the gate whichled across the fields to the Casino, that smiled down upon him withits plaster pilasters. "I wonder, though, that my father, who is soparticular in general, suffers the carriage-road to be so full of holesand weeds. Mounseer does not receive many visits, I take it. "

But when Frank got into the ground immediately before the house, he sawno cause of complaint as to want of order and repair. Nothing could bekept more neatly. Frank was ashamed of the dint made by the pony's hoofson the smooth gravel: he dismounted, tied the animal to the wicket, andwent on foot towards the glass door in front. 

He rang the bell once, twice, but nobody came, for the oldwoman-servant, who was hard of hearing, was far away in the yard, searching for any eggs which the hen might have scandalously hidden forculinary purposes; and Jackeymo was fishing for the sticklebacks andminnows which were, when caught, to assist the eggs, when found, inkeeping together the bodies and souls of himself and his master. The oldwoman had been lately put upon board wages. Lucky old woman! Frank ranga third time, and with the impetuosity of his age. A face peeped fromthe belvidere on the terrace. "Diavolo!" said Dr. Riccabocca to himself. "Young cocks crow hard on their own dunghill; it must be a cock of ahigh race to crow so loud at another's. "

Therewith he shambled out of the summer-house, and appeared suddenlybefore Frank, in a very wizard-like dressing-robe of black serge, a redcap on his head, and a cloud of smoke coming rapidly from his lips, as afinal consolatory whiff, before he removed the pipe from them. Frank hadindeed seen the doctor before, but never in so scholastic a costume, andhe was a little startled by the apparition at his elbow, as he turnedround. 

"Signorino, " said the Italian, taking off his cap with his usualurbanity, "pardon the negligence of my people; I am too happy to receiveyour commands in person. "

"Dr. Rickeybockey?" stammered Frank, much confused by this politeaddress, and the low, yet stately, bow with which it was accompanied. "I--I have a note from the Hall. Mamma--that is, my mother--and auntJemima beg their best compliments, and hope you will come, sir. "

The doctor took the note with another bow, and, opening the glass door, invited Frank to enter. 

The young gentleman, with a schoolboy's usual bluntness, was about tosay that he was in a hurry, and had rather not; but Dr. Riccabocca'sgrand manner awed him, while a glimpse of the hall excited hiscuriosity, so he silently obeyed the invitation. 

The hall, which was of an octagon shape, had been originally panelledoff into compartments, and in these the Italian had painted landscapes, rich with the warm sunny light of his native climate. Frank was nojudge of the art displayed; but he was greatly struck with the scenesdepicted: they were all views of some lake, real or imaginary; in all, dark-blue shining waters reflected dark-blue placid skies. In one, aflight of steps ascended to the lake, and a gay group was seen feastingon the margin; in another, sunset threw its rose-hues over a vast villaor palace, backed by Alpine hills, and flanked by long arcades of vines, while pleasure-boats skimmed over the waves below. In short, throughoutall the eight compartments, the scene, though it differed in details, preserved the same general character, as if illustrating some favouritelocality. The Italian did not, however, evince any desire to do thehonours of his own art, but, preceding Frank across the hall, opened thedoor of his usual sitting-room, and requested him to enter. Frank did sorather reluctantly, and seated himself with unwonted bashfulness on theedge of a chair. But here new specimens of the doctor's handicraft soonriveted attention. The room had been originally papered, but Riccaboccahad stretched canvas over the walls, and painted thereon sundrysatirical devices, each separated from the other by scroll-works offantastic arabesques. Here a Cupid was trundling a wheelbarrow full ofhearts, which he appeared to be selling to an ugly old fellow, with amoney-bag in his hand--probably Plutus. There Diogenes might be seenwalking through a market-place, with his lantern in his hand, in searchof an honest man, whilst the children jeered at him, and the curssnapped at his heels. In another place a lion was seen half dressed in afox's hide, while a wolf in a sheep's mask was conversing very amicablywith a young lamb. Here again might be seen the geese stretching outtheir necks from the Roman Capitol in full cackle, while the stoutinvaders were beheld in the distance, running off as hard as theycould. In short, in all these quaint entablatures some pithy sarcasm wassymbolically conveyed; only over the mantel piece was the design graverand more touching. It was the figure of a man in a pilgrim's garb, chained to the earth by small but innumerable ligaments, while a phantomlikeness of himself, his shadow, was seen hastening down what seemed aninterminable vista; and underneath were written the pathetic words ofHorace--

 "Patriae quis exul Se quoque fugit?"

 ["What exile from his country can also fly from himself?"]

The furniture of the room was extremely simple, and somewhat scanty;yet it was arranged so as to impart an air of taste and elegance to theroom. Even a few plaster busts and statues, though bought but of somehumble itinerant, had their classical effect, glistening from outstands of flowers that were grouped around them, or backed bygraceful screen-works formed from twisted osiers, which, by the simplecontrivance of trays at the bottom filled with earth, served for livingparasitical plants, with gay flowers contrasting thick ivy leaves, and gave to the whole room the aspect of a bower. "May I ask yourpermission?" said the Italian, with his finger on the seal of theletter. 

"Oh, yes, " said Frank, with naivete. 

Riccabocca broke the seal, and a slight smile stole over hiscountenance. Then he turned a little aside from Frank, shaded his facewith his hand, and seemed to muse. "Mrs. Hazeldean, " said he, at last, "does me very great honour. I hardly recognize her handwriting, or Ishould have been more impatient to open the letter. " The dark eyes werelifted over the spectacles and went right into Frank's unprotectedand undiplomatic heart. The doctor raised the note, and pointed to thecharacters with his forefinger. 

"Cousin Jemima's hand, " said Frank, as directly as if the question hadbeen put to him. 

The Italian smiled. "Mr. Hazeldean has company staying with him?"

"No; that is, only Barney, --the captain. There's seldom much companybefore the shooting season, " added Frank, with a slight sigh; "and then, you know, the holidays are over. For my part, I think we ought to breakup a month later. "

The doctor seemed reassured by the first sentence in Frank's reply, and, seating himself at the table, wrote his answer, --not hastily, as weEnglish write, but with care and precision, like one accustomed toweigh the nature of words, --in that stiff Italian hand, which allowsthe writer so much time to think while he forms his letters. He did not, therefore, reply at once to Frank's remark about the holidays, but wassilent till he had concluded his note, read it three times over, sealedit by the taper he slowly lighted, and then, giving it to Frank, hesaid, "For your sake, young gentleman, I regret that your holidays are soearly; for mine, I must rejoice, since I accept the kind invitation youhave rendered doubly gratifying by bringing it yourself. "

"Deuce take the fellow and his fine speeches! One don't know which wayto look, " thought English Frank. 

The Italian smiled again, as if this time he had read the boy's heart, without need of those piercing black eyes, and said, less ceremoniouslythan before, "You don't care much for compliments, young gentleman?"

"No, I don't indeed, " said Frank, heartily. 

"So much the better for you, since your way in the world is made: itwould be so much the worse if you had to make it!"

Frank looked puzzled: the thought was too deep for him, so he turned tothe pictures. 

"Those are very funny, " said he; "they seem capitally done. Who did'em?"

"Signoriuo Hazeldean, you are giving me what you refused yourself. "

"Eh?" said Frank, inquiringly. 

"Compliments!"

"Oh--I--no; but they are well done: are n't they, sir?"--

"Not particularly: you speak to the artist. "

"What! you painted them?"

"Yes. "

"And the pictures in the hall?"

"Those too. "

"Taken from nature, eh?"

"Nature, " said the Italian, sententiously, perhaps evasively, "letsnothing be taken from her. "

"Oh!" said Frank, puzzled again. "Well, I must wish you good morning, sir; I am very glad you are coming. "

"Without compliment?"

"Without compliment. "

"A rivedersi--good-by for the present, my young signorino. This way, "observing Frank make a bolt towards the wrong door. "Can I offer you aglass of wine?--it is pure, of our own making. "

"No, thank you, indeed, sir, " cried Frank, suddenly recollecting hisfather's admonition. "Good-by, don't trouble yourself, sir; I know anyway now. "

But the bland Italian followed his guest to the wicket, where Frankhad left the pony. The young gentleman, afraid lest so courteous a hostshould hold the stirrup for him, twitched off the bridle, and mounted inhaste, not even staying to ask if the Italian could put him in the wayto Rood Hall, of which way he was profoundly ignorant. The Italian's eyefollowed the boy as he rode up the ascent in the lane, and the doctorsighed heavily. "The wiser we grow, " said he to himself, "the more weregret the age of our follies: it is better to gallop with a light heartup the stony hill than sit in the summer-house and cry 'How true!' tothe stony truths of Machiavelli!"

With that he turned back into the belvidere; but he could not resumehis studies. He remained some minutes gazing on the prospect, tillthe prospect reminded him of the fields which Jackeymo was bent on hishiring, and the fields reminded him of Lenny Fairfield. He returned tothe house, and in a few moments re-emerged in his out-of-door trim, withcloak and umbrella, re-lighted his pipe, and strolled towards Hazeldeanvillage. 

Meanwhile Frank, after cantering on for some distance, stopped at acottage, and there learned that there was a short cut across the fieldsto Rood Hall, by which he could save nearly three miles. Frank, however, missed the short cut, and came out into the high road; aturnpike-keeper, after first taking his toll, put him back again intothe short cut; and finally, he got into some green lanes, where adilapidated finger-post directed him to Rood. Late at noon, havingridden fifteen miles in the desire to reduce ten to seven, he camesuddenly upon a wild and primitive piece of ground, that seemed halfchase, half common, with crazy tumbledown cottages of villanous aspectscattered about in odd nooks and corners. Idle, dirty children weremaking mud-pies on the road; slovenly-looking women were plaiting strawat the threshold; a large but forlorn and decayed church, that seemedto say that the generation which saw it built was more pious than thegeneration which now resorted to it, stood boldly and nakedly out by theroadside. 

"Is this the village of Rood?" asked Frank of a stout young man breakingstones on the road--sad sign that no better labour could be found forhim!

The man sullenly nodded, and continued his work. "And where's theHall--Mr. Leslie's?"

The man looked up in stolid surprise, and this time touched his hat. 

"Be you going there?"

"Yes, if I can find out where it is. "

"I'll show your honour, " said the boor, alertly. 

Frank reined in the pony, and the man walked by his side. Frank wasmuch of his father's son, despite the difference of age, and that morefastidious change of manner which characterizes each succeeding racein the progress of civilization. Despite all his Eton finery, he wasfamiliar with peasants, and had the quick eye of one country-born as tocountry matters. 

"You don't seem very well off in this village, my man?" said he, knowingly. 

"Noa; there be a deal of distress here in the winter time, and summertoo, for that matter; and the parish ben't much help to a single man. "

"But surely the farmers want work here as well as elsewhere?"

"'Deed, and there ben't much farming work here, --most o' the parish beall wild ground loike. "

"The poor have a right of common, I suppose, " said Frank, surveying alarge assortment of vagabond birds and quadrupeds. 

"Yes; neighbour Timmins keeps his geese on the common, and some hasa cow, and them be neighbour Jowlas's pigs. I don't know if there's aright, loike; but the folks at the Hall does all they can to help us, and that ben't much: they ben't as rich as some folks; but, " added thepeasant, proudly, "they be as good blood as any in the shire. "

"I 'm glad to see you like them, at all events. "

"Oh, yes, I likes them well eno'; mayhap you are at school with theyoung gentleman?"

"Yes, " said Frank. 

"Ah, I heard the clergyman say as how Master Randal was a mighty cleverlad, and would get rich some day. I 'se sure I wish he would, for a poorsquire makes a poor parish. There's the Hall, sir. "

CHAPTER III. 

Frank looked right ahead, and saw a square house that, in spite ofmodern sash windows, was evidently of remote antiquity. A high conicalroof; a stack of tall quaint chimney-pots of red-baked clay (likethose at Sutton Place in Surrey) dominating over isolated vulgarsmoke-conductors, of the ignoble fashion of present times; a dilapidatedgroin-work, encasing within a Tudor arch a door of the comfortable dateof George III. , and the peculiarly dingy and weather-stained appearanceof the small finely-finished bricks, of which the habitation wasbuilt, --all showed the abode of former generations adapted withtasteless irreverence to the habits of descendants unenlightened byPugin, or indifferent to the poetry of the past. The house had emergedsuddenly upon Frank out of the gloomy waste land, for it was placed ina hollow, and sheltered from sight by a disorderly group of ragged, dismal, valetudinarian fir-trees, until an abrupt turn of theroad cleared that screen, and left the desolate abode bare to thediscontented eye. Frank dismounted; the man held his pony; and aftersmoothing his cravat, the smart Etonian sauntered up to the door, andstartled the solitude of the place with a loud peal from the modernbrass knocker, --a knock which instantly brought forth an astonishedstarling who had built under the eaves of the gable roof, and called upa cloud of sparrows, tomtits, and yellow-hammers, who had been regalingthemselves amongst the litter of a slovenly farmyard that lay in fullsight to the right of the house, fenced off by a primitive paintlesswooden rail. In process of time a sow, accompanied by a thriving andinquisitive family, strolled up to the gate of the fence, and, leaningher nose on the lower bar of the gate, contemplated the visitor withmuch curiosity and some suspicion. 

While Frank is still without, impatiently swingeing his white trouserswith his whip, we will steal a hurried glance towards the respectivemembers of the family within. Mr. Leslie, the paterfamilias, is in alittle room called his "study, " to which he regularly retires everymorning after breakfast, rarely reappearing till one o'clock, which ishis unfashionable hour for dinner. In what mysterious occupationsMr. Leslie passes those hours no one ever formed a conjecture. At thepresent moment he is seated before a little rickety bureau, one leg ofwhich being shorter than the other is propped up by sundry old lettersand scraps of newspapers; and the bureau is open, and reveals a greatnumber of pigeonholes and divisions, filled with various odds and ends, the collection of many years. In some of these compartments are bundlesof letters, very yellow, and tied in packets with faded tape; inanother, all by itself, is a fragment of plum-pudding stone, which Mr. Leslie has picked up in his walks, and considered a rare mineral. Itis neatly labelled, "Found in Hollow Lane, May 21st, 1804, by MaunderSlugge Leslie, Esq. " The next division holds several bits of iron inthe shape of nails, fragments of horse-shoes, etc. , which Mr. Lesliehas also met with in his rambles, and, according to a harmless popularsuperstition, deemed it highly unlucky not to pick up, and, once pickedup, no less unlucky to throw away. Item, in the adjoining pigeon-hole, agoodly collection of pebbles with holes in them, preserved for the samereason, in company with a crooked sixpence; item, neatly arranged infanciful mosaics, several periwinkles, Blackamoor's teeth (I mean theshell so called), and other specimens of the conchiferous ingenuity ofNature, partly inherited from some ancestral spinster, partly amassedby Mr. Leslie himself in a youthful excursion to the seaside. There werethe farm-bailiff's accounts, several files of bills, an old stirrup, three sets of knee and shoe buckles which had belonged to Mr. Leslie'sfather, a few seals tied together by a shoe-string, a shagreen toothpickcase, a tortoise shell magnifying-glass to read with, his eldest son'sfirst copybooks, his second son's ditto, his daughter's ditto, and alock of his wife's hair arranged in a true lover's knot, framed andglazed. There were also a small mousetrap; a patent corkscrew too goodto be used in common; fragments of a silver teaspoon, that had, bynatural decay, arrived at a dissolution of its parts; a small brownholland bag, containing halfpence of various dates, as far back as QueenAnne, accompanied by two French sous and a German silber gros, --thewhich miscellany Mr. Leslie magniloquently called "his coins, " and hadleft in his will as a family heirloom. There were many other curiositiesof congenial nature and equal value--quae nunc describere longum est. Mr. Leslie was engaged at this time in what is termed "putting thingsto rights, "--an occupation he performed with exemplary care once a week. This was his day; and he had just counted his coins, and was slowlytying them up again in the brown holland bag, when Frank's knock reachedhis ears. 

Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie paused, shook his head as if incredulously, and was about to resume his occupation, when he was seized with a fit ofyawning which prevented the bag being tied for full two minutes. 

While such the employment of the study, let us turn to the recreationsin the drawing-room, or rather parlour. A drawing-room there was on thefirst floor, with a charming look-out, not on the dreary fir-trees, buton the romantic undulating forest-land; but the drawing-room had notbeen used since the death of the last Mrs. Leslie. It was deemedtoo good to sit in, except when there was company: there never beingcompany, it was never sat in. Indeed, now the paper was falling offthe walls with the damp, and the rats, mice, and moths--those "edacesrerum"--had eaten, between them, most of the chair-bottoms and aconsiderable part of the floor. Therefore, the parlour was the solegeneral sitting-room; and being breakfasted in, dined, and supped in, and, after supper, smoked in by Mr. Leslie to the accompaniment ofrum-and-water, it is impossible to deny that it had what is called "asmell, "--a comfortable, wholesome family smell, speaking of numbers, meals, and miscellaneous social habitation. There were two windows: onelooked full on the fir-trees; the other on the farmyard, with the pigstyclosing the view. Near the fir-tree window sat Mrs. Leslie; before her, on a high stool, was a basket of the children's clothes that wantedmending. A work-table of rosewood inlaid with brass, which had been awedding-present, and was a costly thing originally, but in that peculiartaste which is vulgarly called "Brummagem, " stood at hand: the brasshad started in several places, and occasionally made great havoc inthe children's fingers and in Mrs. Leslie's gown; in fact it was theliveliest piece of furniture in the house, thanks to the petulantbrasswork, and could not have been more mischievous if it had been amonkey. Upon the work-table lay a housewife and thimble, and scissors, and skeins of worsted and thread, and little scraps of linen andcloth for patches. But Mrs. Leslie was not actually working, --she waspreparing to work; she had been preparing to work for the last hour anda half. Upon her lap she supported a novel, by a lady who wrote much fora former generation, under the name of "Mrs. Bridget Blue Mantle. " Shehad a small needle in her left hand, and a very thick piece of threadin her right; occasionally she applied the end of the said thread to herlips, and then--her eyes fixed on the novel--made a blind, vacillatingattack at the eye of the needle. But a camel would have gone through itwith quite as much ease. Nor did the novel alone engage Mrs. Leslie'sattention, for ever and anon she interrupted herself to scold thechildren, to inquire "what o'clock it was;" to observe that "Sarahwould never suit;" and to wonder "why Mr. Leslie would not see that thework-table was mended. " Mrs. Leslie has been rather a pretty woman. Inspite of a dress at once slatternly and economical, she has still theair of a lady, --rather too much so, the hard duties of her situationconsidered. She is proud of the antiquity of her family on both sides;her mother was of the venerable stock of the Daudlers of Daudle Place, arace that existed before the Conquest. Indeed, one has only to readour earliest chronicles, and to glance over some of those long-windedmoralizing poems which delighted the thanes and ealdermen of old, inorder to see that the Daudles must have been a very influential familybefore William the First turned the country topsy-turvy. While themother's race was thus indubitably Saxon, the father's had not onlythe name but the peculiar idiosyncrasy of the Normans, and went far toestablish that crotchet of the brilliant author of "Sybil; or, The TwoNations, " as to the continued distinction between the conqueringand conquered populations. Mrs. Leslie's father boasted the name ofMontfichet, --doubtless of the same kith and kin as those great barons ofAlontfichet, who once owned such broad lands and such turbulent castles. A high-nosed, thin, nervous, excitable progeny, those same Montfydgets, as the most troublesome Norman could pretend to be. This fusion of racewas notable to the most ordinary physiognomist in the physique andin the morale of Mrs. Leslie. She had the speculative blue eye of theSaxon, and the passionate high nose of the Norman; she had the musingdo-nothingness of the Daudlers, and the reckless have-at-every-thingnessof the Montfydgets. At Mrs. Leslie's feet, a little girl with her hairabout her ears (and beautiful hair it was too) was amusing herself witha broken-nosed doll. At the far end of the room, before a high desk, sat Frank's Eton schoolfellow, the eldest son. A minute or two beforeFrank's alarum had disturbed the tranquillity of the household, he hadraised his eyes from the books on the desk to glance at a very tatteredcopy of the Greek Testament, in which his brother Oliver had found adifficulty that he came to Randal to solve. As the young Etonian's facewas turned to the light, your first impression on seeing it would havebeen melancholy, but respectful, interest, --for the face had alreadylost the joyous character of youth; there was a wrinkle between thebrows; and the lines that speak of fatigue were already visible underthe eyes and about the mouth; the complexion was sallow, the lips werepale. Years of study had already sown in the delicate organization theseeds of many an infirmity and many a pain; but if your look had restedlonger on that countenance, gradually your compassion might have givenplace to some feeling uneasy and sinister, --a feeling akin to fear. There was in the whole expression so much of cold calm force, that itbelied the debility of the frame. You saw there the evidence of a mindthat was cultivated, and you felt that in that cultivation therewas something formidable. A notable contrast to this countenance, prematurely worn and eminently intelligent, was the round healthy faceof Oliver, with slow blue eyes fixed hard on the penetrating orbs of hisbrother, as if trying with might and main to catch from them a gleam ofthat knowledge with which they shone clear and frigid as a star. 

At Frank's knock, Oliver's slow blue eyes sparkled into animation, andhe sprang from his brother's side. The little girl flung back the hairfrom her face, and stared at her mother with a look which spoke wonderand fright. 

The young student knit his brows, and then turned wearily back to thebooks on his desk. 

"Dear me, " cried Mrs. Leslie, "who can that possibly be? Oliver, comefrom the window, sir, this instant: you will be seen! Juliet, run, ringthe bell; no, go to the head of the kitchen stairs, and call out toJenny 'Not at home. ' Not at home, on any account, " repeated Mrs. Leslie, nervously, for the Montfydget blood was now in full flow. 

In another minute or so, Frank's loud boyish voice was distinctly heardat the outer door. 

Randal slightly started. 

"Frank Hazeldean's voice, " said he; "I should like to see him, Mother. "

"See him, " repeated Mrs. Leslie, in amaze; "see him! and the room inthis state!"

Randal might have replied that the room was in no worse state thanusual; but he said nothing. A slight flush came and went over his paleface; and then he leaned his check on his hand, and compressed his lipsfirmly. 

The outer door closed with a sullen, inhospitable jar, and a slip-shodfemale servant entered with a card between her finger and thumb. 

"Who is that for?--give it to me. Jenny, " cried Mrs. Leslie. 

But Jenny shook her head, laid the card on the desk beside Randal, andvanished without saying a word. 

"Oh, look, Randal, look up, " cried Oliver, who had again rushed to thewindow; "such a pretty gray pony!"

Randal did look up; nay, he went deliberately to the window, and gazed amoment on the high-mettled pony and the well-dressed, spirited rider. Inthat moment changes passed over Randal's countenance more rapidly thanclouds over the sky in a gusty day. Now envy and discontent, with thecurled lip and the gloomy scowl; now hope and proud self-esteem, withthe clearing brow and the lofty smile; and then again all becamecold, firm, and close, as he walked back to his books, seated himselfresolutely, and said, half aloud, --"Well, KNOWLEDGE IS POWER!"

CHAPTER IV. 

Mrs. Leslie came up in fidget and in fuss; she leaned over Randal'sshoulder and read the card. Written in pen and ink, with an attempt atimitation of printed Roman character, there appeared first "MR. FRANKHAZELDEAN;" but just over these letters, and scribbled hastily and lesslegibly in pencil, was, --

"DEAR LESLIE, --Sorry you were out; come and see us, --do!"

"You will go, Randal?" said Mrs. Leslie, after a pause. 

"I am not sure. "

"Yes, you can go; you have clothes like a gentleman; you can goanywhere, not like those children;" and Mrs. Leslie glanced almostspitefully at poor Oliver's coarse threadbare jacket, and littleJuliet's torn frock. 

"What I have I owe at present to Mr. Egerton, and I should consult hiswishes; he is not on good terms with these Hazeldeans. " Then turningtowards his brother, who looked mortified, he added, with a strange sortof haughty kindness, "What I may have hereafter, Oliver, I shall owe tomyself; and then if I rise, I will raise my family. "

"Dear Randal, " said Mrs. Leslie, fondly kissing him on the forehead, "what a good heart you have!"

"No, Mother; my books don't tell me that it is a good heart that getson in the world: it is a hard head, " replied Randal, with a rude andscornful candour. "But I can read no more just now: come out, Oliver. "

So saying, he slid from his mother's hand and left the room. When Oliverjoined him, Randal was already on the common; and, without seeming tonotice his brother, he continued to walk quickly, and with long strides, in profound silence. At length he paused under the shade of an old oak, that, too old to be of value save for firewood, had escaped the axe. The tree stood on a knoll, and the spot commanded a view of the decayedhouse, the dilapidated church, the dreary village. 

"Oliver, " said Randal, between his teeth, so that his voice had thesound of a hiss, "it was under this tree that I first resolved to--"

He paused. 

"What, Randal?"

"Read hard: knowledge is power!"

"But you are so fond of reading. "

"I!" cried Randal. "Do you think, when Wolsey and Thomas-a-Becket becamepriests, they were fond of telling their beads and pattering Aves? Ifond of reading!"

Oliver stared; the historical allusions were beyond his comprehension. 

"You know, " continued Randal, "that we Leslies were not always thebeggarly poor gentlemen we are now. You know that there is a man wholives in Grosvenor Square, and is very rich, --very. His riches come tohim from a Leslie; that man is my patron, Oliver, and he--is very goodto me. "

Randal's smile was withering as he spoke. "Come on, " he said, aftera pause, --"come on. " Again the walk was quick, and the brothers weresilent. 

They came at length to a little shallow brook, across which some largestones had been placed at short intervals, so that the boys walked overthe ford dryshod. "Will you pull down that bough, Oliver?" said Randal, abruptly, pointing to a tree. Oliver obeyed mechanically; and Randal, stripping the leaves and snapping off the twigs, left a fork at the end;with this he began to remove the stepping-stones. 

"What are you about, Randal?" asked Oliver, wonderingly. 

"We are on the other side of the brook now, and we shall not come backthis way. We don't want the stepping-stones any more!--away with them!"

CHAPTER V. 

The morning after this visit of Frank Hazeldean's to Rood Hall, theRight Honourable Audley Egerton, member of parliament, privy councillor, and minister of a high department in the State, --just below the rank ofthe cabinet, --was seated in his library, awaiting the delivery of thepost, before he walked down to his office. In the mean while hesipped his tea, and glanced over the newspapers with that quick andhalf-disdainful eye with which your practical man in public life is wontto regard the abuse or the eulogium of the Fourth Estate. 

There is very little likeness between Mr. Egerton and his half-brother;none, indeed, except that they are both of tall stature, and strong, sinewy, English build. But even in this last they do not resemble eachother; for the squire's athletic shape is already beginning to expandinto that portly embonpoint which seems the natural development ofcontented men as they approach middle life. Audley, on the contrary, isinclined to be spare; and his figure, though the muscles are as firmas iron, has enough of the slender to satisfy metropolitan ideas ofelegance. His dress, his look, his tout ensemble, are those of theLondon man. In the first, there is more attention to fashion than isusual amongst the busy members of the House of Commons; but then AudleyEgerton has always been something more than a mere busy member ofthe House of Commons. He has always been a person of mark in thebest society; and one secret of his success in life has been his highreputation as "a gentleman. "

As he now bends over the journals, there is an air of distinction in theturn of the well-shaped head, with the dark brown hair, --dark in spiteof a reddish tinge, --cut close behind, and worn away a little towardsthe crown, so as to give an additional height to a commanding forehead. His profile is very handsome, and of that kind of beauty which imposeson men if it pleases women; and is, therefore, unlike that of your merepretty fellows, a positive advantage in public life. It is a profilewith large features clearly cut, masculine, and somewhat severe. Theexpression of his face is not open, like the squire's, nor has it thecold closeness which accompanies the intellectual character ofyoung Leslie's; but it is reserved and dignified, and significant ofself-control, as should be the physiognomy of a man accustomed to thinkbefore he speaks. When you look at him, you are not surprised to learnthat he is not a florid orator nor a smart debater, --he is a "weightyspeaker. " He is fairly read, but without any great range either ofornamental scholarship or constitutional lore. He has not much humour;but he has that kind of wit which is essential to grave and seriousirony. He has not much imagination, nor remarkable subtlety inreasoning; but if he does not dazzle he does not bore, --he is too muchof the man of the world for that. He is considered to have sound senseand accurate judgment. Withal, as he now lays aside the journals, andhis face relaxes its austerer lines, you will not be astonished to hearthat he is a man who is said to have been greatly beloved by women, and still to exercise much influence in drawing-rooms and boudoirs. Atleast, no one was surprised when the great heiress, Clementina Leslie, kinswoman and ward to Lord Lansmere, --a young lady who had refused threeearls and the heir apparent to a dukedom, --was declared by her dearestfriends to be dying of love for Audley Egerton. It had been the naturalwish of the Lansmeres that this lady should marry their son, LordL'Estrange. But that young gentleman, whose opinions on matrimonypartook of the eccentricity of his general character, could never beinduced to propose, and had, according to the on-dits of town, been theprincipal party to make up the match between Clementina and his friendAudley; for the match required making-up, despite the predilections ofthe young heiress. Mr. Egerton had had scruples of delicacy. He avowed, for the first time, that his fortune was much less than had beengenerally supposed, and he did not like the idea of owing all to a wife, however highly be might esteem and admire her. Now, Lord L'Estrange (notlong after the election at Lansmere, which had given to Audley his firstseat in parliament) had suddenly exchanged from the battalion of theGuards to which he belonged, and which was detained at home, into acavalry regiment on active service in the Peninsula. Nevertheless, evenabroad, and amidst the distractions of war, his interest in all thatcould forward Egerton's career was unabated; and by letters to hisfather and to his cousin Clementina, he assisted in the negotiations forthe marriage between Miss Leslie and his friend; and before the year inwhich Audley was returned for Lansmere had expired, the young senatorreceived the hand of the great heiress. The settlement of her fortune, which was chiefly in the Funds, had been unusually advantageous to thehusband; for though the capital was tied up so long as both survived, for the benefit of any children they might have, yet in the event ofone of the parties dying without issue by the marriage, the wholepassed without limitation to the survivor. Miss Leslie, in spite of allremonstrance from her own legal adviser, had settled this clause withEgerton's confidential solicitor, one Mr. Levy, of whom we shall seemore hereafter; and Egerton was to be kept in ignorance of it till afterthe marriage. If in this Miss Leslie showed a generous trust in Mr. Egerton, she still inflicted no positive wrong on her relations, forshe had none sufficiently near to her to warrant their claim to thesuccession. Her nearest kinsman, and therefore her natural heir, wasHarley L'Estrange; and if he was contented, no one had a right tocomplain. The tie of blood between herself and the Leslies of Rood Hallwas, as we shall see presently, extremely distant. 

It was not till after his marriage that Mr. Egerton took an activepart in the business of the House of Commons. He was then at the mostadvantageous starting-point for the career of ambition. His words on thestate of the country took importance from his stake in it. His talentsfound accessories in the opulence of Grosvenor Square, the dignity ofa princely establishment, the respectability of one firmly settled inlife, the reputation of a fortune in reality very large, and whichwas magnified by popular report into the revenues of a Croesus. AudleyEgerton succeeded in parliament beyond the early expectations formedof him. He took, from the first, that station in the House which itrequires tact to establish, and great knowledge of the world to freefrom the charge of impracticability and crotchet, but which, onceestablished, is peculiarly imposing from the rarity of its independence;that is to say, the station of the moderate man who belongs sufficientlyto a party to obtain its support, but is yet sufficiently disengagedfrom a party to make his vote and word, on certain questions, matter ofanxiety and speculation. 

Professing Toryism (the word Conservative, which would have suitedhim better, was not then known), he separated himself from the countryparty, and always avowed great respect for the opinions of thelarge towns. The epithet given to the views of Audley Egerton was"enlightened. " Never too much in advance of the passion of the day, yetnever behind its movement, he had that shrewd calculation of oddswhich a consummate mastery of the world sometimes bestows uponpoliticians, --perceived the chances for and against a certain questionbeing carried within a certain time, and nicked the question betweenwind and water. He was so good a barometer of that changeful weathercalled Public Opinion, that he might have had a hand in the "Times"newspaper. He soon quarrelled, and purposely, with his Lansmereconstituents; nor had he ever revisited that borough, --perhaps becauseit was associated with unpleasant reminiscences in the shape of thesquire's epistolary trimmer, and in that of his own effigies whichhis agricultural constituents had burned in the corn-market. But thespeeches that produced such indignation at Lansmere had delighted one ofthe greatest of our commercial towns, which at the next general electionhonoured him with its representation. In those days, before the ReformBill, great commercial towns chose men of high mark for their member;and a proud station it was for him who was delegated to speak the voiceof the princely merchants of England. 

Mrs. Egerton survived her marriage but a few years. She left nochildren; two had been born, but died in their first infancy. Theproperty of the wife, therefore, passed without control or limit to thehusband. 

Whatever might have been the grief of the widower, he disdained tobetray it to the world. Indeed, Audley Egerton was a man who had earlytaught himself to conceal emotion. He buried himself in the country, none knew where, for some months. When he returned, there was a deepwrinkle on his brow, --but no change in his habits and avocations, exceptthat, shortly afterwards, he accepted office, and thus became more busythan ever. 

Mr. Egerton had always been lavish and magnificent in money spatters. A rich man in public life has many claims on his fortune, and no oneyielded to those claims with in air so regal as Audley Egerton. Butamongst his many liberal actions, there was none which seemed moreworthy of panegyric than the generous favour he extended to the son ofhis wife's poor and distant kinsfolk, the Leslies of Rood Hall. 

Some four generations back, there had lived a certain Squire Leslie, aman of large acres and active mind. He had cause to be displeased withhis elder son, and though he did not disinherit him, he left half hisproperty to a younger. 

The younger had capacity and spirit, which justified the parentalprovision. He increased his fortune; lifted himself into notice andconsideration by public services and a noble alliance. His descendantsfollowed his example, and took rank among the first commonersin England, till the last male, dying, left his sole heiress andrepresentative in one daughter, Clementina, afterwards married to Mr. Egerton. 

Meanwhile the elder son of the fore-mentioned squire had muddled andsotted away much of his share in the Leslie property; and, by low habitsand mean society, lowered in repute his representation of the name. 

His successors imitated him, till nothing was left to Randal's father, Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie, but the decayed house, which was what theGermans call the stamm schloss, or "stem hall, " of the race, and thewretched lands immediately around it. 

Still, though all intercourse between the two branches of the family hadceased, the younger had always felt a respect for the elder, as the headof the House. And it was supposed that, on her death-bed, Mrs. Egertonhad recommended her impoverished namesakes and kindred to the care ofher husband; for when he returned to town, after Mrs. Egerton's death, Audley had sent to Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie the sum of L5000, whichhe said his wife, leaving no written will, had orally bequeathed as alegacy to that gentleman; and he requested permission to charge himselfwith the education of the eldest son. 

Mr. Maunder Slugge Leslie might have done great things for his littleproperty with those L5000, or even kept in the three-per-cents theinterest would have afforded a material addition to his comforts. Buta neighbouring solicitor, having caught scent of the legacy, huntedit down into his own hands, on pretence of having found a capitalinvestment in a canal; and when the solicitor had got possession of theL5000, he went off with them to America. 

Meanwhile Randal, placed by Mr. Egerton at an excellent preparatoryschool, at first gave no signs of industry or talent; but just beforehe left it, there came to the school, as classical tutor, an ambitiousyoung Oxford man; and his zeal--for he was a capital teacher--produceda great effect generally on the pupils, and especially on Randal Leslie. He talked to them much in private on the advantages of learning, andshortly afterwards he exhibited those advantages in his own person; for, having edited a Greek play with much subtle scholarship, his college, which some slight irregularities of his had displeased, recalled him toits venerable bosom by the presentation of a fellowship. After this hetook orders, became a college tutor, distinguished himself yet more bya treatise on the Greek accent, got a capital living, and was consideredon the high road to a bishopric. This young man, then, communicated toRandal the thirst for knowledge; and when the boy went afterwards toEton, he applied with such earnestness and resolve that his fame soonreached the ears of Audley; and that person, who had the sympathy fortalent, and yet more for purpose, which often characterizes ambitiousmen, went to Eton to see him. From that time Audley evinced great andalmost fatherly interest in the brilliant Etonian; and Randal alwaysspent with him some days in each vacation. 

I have said that Egerton's conduct with respect to this boy was morepraiseworthy than most of those generous actions for which he wasrenowned, since to this the world gave no applause. What a man doeswithin the range of his family connections does not carry with it thateclat which invests a munificence exhibited on public occasions. Eitherpeople care nothing about it, or tacitly suppose it to be but his duty. It was true, too, as the squire had observed, that Randal Leslie waseven less distantly related to the Hazeldeans than to Mrs. Egerton, since Randal's grandfather had actually married a Miss Hazeldean (thehighest worldly connection that branch of the family had formed sincethe great split I have commemorated). But Audley Egerton never appearedaware of that fact. As he was not himself descended from the Hazeldeans, he did not trouble himself about their genealogy; and he took care toimpress it upon the Leslies that his generosity on their behalf wassolely to be ascribed to his respect for his wife's memory and kindred. Still the squire had felt as if his "distant brother" implied a rebukeon his own neglect of these poor Leslies, by the liberality Audleyevinced towards them; and this had made him doubly sore when the name ofRandal Leslie was mentioned. But the fact really was, that the Lesliesof Rood had so shrunk out of all notice that the squire had actuallyforgotten their existence, until Randal became thus indebted to hisbrother; and then he felt a pang of remorse that any one save himself, the head of the Hazeldeans, should lend a helping hand to the grandsonof a Hazeldean. 

But having thus, somewhat too tediously, explained the position ofAudley Egerton, whether in the world or in relation to his youngprotege, I may now permit him to receive and to read his letters. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Mr. Egerton glanced over the pile of letters placed beside him, and first he tore up some, scarcely read, and threw them into thewaste-basket. Public men have such odd, out-of-the-way letters, thattheir waste-baskets are never empty, --letters from amateur financiersproposing new ways to pay off the National Debt; letters from America(never free!) asking for autographs; letters from fond mothers incountry villages, recommending some miracle of a son for a place inthe king's service; letters from free-thinkers in reproof of bigotry;letters from bigots in reproof of free-thinking; letters signed BrutusRedivivus, containing the agreeable information that the writer has adagger for tyrants, if the Danish claims are not forthwith adjusted;letters signed Matilda or Caroline, stating that Caroline or Matildahas seen the public man's portrait at the Exhibition, and that a heartsensible to its attractions may be found at No. -- Piccadilly; lettersfrom beggars, impostors, monomaniacs, speculators, jobbers, --all foodfor the waste-basket. 

From the correspondence thus winnowed, Mr. Egerton first selected thoseon business, which he put methodically together in one division ofhis pocket-book; and secondly, those of a private nature, which he ascarefully put into another. Of these last there were but three, --onefrom his steward, one from Harley L'Estrange, one from Randal Leslie. It was his custom to answer his correspondence at his office; and tohis office, a few minutes afterwards, he slowly took his way. Many apassenger turned back to look again at the firm figure, which, despitethe hot summer day, was buttoned up to the throat; and the blackfrock-coat thus worn well became the erect air and the deep, full chestof the handsome senator. When he entered Parliament Street, AudleyEgerton was joined by one of his colleagues, also on his way to thecares of office. 

After a few observations on the last debate this gentleman said, --

"By the way, can you dine with me next Saturday, to meet Lansmere? Hecomes up to town to vote for us on Monday. "

"I had asked some people to dine with me, " answered Egerton, "but I willput them off. I see Lord Lansmere too seldom to miss any occasion tomeet a man whom I respect so much. "

"So seldom! True, he is very little in town; but why don't you go andsee him in the country? Good shooting, --pleasant, old-fashioned house. "

"My dear Westbourne, his house is 'nimium vicina Cremonae, ' close to aborough in which I have been burned in effigy. "

"Ha! ha! yes, I remember you first came into parliament for that snuglittle place; but Lansmere himself never found fault with your votes, did he?"

"He behaved very handsomely, and said he had not presumed to consider mehis mouthpiece; and then, too, I am so intimate with L'Estrange. "

"Is that queer fellow ever coming back to England?"

"He comes, generally, every year, for a few days, just to see his fatherand mother, and then returns to the Continent. "

"I never meet him. "

"He comes in September or October, when you, of course, are not in town, and it is in town that the Lansmeres meet him. "

"Why does he not go to them?"

"A man in England but once a year, and for a few days, has so much to doin London, I suppose. "

"Is he as amusing as ever?" Egerton nodded. 

"So distinguished as he might be!" remarked Lord Westbourne. 

"So distinguished as he is!" said Egerton, formally; "an officerselected for praise, even in such fields as Quatre Bras and Waterloo;a scholar, too, of the finest taste; and as an accomplished gentlemanmatchless!"

"I like to hear one man praise another so warmly in these ill-natureddays, " answered Lord Westbourne. "But still, though L'Estrange isdoubtless all you say, don't you think he rather wastes his life livingabroad?"

"And trying to be happy, Westbourne? Are you sure it is not we who wasteour lives? But I can't stay to hear your answer. Here we are at the doorof my prison. "

"On Saturday, then?"

"On Saturday. Good day. "

For the next hour or more, Mr. Egerton was engaged on the affairs of theState. He then snatched an interval of leisure (while awaiting a report, which he had instructed a clerk to make him), in order to reply to hisletters. Those on public business were soon despatched; and throwinghis replies aside to be sealed by a subordinate hand, he drew out theletters which he had put apart as private. 

He attended first to that of his steward: the steward's letter was long, the reply was contained in three lines. Pitt himself was scarcely morenegligent of his private interests and concerns than Audley Egerton;yet, withal, Audley Egerton was said by his enemies to be an egotist. 

The next letter he wrote was to Randal, and that, though longer, was farfrom prolix: it ran thus:--

 DEAR MR. LESLIE, --I appreciate your delicacy in consulting me whether you should accept Frank Hazeldean's invitation to call at the Hall. Since you are asked, I can see no objection to it. I should be sorry if you appeared to force yourself there; and for the rest, as a general rule, I think a young man who has his own way to make in life had better avoid all intimacy with those of his own age who have no kindred objects nor congenial pursuits. 

 As soon as this visit is paid, I wish you to come to London. The report I receive of your progress at Eton renders it unnecessary, in my judgment, that you should return there. If your father has no objection, I propose that you should go to Oxford at the ensuing term. Meanwhile, I have engaged a gentleman, who is a fellow of Balliol, to read with you. He is of opinion, judging only by your high repute at Eton, that you may at once obtain a scholarship in that college. If you do so, I shall look upon your career in life as assured. 

 Your affectionate friend, and sincere well-wisher, A. E. 

The reader will remark that in this letter there is a certain tone offormality. Mr. Egerton does not call his protege "Dear Randal, " as wouldseem natural, but coldly and stiffly, "Dear Mr. Leslie. " He hints, also, that the boy has his own way to make in life. Is this meant to guardagainst too sanguine notions of inheritance, which his generosity mayhave excited? The letter to Lord L'Estrange was of a very different kindfrom the others. It was long, and full of such little scraps of news andgossip as may interest friends in a foreign land; it was written gayly, and as with a wish to cheer his friend; you could see that it was areply to a melancholy letter; and in the whole tone and spirit there wasan affection, even to tenderness, of which those who most liked AudleyEgerton would have scarcely supposed him capable. Yet, notwithstanding, there was a kind of constraint in the letter, which perhaps only thefine tact of a woman would detect. It had not that abandon, that heartyself-outpouring, which you might expect would characterize the lettersof two such friends, who had been boys at school together, and whichdid breathe indeed in all the abrupt rambling sentences of hiscorrespondent. But where was the evidence of the constraint? Egerton isoff-hand enough where his pen runs glibly through paragraphs that relateto others; it is simply that he says nothing about himself, --that heavoids all reference to the inner world of sentiment and feeling! Butperhaps, after all, the man has no sentiment and feeling! How can youexpect that a steady personage in practical life, whose mornings arespent in Downing Street, and whose nights are consumed in watchingGovernment bills through a committee, can write in the same style as anidle dreamer amidst the pines of Ravenna, or on the banks of Como?

Audley had just finished this epistle, such as it was, when theattendant in waiting announced the arrival of a deputation froma provincial trading town, the members of which deputation he hadappointed to meet at two o'clock. There was no office in London at whichdeputations were kept waiting less than at that over which Mr. Egertonpresided. 

The deputation entered, --some score or so of middle-aged, comfortable-looking persons, who, nevertheless, had their grievance, andconsidered their own interest, and those of the country, menaced by acertain clause in a bill brought in by Mr. Egerton. 

The mayor of the town was the chief spokesman, and he spoke well, --butin a style to which the dignified official was not accustomed. It was aslap-dash style, --unceremonious, free and easy, --an American style. And, indeed, there was something altogether in the appearance and bearing ofthe mayor which savoured of residence in the Great Republic. He was avery handsome man, but with a look sharp and domineering, --the look ofa man who did not care a straw for president or monarch, and who enjoyedthe liberty to speak his mind and "wallop his own nigger!"

His fellow-burghers evidently regarded him with great respect; and Mr. Egerton had penetration enough to perceive that Mr. Mayor must be a richman, as well as an eloquent one, to have overcome those impressionsof soreness or jealousy which his tone was calculated to create in theself-love of his equals. 

Mr. Egerton was far too wise to be easily offended by mere manner;and though he stared somewhat haughtily when he found his observationsactually pooh-poohed, he was not above being convinced. There was muchsense and much justice in Mr. Mayor's arguments, and the statesmancivilly promised to take them into full consideration. 

He then bowed out the deputation; but scarcely had the door closedbefore it opened again, and Mr. Mayor presented himself alone, sayingaloud to his companions in the passage, "I forgot something I had to sayto Mr. Egerton; wait below for me. "

"Well, Mr. Mayor, " said Audley, pointing to a seat, "what else would yousuggest?"

The mayor looked round to see that the door was closed; and then, drawing his chair close to Mr. Egerton's, laid his forefinger on thatgentleman's arm, and said, "I think I speak to a man of the world, sir?"

Mr. Egerton bowed, and made no reply by word, but he gently removed hisarm from the touch of the forefinger. 

MR. MAYOR. --"You observe, sir, that I did not ask the members whom wereturn to parliament to accompany us. Do better without 'em. You knowthey are both in Opposition, --out-and-outers. "

MR. EGERTON. --"It is a misfortune which the Government cannot rememberwhen the question is whether the trade of the town itself is to beserved or injured. "

MR. MAYOR. --"Well, I guess you speak handsome, sir. But you'd be glad tohave two members to support ministers after the next election. "

MR. EGERTON (smiling). --"Unquestionably, Mr. Mayor. "

MR. MAYOR. --"And I can do it, Mr. Egerton. I may say I have the town inmy pocket; so I ought, --I spend a great deal of money in it. Now, you see, Mr. Egerton, I have passed a part of my life in a land ofliberty--the United States--and I come to the point when I speak to aman of the world. I'm a man of the world myself, sir. And so, if theGovernment will do something for me, why, I'll do something for theGovernment. Two votes for a free and independent town like ours, --that'ssomething, isn't it?"

MR. EGERTON (taken by surprise). --"Really, I--"

MR. MAYOR (advancing his chair still nearer, and interrupting theofficial). --"No nonsense, you see, on one side or the other. The factis, that I've taken it into my head that I should like to be knighted. You may well look surprised, Mr. Egerton, --trumpery thing enough, Idare say; still, every man has his weakness, and I should like to beSir Richard. Well, if you can get me made Sir Richard, you may just nameyour two members for the next election, --that is, if they belong toyour own set, enlightened men, up to the times. That's speaking fair andmanful, is n't it?"

MR. EGERTON (drawing himself up). --"I am at a loss to guess why youshould select me, sir, for this very extraordinary proposition. "

MR. MAYOR (nodding good-humouredly). --"Why, you see, I don't go alongwith the Government; you're the best of the bunch. And may be you'dlike to strengthen your own party. This is quite between you and me, youunderstand; honour's a jewel!"

MR. EGERTON (with great gravity). --"Sir, I am obliged by your goodopinion; but I agree with my colleagues in all the great questions thataffect the government of the country, and--"

MR. MAYOR (interrupting him). --"Ah, of course, you must say so; veryright. But I guess things would go differently if you were PrimeMinister. However, I have another reason for speaking to you about mylittle job. You see you were member for Lansmere once, and I think youonly came in by a majority of two, eh?"

MR. EGERTON. --"I know nothing of the particulars of that election; I wasnot present. "

MR. MAYOR. --"No; but luckily for you, two relations of mine were, andthey voted for you. Two votes, and you came in by two. Since then, youhave got into very snug quarters here, and I think we have a claim onyou--"

MR. EGERTON. --"Sir, I acknowledge no such claim; I was and am a strangerto Lansmere; and if the electors did me the honour to return me toparliament, it was in compliment rather to--"

MR. MAYOR (again interrupting the official). --"Rather to Lord Lansmere, you were going to say; unconstitutional doctrine that, I fancy. Peer ofthe realm. But never mind, I know the world; and I'd ask Lord Lansmereto do my affair for me, only he is a pompous sort of man; might bequalmish: antiquated notions. Not up to snuff like you and me. "

MR. EGERTON (in great disgust, and settling his papers beforehim). --"Sir, it is not in my department to recommend to his Majestycandidates for the honour of knighthood, and it is still less in mydepartment to make bargains for seats in parliament. "

MR. MAYOR. --"Oh, if that's the case, you'll excuse me; I don't know muchof the etiquette in these matters. But I thought that if I put twoseats in your hands for your own friends, you might contrive to takethe affair into your department, whatever it was. But since you say youagree with your colleagues, perhaps it comes to the same thing. Now, youmust not suppose I want to sell the town, and that I can change and chopmy politics for my own purpose. No such thing! I don't like the sittingmembers; I'm all for progressing, but they go too much ahead for me;and since the Government is disposed to move a little, why, I'd aslief support them as not. But, in common gratitude, you see, " added themayor, coaxingly, "I ought to be knighted! I can keep up the dignity, and do credit to his Majesty. "

MR. EGERTON (without looking up from his papers). --"I can only referyou, sir, to the proper quarter. "

MR. MAYOR (impatiently). --"Proper quarter! Well, since there is so muchhumbug in this old country of ours, that one must go through all theforms and get at the job regularly, just tell me whom I ought to go to. "

MR. EGERTON (beginning to be amused as well as indignant). --"If you wanta knighthood, Mr. Mayor, you must ask the Prime Minister; if you wantto give the Government information relative to seats in parliament, youmust introduce yourself to Mr. ------, the Secretary of the Treasury. "

MR. MAYOR. --"And if I go to the last chap, what do you think he'll say?"

MR. EGERTON (the amusement preponderating over the indignation). --"Hewill say, I suppose, that you must not put the thing in the light inwhich you have put it to me; that the Government will be very proud tohave the confidence of yourself and your brother electors; and that agentleman like you, in the proud position of mayor, may well hope to beknighted on some fitting occasion; but that you must not talk about theknighthood just at present, and must confine yourself to converting theunfortunate political opinions of the town. "

MR. MAYOR. --"Well, I guess that chap there would want to do me! Notquite so green, Mr. Egerton. Perhaps I'd better go at once to thefountain-head. How d' ye think the Premier would take it?"

MR. EGERTON (the indignation preponderating over theamusement). --"Probably just as I am about to do. "

Mr. Egerton rang the bell; the attendant appeared. "Show Mr. Mayor theway out, " said the minister. 

The mayor turned round sharply, and his face was purple. He walkedstraight to the door; but suffering the attendant to precede him alongthe corridor, he came back with a rapid stride, and clenching his hands, and with a voice thick with passion, cried, "Some day or other I willmake you smart for this, as sure as my name's Dick Avenel!"

"Avenel!" repeated Egerton, recoiling, --"Avenel!" But the mayor wasgone. 

Audley fell into a deep and musing revery, which seemed gloomy, andlasted till the attendant announced that the horses were at the door. 

He then looked up, still abstractedly, and saw his letter to HarleyL'Estrange open on the table. He drew it towards him, and wrote, "A manhas just left me, who calls himself Aven--" In the middle of the namehis pen stopped. "No, no, " muttered the writer, "what folly to reopenthe old wounds there!" and he carefully erased the words. 

Audley Egerton did not ride in the Park that day, as was his wont, butdismissed his groom; and, turning his horse's head towards WestminsterBridge, took his solitary way into the country. He rode at first slowly, as if in thought; then fast, as if trying to escape from thought. Hewas later than usual at the House that evening, and he looked pale andfatigued. But he had to speak, and he spoke well. 

CHAPTER VII. 

In spite of all his Machiavellian wisdom, Dr. Riccabocca had been foiledin his attempt to seduce Leonard Fairfield into his service, even thoughhe succeeded in partially winning over the widow to his views. For toher he represented the worldly advantages of the thing. Lenny wouldlearn to be fit for more than a day-labourer; he would learn gardening, in all its branches, --rise some day to be a head gardener. "And, "said Riccabocca, "I will take care of his book-learning, and teach himwhatever he has a head for. "

"He has a head for everything, " said the widow. 

"Then, " said the wise man, "everything shall go into it. " The widow wascertainly dazzled; for, as we have seen, she highly prized scholarlydistinction, and she knew that the parson looked upon Riccabocca as awondrous learned man. But still Riccabocca was said to be a Papist, and suspected to be a conjuror. Her scruples on both these points, theItalian, who was an adept in the art of talking over the fair sex, wouldno doubt have dissipated, if there had been any use in it; but Lennyput a dead stop to all negotiations. He had taken a mortal dislike toRiccabocca: he was very much frightened by him, --and the spectacles, the pipe, the cloak, the long hair, and the red umbrella; and said sosturdily, in reply to every overture, "Please, sir, I'd rather not; I'drather stay along with Mother, " that Riccabocca was forced to suspendall further experiments in his Machiavellian diplomacy. He was not atall cast down, however, by his first failure; on the contrary, he wasone of those men whom opposition stimulates; and what before had beenbut a suggestion of prudence, became an object of desire. Plentyof other lads might no doubt be had on as reasonable terms as LennyFairfield; but the moment Lenny presumed to baffle the Italian'sdesigns upon him, the special acquisition, of Lenny became of paramountimportance in the eyes of Signor Riccabocca. 

Jackeymo, however, lost all his interest in the traps, snares, and ginswhich his master proposed to lay for Leonard Fairfield, in the moreimmediate surprise that awaited him on learning that Dr. Riccabocca hadaccepted an invitation to pass a few days at the Hall. 

"There will be no one there but the family, " said Riccabocca. "PoorGiacomo, a little chat in the servants' hall will do you good; and thesquire's beef is more nourishing, after all, than the sticklebacks andminnows. It will lengthen your life. "

"The padrone jests, " said Jackeymo, statelily; "as if any one couldstarve in his service. "

"Um, " said Riccabocca. "At least, faithful friend, you have tried thatexperiment as far as human nature will permit;" and he extended his handto his fellow-exile with that familiarity which exists between servantand master in the usages of the Continent. Jackeymo bent low, and a tearfell upon the hand he kissed. 

"Cospetto!" said Dr. Riccabocca, "a thousand mock pearls do not make upthe cost of a single true one! The tears of women--we know their worth;but the tears of an honest man--Fie, Giacomo!--at least I can neverrepay you this! Go and see to our wardrobe. "

So far as his master's wardrobe was concerned, that order was pleasingto Jackeymo; for the doctor had in his drawers suits which Jackeymopronounced to be as good as new, though many a long year had passedsince they left the tailor's hands. But when Jackeymo came to examinethe state of his own clothing department, his face grew considerablylonger. It was not that he was without other clothes than those on hisback, --quantity was there, but the quality! Mournfully he gazed on twosuits, complete in three separate members of which man's raiments arecomposed: the one suit extended at length upon his bed, like a veteranstretched by pious hands after death; the other brought piecemeal to theinvidious light, --the torso placed upon a chair, the limbs dangling downfrom Jackeymo's melancholy arm. No bodies long exposed at the Morguecould evince less sign of resuscitation than those respectable defuncts!For, indeed, Jackeymo had been less thrifty of his apparel, moreprofusus sui, than his master. In the earliest days of their exile, hepreserved the decorous habit of dressing for dinner, --it was a respectdue to the padrone, --and that habit had lasted till the two habits onwhich it necessarily depended had evinced the first symptoms of decay;then the evening clothes had been taken into morning wear, in which hardservice they had breathed their last. 

The doctor, notwithstanding his general philosophical abstraction fromsuch household details, had more than once said, rather in pity toJackeymo than with an eye to that respectability which the costumeof the servant reflects on the dignity of the master, "Giacomo, thouwantest clothes; fit thyself out of mine!"

And Jackeymo had bowed his gratitude, as if the donation had beenaccepted; but the fact was that that same fitting out was easier saidthan done. For though-thanks to an existence mainly upon sticklebacksand minnows--both Jackeymo and Riccabocca had arrived at that statewhich the longevity of misers proves to be most healthful to the humanframe, --namely, skin and bone, --yet the bones contained in the skin ofRiccabocca all took longitudinal directions; while those in the skin ofJackeymo spread out latitudinally. And you might as well have madethe bark of a Lombardy poplar serve for the trunk of some dwarfed andpollarded oak--in whose hollow the Babes of the Wood could have sleptat their ease--as have fitted out Jackeymo from the garb of Riccabocca. Moreover, if the skill of the tailor could have accomplished thatundertaking, the faithful Jackeymo would never have had the heartto avail himself of the generosity of his master. He had a sort ofreligious sentiment, too, about those vestments of the padrone. Theancients, we know, when escaping from shipwreck, suspended in thevotive temple the garments in which they had struggled through the wave. Jackeymo looked on those relics of the past with a kindred superstition. "This coat the padrone wore on such an occasion. I remember thevery evening the padrone last put on those pantaloons!" And coat andpantaloons were tenderly dusted, and carefully restored to their sacredrest. 

But now, after all, what was to be done? Jackeymo was much too proudto exhibit his person to the eyes of the squire's butler in habilimentsdiscreditable to himself and the padrone. In the midst of his perplexitythe bell rang, and he went down into the parlour. 

Riccabocca was standing on the hearth under his symbolicalrepresentation of the "Patriae Exul. "

"Giacomo, " quoth he, "I have been thinking that thou hast never donewhat I told thee, and fitted thyself out from my superfluities. But weare going now into the great world: visiting once begun, Heaven knowswhere it may stop. Go to the nearest town and get thyself clothes. Things are dear in England. Will this suffice?" And Riccabocca extendeda five-pound note. 

Jackeymo, we have seen, was more familiar with his master than we formalEnglish permit our domestics to be with us; but in his familiarity hewas usually respectful. This time, however, respect deserted him. 

"The padrone is mad!" he exclaimed; "he would fling away his wholefortune if I would let him. Five pounds English, or a hundred andtwenty-six pounds Milanese! Santa Maria! unnatural father! And what isto become of the poor signorina? Is this the way you are to marry her inthe foreign land?"

"Giacomo, " said Riccabocca, bowing his head to the storm, "thesignorina to-morrow; to-day the honour of the House. Thy small-clothes, Giacomo, --miserable man, thy small-clothes!"

"It is just, " said Jackeymo, recovering himself, and with humility; "andthe padrone does right to blame me, but not in so cruel a way. It isjust, --the padrone lodges and boards me, and gives me handsome wages, and he has a right to expect that I should not go in this figure. "

"For the board and the lodgment, good, " said Riccabocca. "For thehandsome wages, they are the visions of thy fancy!"

"They are no such thing, " said Jackeymo, "they are only in arrear. As ifthe padrone could not pay them some day or other; as if I was demeaningmyself by serving a master who did not intend to pay his servants! Andcan't I wait? Have I not my savings too? But be cheered, be cheered;you shall be contented with me. I have two beautiful suits still. I wasarranging them when you rang for me. You shall see, you shall see. "

And Jackeymo hurried from the room, hurried back into his own chamber, unlocked a little trunk which he kept at his bed-head, tossed outa variety of small articles, and from the deepest depth extracted aleathern purse. He emptied the contents on the bed. They were chieflyItalian coins, some five-franc pieces, a silver medallion inclosinga little image of his patron saint, --San Giacomo, --one solid Englishguinea, and somewhat more than a pound's worth in English silver. Jackeymo put back the foreign coins, saying prudently, "One will lose onthem here;" he seized the English coins, and counted them out. "But areyou enough, you rascals?" quoth he, angrily, giving them a good shake. His eye caught sight of the medallion, --he paused; and after eying thetiny representation of the saint with great deliberation, he added, ina sentence which he must have picked up from the proverbial aphorisms ofhis master, --

"What's the difference between the enemy who does not hurt me, and thefriend who does not serve me? Monsignore San Giacomo, my patron saint, you are of very little use to me in the leathern bag; but if you help meto get into a new pair of small-clothes on this important occasion, you will be a friend indeed. Alla bisogna, Monsignore. " Then, gravelykissing the medallion, he thrust it into one pocket, the coins intothe other, made up a bundle of the two defunct suits, and mutteringto himself, "Beast, miser, that I am, to disgrace the padrone with allthese savings in his service!" ran downstairs into his pantry, caughtup his hat and stick, and in a few moments more was seen trudging off tothe neighbouring town of L--------. 

Apparently the poor Italian succeeded, for he came back that evening intime to prepare the thin gruel which made his master's supper, with asuit of black, --a little threadbare, but still highly respectable, --twoshirt fronts, and two white cravats. But out of all this finery, Jackeymo held the small-clothes in especial veneration; for as they hadcost exactly what the medallion had sold for, so it seemed to him thatSan Giacomo had heard his prayer in that quarter to which he had moreexclusively directed the saint's direction. The other habiliments cameto him in the merely human process of sale and barter; the small-clotheswere the personal gratuity of San Giacomo!

CHAPTER VIII. 

Life has been subjected to many ingenious comparisons; and if we donot understand it any better, it is not for want of what is called"reasoning by illustration. " Amongst other resemblances, there aremoments when, to a quiet contemplator, it suggests the image of one ofthose rotatory entertainments commonly seen in fairs, and known by thename of "whirligigs, " or "roundabouts, " in which each participator ofthe pastime, seated on his hobby, is always apparently in the act ofpursuing some one before him, while he is pursued by some one behind. Man, and woman too, are naturally animals of chase; the greatest stillfind something to follow, and there is no one too humble not to be anobject of prey to another. Thus, confining our view to the village ofHazeldean, we behold in this whirligig Dr. Riccabocca spurring his hobbyafter Lenny Fairfield; and Miss Jemima, on her decorous side-saddle, whipping after Dr. Riccabocca. Why, with so long and intimate aconviction of the villany of our sex, Miss Jemima should resolve upongiving the male animal one more chance of redeeming itself in her eyes, I leave to the explanation of those gentlemen who profess to find"their only books in woman's looks. " Perhaps it might be from theover-tenderness and clemency of Miss Jemima's nature; perhaps it mightbe that as yet she had only experienced the villany of man born andreared in these cold northern climates, and in the land of Petrarch andRomeo, of the citron and myrtle, there was reason to expect thatthe native monster would be more amenable to gentle influences, lessobstinately hardened in his iniquities. Without entering further intothese hypotheses, it is sufficient to say that, on Signor Riccabocca'sappearance in the drawing-room at Hazeldean, Miss Jemima felt more thanever rejoiced that she had relaxed in his favour her general hostilityto men. In truth, though Frank saw something quizzical in theold-fashioned and outlandish cut of the Italian's sober dress; in hislong hair, and the chapeau bras, over which he bowed so gracefully, andthen pressed it, as if to his heart, before tucking it under his arm, after the fashion in which the gizzard reposes under the wing of aroasted pullet, --yet it was impossible that even Frank could denyto Riccabocca that praise which is due to the air and manner of anunmistakable gentleman. And certainly as, after dinner, conversationgrew more familiar, and the parson and Mrs. Dale, who had been invitedto meet their friend, did their best to draw him out, his talk, thoughsometimes a little too wise for his listeners, became eminently animatedand agreeable. It was the conversation of a man who, besides theknowledge which is acquired from books and life, had studied the artwhich becomes a gentleman, --that of pleasing in polite society. 

The result was that all were charmed with him; and that even CaptainBarnabas postponed the whist-table for a full hour after the usual time. The doctor did not play; he thus became the property of the two ladies, Miss Jemima and Mrs. Dale. 

Seated between the two, in the place rightfully appertaining to Flimsey, who this time was fairly dislodged, to her great wonder and discontent, the doctor was the emblem of true Domestic Felicity, placed betweenFriendship and Love. 

Friendship, as became her, worked quietly at the embroideredpocket-handkerchief and left Love to more animated operations. 

"You must be very lonely at the Casino, " said Love, in a sympathizingtone. 

"Madam, " replied Riccabocca, gallantly, "I shall think so when I leaveyou. "

Friendship cast a sly glance at Love; Love blushed, or looked downon the carpet, --which comes to the same thing. "Yet, " began Loveagain, --"yet solitude to a feeling heart--"

Riccabocca thought of the note of invitation, and involuntarily buttonedhis coat, as if to protect the individual organ thus alarmingly referredto. 

"Solitude to a feeling heart has its charms. It is so hard even for uspoor ignorant women to find a congenial companion--but for YOU!" Lovestopped short, as if it had said too much, and smelt confusedly at itsbouquet. 

Dr. Riccabocca cautiously lowered his spectacles, and darted one glancewhich, with the rapidity and comprehensiveness of lightning, seemed toenvelop and take in, as it were, the whole inventory of Miss Jemima'spersonal attractions. Now Miss Jemima, as I have before observed, hada mild and pensive expression of countenance; and she would have beenpositively pretty had the mildness looked a little more alert, and thepensiveness somewhat less lackadaisical. In fact, though Miss Jemima wasconstitutionally mild, she was not de natura pensive; she had too muchof the Hazeldean blood in her veins for that sullen and viscid humourcalled melancholy, and therefore this assumption of pensiveness reallyspoiled her character of features, which only wanted to be lighted upby a cheerful smile to be extremely prepossessing. The same remark mightapply to the figure, which--thanks to the same pensiveness--lost allthe undulating grace which movement and animation bestow on the fluentcurves of the feminine form. The figure was a good figure, examined indetail, --a little thin, perhaps, but by no means emaciated, with justand elegant proportions, and naturally light and flexible. But the sameunfortunate pensiveness gave to the whole a character of inertness andlanguor; and when Miss Jemima reclined on the sofa, so complete seemedthe relaxation of nerve and muscle that you would have thought she hadlost the use of her limbs. Over her face and form, thus defrauded ofthe charms Providence had bestowed on them, Dr. Riccabocca's eye glancedrapidly; and then moving nearer to Mrs. Dale--"Defend me" (he stoppeda moment, and added) "from the charge of not being able to appreciatecongenial companionship. "

"Oh, I did not say that!" cried Miss Jemima. 

"Pardon me, " said the Italian, "if I am so dull as to misunderstandyou. One may well lose one's head, at least, in such a neighbourhood asthis. " He rose as he spoke, and bent over Frank's shoulder to examinesome views of Italy, which Miss Jemima (with what, if wholly unselfish, would have been an attention truly delicate) had extracted from thelibrary in order to gratify the guest. 

"Most interesting creature, indeed, " sighed Miss Jemima, "but too--tooflattering. "

"Tell me, " said Mrs. Dale, gravely, "do you think, love, that you couldput off the end of the world a little longer, or must we make haste inorder to be in time?"

"How wicked you are!" said Miss Jemima, turning aside. Some few minutesafterwards, Mrs. Dale contrived it so that Dr. Riccabocca and herselfwere in a farther corner of the room, looking at a picture said to be byWouvermans. 

MRS. DALE. --"She is very amiable, Jemima, is she not?"

RICCABOCCA. --"Exceedingly so. Very fine battle-piece!"

MRS. DALE. --"So kind-hearted. "

RICCABOCCA. --"All ladies are. How naturally that warrior makes hisdesperate cut at the runaway!"

MRS. DALE. --"She is not what is called regularly handsome, but she hassomething very winning. "

RICCABOCCA (with a smile). --"So winning, that it is strange she is notwon. That gray mare in the foreground stands out very boldly!"

MRS. DALE (distrusting the smile of Riccabocca, and throwing in a moreeffective grape-charge). --"Not won yet; and it is strange! she will havea very pretty fortune. "

RICCABOCCA. --"Ah!"

MRS. DALE. "Six thousand pounds, I dare say, --certainly four. "

RICCABOCCA (suppressing a sigh, and with his wonted address). --"If Mrs. Dale were still single, she would never need a friend to say what herportion might be; but Miss Jemima is so good that I am quite sure it isnot Miss Jemima's fault that she is still--Miss Jemima!"

The foreigner slipped away as he spoke, and sat himself down beside thewhist-players. 

Mrs. Dale was disappointed, but certainly not offended. "It would besuch a good thing for both, " muttered she, almost inaudibly. 

"Giacomo, " said Riccabocca, as he was undressing that night in thelarge, comfortable, well-carpeted English bedroom, with that greatEnglish four-posted bed in the recess which seems made to shame folksout of single blessedness, "Giacomo, I have had this evening the offerof probably L6000, certainly of four thousand. "

"Cosa meravigliosa!"--["Miraculous thing. "]--exclaimed Jackeymo, and hecrossed himself with great fervour. "Six thousand pounds English!why, that must be a hundred thousand--blockhead that I am!--more thanL150, 000 Milanese!" And Jackeymo, who was considerably enlivened by thesquire's ale, commenced a series of gesticulations and capers, in themidst of which he stopped and cried, "But not for nothing?"

"Nothing! no!"

"These mercenary English! the Government wants to bribe you?"

"That's not it. "

"The priests want you to turn heretic?"

"Worse than that!" said the philosopher. 

"Worse than that! O Padrone! for shame!"

"Don't be a fool, but pull off my pantaloons--they want me never to wearTHESE again!"

"Never to wear what?" exclaimed Jackeymo, staring outright at hismaster's long legs in their linen drawers, --"never to wear--"

"The breeches, " said Riccabocca, laconically. 

"The barbarians!" faltered Jackeymo. 

"My nightcap! and never to have any comfort in this, " said Riccabocca, drawing on the cotton head-gear; "and never to have any sound sleepin that, " pointing to the four-posted bed; "and to be a bondsman anda slave, " continued Riccabocca, waxing wroth; "and to be wheedled andpurred at, and pawed and clawed, and scolded and fondled, and blindedand deafened, and bridled and saddled--bedevilled and--married!"

"Married!" said Jackeymo, more dispassionately--"that's very bad, certainly; but more than a hundred and fifty thousand lire, and perhapsa pretty young lady, and--"

"Pretty young lady!" growled Riccabocca, jumping into bed and drawingthe clothes fiercely over him. "Put out the candle, and get along withyou, --do, you villanous old incendiary!"

CHAPTER IX. 

It was not many days since the resurrection of those ill-omened stocks, and it was evident already, to an ordinary observer, that somethingwrong had got into the village. The peasants wore a sullen expression ofcountenance; when the squire passed, they took off their hats with morethan ordinary formality, but they did not return the same broad smile tohis quick, hearty "Good-day, my man. " The women peered at him from thethreshold or the casement, but did not, as was their wont (as least thewont of the prettiest), take occasion to come out to catch his passingcompliment on their own good looks, or their tidy cottages. And thechildren, who used to play after work on the site of the old stocks, nowshunned the place, and, indeed, seemed to cease play altogether. 

On the other hand, no man likes to build, or rebuild, a great publicwork for nothing. Now that the squire had resuscitated the stocks, andmade them so exceedingly handsome, it was natural that he should wishto put somebody into them. Moreover, his pride and self-esteem had beenwounded by the parson's opposition; and it would be a justification tohis own forethought, and a triumph over the parson's understanding, if he could satisfactorily and practically establish a proof that thestocks had not been repaired before they were wanted. 

Therefore, unconsciously to himself, there was something about thesquire more burly and authoritative and menacing than heretofore. OldGaffer Solomons observed, "that they had better moind well what theywere about, for that the squire had a wicked look in the tail of hiseye, --just as the dun bull had afore it tossed neighbour Barnes's littleboy. "

For two or three days these mute signs of something brewing in theatmosphere had been rather noticeable than noticed, without any positiveovert act of tyranny on the one hand or rebellion on the other. But onthe very Saturday night in which Dr. Riccabocca was installed inthe four-posted bed in the chintz chamber, the threatened revolutioncommenced. In the dead of that night personal outrage was committed onthe stocks. And on the Sunday morning, Mr. Stirn, who was the earliestriser in the parish, perceived, in going to the farmyard, that the knobof the column that flanked the board had been feloniously broken off;that the four holes were bunged up with mud; and that some jacobinicalvillain had carved, on the very centre of the flourish or scroll-work, "Dam the stocks!" Mr. Stirn was much too vigilant a right-hand man, muchtoo zealous a friend of law and order, not to regard such proceedingswith horror and alarm. And when the squire came into his dressing-roomat half-past seven, his butler (who fulfilled also the duties of valet)informed him, with a mysterious air, that Mr. Stirn had something "verypartikler to communicate about a most howdacious midnight 'spiracy and'sault. "

The squire stared, and bade Mr. Stirn be admitted. 

"Well?" cried the squire, suspending the operation of stropping hisrazor. 

Mr. Stirn groaned. 

"Well, man, what now?"

"I never knowed such a thing in this here parish afore, " began Mr. Stirn; "and I can only 'count for it by s'posing that them foreignPapishers have been semminating--"

"Been what?"

"Semminating--"

"Disseminating, you blockhead, --disseminating what?"

"Damn the stocks, " began Mr. Stirn, plunging right in medias res, and bya fine use of one of the noblest figures in rhetoric. 

"Mr. Stirn!" cried the squire, reddening, "did you say, 'Damn thestocks'?--damn my new handsome pair of stocks!"

"Lord forbid, sir; that's what they say: that's what they have digged onit with knives and daggers, and they have stuffed mud in its four holes, and broken the capital of the elewation. "

The squire took the napkin off his shoulder, laid down strop and razor;he seated himself in his armchair majestically, crossed his legs, and, in a voice that affected tranquillity, said, --

"Compose yourself, Stirn; you have a deposition to make, touchingan assault upon--can I trust my senses?--upon my new stocks. Composeyourself; be calm. Now! What the devil is come to the parish?"

"Ah, sir, what indeed?" replied Mr. Stirn: and then laying theforefinger of the right hand on the palm of the left he narrated thecase. 

"And whom do you suspect? Be calm now; don't speak in a passion. You area witness, sir, --a dispassionate, unprejudiced witness. Zounds andfury! this is the most insolent, unprovoked, diabolical--but whom do yoususpect, I say?" Stirn twirled his hat, elevated his eyebrows, jerkedhis thumb over his shoulder, and whispered, "I hear as how the twoPapishers slept at your honour's last night. "

"What, dolt! do you suppose Dr. Rickeybockey got out of his warm bed tobung up the holes in my new stocks?"

"Noa; he's too cunning to do it himself, but he may have beensemminating. He's mighty thick with Parson Dale, and your honour knowsas how the parson set his face agin the stocks. Wait a bit, sir, --don'tfly at me yet. There be a boy in this here parish--"

"A boy! ah, fool, now you are nearer the mark. The parson write 'Damnthe stocks, ' indeed! What boy do you mean?"

"And that boy be cockered up much by Mr. Dale; and the Papisher went andsat with him and his mother a whole hour t' other day; and that boy isas deep as a well; and I seed him lurking about the place, and hidinghisself under the tree the day the stocks was put up, --and that 'ere boyis Lenny Fairfield. "

"Whew, " said the squire, whistling, "you have not your usual sensesabout you to-day, man. Lenny Fairfield, --pattern boy of the village. Hold your tongue. I dare say it is not done by any one in the parish, after all: some good-for-nothing vagrant--that cursed tinker, whogoes about with a very vicious donkey, --a donkey that I caught pickingthistles out of the very eyes of the old stocks! Shows how the tinkerbrings up his donkeys! Well, keep a sharp look-out. To-day is Sunday;worst day of the week, I'm sorry and ashamed to say, for rows anddepredations. Between the services, and after evening church, there arealways idle fellows from all the neighbouring country about, as you knowtoo well. Depend on it, the real culprits will be found gathering roundthe stocks, and will betray themselves; have your eyes, ears, and witsabout you, and I've no doubt we shall come to the rights of the matterbefore the day's out. And if we do, " added the squire, "we'll make anexample of the ruffian!"

"In course, " said Stirn: "and if we don't find him we must make anexample all the same. That's what it is, sir. That's why the stocksben't respected; they has not had an example yet, --we wants an example. "

"On my word I believe that's very true; and we'll clap in the first idlefellow you catch in anything wrong, and keep him there for two hours atleast. "

"With the biggest pleasure, your honour, --that's what it is. "

And Mr. Stirn having now got what he considered a complete andunconditional authority over all the legs and wrists of Hazeldeanparish, quoad the stocks, took his departure. 

CHAPTER X. 

"Randal, " said Mrs. Leslie on this memorable Sunday, --"Randal, do youthink of going to Mr. Hazeldean's?"

"Yes, ma'am, " answered Randal. "Mr. Egerton does not object to it; andas I do not return to Eton, I may have no other opportunity of seeingFrank for some time. I ought not to fail in respect to Mr. Egerton'snatural heir. "

"Gracious me!" cried Mrs. Leslie, who, like many women of her cast andkind, had a sort of worldliness in her notions, which she never evincedin her conduct, --"gracious me! natural heir to the old Leslie property!"

"He is Mr. Egerton's nephew, and, " added Randal, ingenuously letting outhis thoughts, "I am no relation to Mr. Egerton at all. "

"But, " said poor Mrs. Leslie, with tears in her eyes, "it would be ashame in the man, after paying your schooling and sending you to Oxford, and having you to stay with him in the holidays, if he did not meananything by it. "

"Anything, Mother, yes, --but not the thing you suppose. No matter. Itis enough that he has armed me for life, and I shall use the weapons asseems to me best. "

Here the dialogue was suspended by the entrance of the other members ofthe family, dressed for church. 

"It can't be time for church! No, it can't, " exclaimed Mrs. Leslie. Shewas never in time for anything, "Last bell ringing, " said Mr. Leslie, who, though a slow man, wasmethodical and punctual. Mrs. Leslie made a frantic rush at the door, the Montfydget blood being now in a blaze, dashed up the stairs, burstinto her room, tore her best bonnet from the peg, snatched her newestshawl from the drawers, crushed the bonnet on her head, flung the shawlon her shoulders, thrust a desperate pin into its folds, in order toconceal a buttonless yawn in the body of her gown, and then flew backlike a whirlwind. Meanwhile the family were already out of doors, inwaiting; and just as the bell ceased, the procession moved from theshabby house to the dilapidated church. 

The church was a large one, but the congregation was small, and so wasthe income of the parson. It was a lay rectory, and the great titheshad belonged to the Leslies, but they had been long since sold. Thevicarage, still in their gift, might be worth a little more than L100 ayear. The present incumbent had nothing else to live upon. He was a goodman, and not originally a stupid one; but penury and the anxiouscares for wife and family, combined with what may be called solitaryconfinement for the cultivated mind, when, amidst the two-leggedcreatures round, it sees no other cultivated mind with which it canexchange one extra-parochial thought, had lulled him into a lazymournfulness, which at times was very like imbecility. His incomeallowed him to do no good to the parish, whether in work, trade, orcharity; and thus he had no moral weight with the parishioners beyondthe example of his sinless life, and such negative effect as might beproduced by his slumberous exhortations. Therefore his parishionerstroubled him very little; and but for the influence which, in hoursof Montfydget activity, Mrs. Leslie exercised over the mosttractable, --that is, the children and the aged, --not half-a-dozenpersons would have known or cared whether he shut up his church or not. 

But our family were seated in state in their old seignorial pew, and Mr. Dumdrum, with a nasal twang, went lugubriously through the prayers; andthe old people who could sin no more, and the children who had not yetlearned to sin, croaked forth responses that might have come from thechoral frogs in Aristophanes; and there was a long sermon a propos tonothing which could possibly interest the congregation, --being, in fact, some controversial homily which Mr. Dumdrum had composed and preachedyears before. And when this discourse was over, there was a louduniversal grunt, as if of relief and thanksgiving, and a great clatterof shoes, and the old hobbled, and the young scrambled, to the churchdoor. 

Immediately after church, the Leslie family dined; and as soon as dinnerwas over, Randal set out on his foot journey to Hazeldean Hall. 

Delicate and even feeble though his frame, he had the energy andquickness of movement which belongs to nervous temperaments; and hetasked the slow stride of a peasant, whom he took to serve him asa guide for the first two or three miles. Though Randal had not thegracious open manner with the poor which Frank inherited from hisfather, he was still (despite many a secret hypocritical vice at warwith the character of a gentleman) gentleman enough to have no churlishpride to his inferiors. He talked little, but he suffered his guide totalk; and the boor, who was the same whom Frank had accosted, indulgedin eulogistic comments on that young gentleman's pony, from which hediverged into some compliments on the young gentleman himself. Randaldrew his hat over his brows. There is a wonderful tact and fine breedingin your agricultural peasant; and though Tom Stowell was but a brutishspecimen of the class, he suddenly perceived that he was giving pain. He paused, scratched his head, and, glancing affectionately towards hiscompanion, exclaimed, --

"But I shall live to see you on a handsomer beastis than that littlepony, Master Randal; and sure I ought, for you be as good a gentleman asany in the land. "

"Thank you, " said Randal. "But I like walking better than riding, --I ammore used to it. "

"Well, and you walk bra'ly, --there ben't a better walker in the county. And very pleasant it is walking; and 't is a pretty country afore you, all the way to the Hall. "

Randal strode on, as if impatient of these attempts to flatter or tosoothe; and coming at length into a broader lane, said, "I think I canfind my way now. Many thanks to you, Tom;" and he forced a shilling intoTom's horny palm. The man took it reluctantly, and a tear started tohis eye. He felt more grateful for that shilling than he had for Frank'sliberal half-crown; and he thought of the poor fallen family, and forgothis own dire wrestle with the wolf at his door. 

He stayed lingering in the lane till the figure of Randal was out ofsight, and then returned slowly. Young Leslie continued to walk on ata quick pace. With all his intellectual culture and his restlessaspirations, his breast afforded him no thought so generous, nosentiment so poetic, as those with which the unlettered clown creptslouchingly homeward. 

As Randal gained a point where several lanes met on a broad piece ofwaste land, he began to feel tired, and his step slackened. Just thena gig emerged from one of these byroads, and took the same direction asthe pedestrian. The road was rough and hilly, and the driver proceededat a foot's pace; so that the gig and the pedestrian went pretty wellabreast. 

"You seem tired, sir, " said the driver, a stout young farmer of thehigher class of tenants, and he looked down compassionately on the boy'spale countenance and weary stride. "Perhaps we are going the same way, and I can give you a lift?"

It was Randal's habitual policy to make use of every advantage profferedto him, and he accepted the proposal frankly enough to please the honestfarmer. 

"A nice day, sir, " said the latter, as Randal sat by his side. "Have youcome far?"

"From Rood Hall. "

"Oh, you be young Squire Leslie, " said the farmer, more respectfully, and lifting his hat. 

"Yes, my name is Leslie. You know Rood, then?"

"I was brought up on your father's land, sir. You may have heard ofFarmer Bruce?"

RANDAL. --"I remember, when I was a little boy, a Mr. Bruce who rented, Ibelieve, the best part of our land, and who used to bring us cakes whenhe called to see my father. He is a relation of yours?"

FARMER BRUCE. --"He was my uncle. He is dead now, poor man. "

RANDAL. -"Dead! I am grieved to hear it. He was very kind to us children. But it is long since he left my father's farm. "

FARMER BRUCE (apologetically). --"I am sure he was very sorry to go. But, you see, he had an unexpected legacy--"

RANDAL. --"And retired from business?"

FARMER BRUCE. --"No. But, having capital, he could afford to pay a goodrent for a real good farm. "

RANDAL (bitterly). --"All capital seems to fly from the lands of Rood. And whose farm did he take?"

FARMER BRUCE. --"He took Hawleigh, under Squire Hazeldean. I rent it now. We've laid out a power o' money on it. But I don't complain. It payswell. "

RANDAL. --"Would the money have paid as well sunk on my father's land?"

FARMER BRUCE. --"Perhaps it might, in the long run. But then, sir, wewanted new premises, --barns and cattlesheds, and a deal more, --whichthe landlord should do; but it is not every landlord as can afford that. Squire Hazeldean's a rich man. "

RANDAL. --"Ay!"

The road now became pretty good, and the farmer put his horse into abrisk trot. 

"But which way be you going, sir? I don't care for a few miles more orless, if I can be of service. "

"I am going to Hazeldean, " said Randal, rousing himself from a revery. "Don't let me take you out of your way. "

"O, Hawleigh Farm is on the other side of the village, so it be quite myway, sir. "

The farmer, then, who was really a smart young fellow, --one of that racewhich the application of capital to land has produced, and which, in point of education and refinement, are at least on a par with thesquires of a former generation, --began to talk about his handsome horse, about horses in general, about hunting and coursing: he handled allthese subjects with spirit, yet with modesty. Randal pulled his hatstill lower down over his brows, and did not interrupt him till theypassed the Casino, when, struck by the classic air of the place, andcatching a scent from the orange-trees, the boy asked abruptly, "Whosehouse is that?"

"Oh, it belongs to Squire Hazeldean, but it is let or lent to a foreignmounseer. They say he is quite the gentleman, but uncommonly poor. "

"Poor, " said Randal, turning back to gaze on the trim garden, the neatterrace, the pretty belvidere, and (the door of the house being open)catching a glimpse of the painted hall within, --"poor? The place seemswell kept. What do you call poor, Mr. Bruce?"

The farmer laughed. "Well, that's a home question, sir. But I believethe mounseer is as poor as a man can be who makes no debts and does notactually starve. "

"As poor as my father?" asked Randal, openly and abruptly. 

"Lord, sir! your father be a very rich man compared to him. " Randalcontinued to gaze, and his mind's eye conjured up the contrast of hisslovenly shabby home, with all its neglected appurtenances. No trimgarden at Rood Hall, no scent from odorous orange blossoms. Here povertyat least was elegant, --there, how squalid! He did not comprehend athow cheap a rate the luxury of the Beautiful can be effected. They nowapproached the extremity of the squire's park pales; and Randal, seeinga little gate, bade the farmer stop his gig, and descended. The boyplunged amidst the thick oak groves; the farmer went his way blithely, and his mellow merry whistle came to Randal's moody ear as he glidedquick under the shadow of the trees. 

He arrived at the Hall to find that all the family were at church; and, according to the patriarchal custom, the churchgoing family embracednearly all the servants. It was therefore an old invalid housemaid whoopened the door to him. She was rather deaf, and seemed so stupidthat Randal did not ask leave to enter and wait for Frank's return. Hetherefore said briefly that he would just stroll on the lawn, and callagain when church was over. 

The old woman stared, and strove to hear him; meanwhile Randal turnedround abruptly, and sauntered towards the garden side of the handsomeold house. 

There was enough to attract any eye in the smooth greensward of thespacious lawn, in the numerous parterres of variegated flowers, in thevenerable grandeur of the two mighty cedars, which threw their stillshadows over the grass, and in the picturesque building, with itsprojecting mullions and heavy gables; yet I fear that it was with nopoet's nor painter's eye that this young old man gazed on the scenebefore him. 

He beheld the evidence of wealth--and the envy of wealth jaundiced hissoul. 

Folding his arms on his breast, he stood a while, looking all aroundhim, with closed lips and lowering brow; then he walked slowly on, hiseyes fixed on the ground, and muttered to himself, --

"The heir to this property is little better than a dunce; and they tellme I have talents and learning, and I have taken to my heart the maxim, 'Knowledge is power. ' And yet, with all my struggles, will knowledgeever place me on the same level as that on which this dunce is born? Idon't wonder that the poor should hate the rich. But of all the poor, who should hate the rich like the pauper gentleman? I suppose AudleyEgerton means me to come into parliament, and be a Tory like himself?What! keep things as they are! No; for me not even Democracy, unlessthere first come Revolution. I understand the cry of a Marat, --'Moreblood!' Marat had lived as a poor man, and cultivated science--in thesight of a prince's palace. "

He turned sharply round, and glared vindictively on the poor old Hall, which, though a very comfortable habitation, was certainly no palace;and, with his arms still folded on his breast, he walked backward, as ifnot to lose the view, nor the chain of ideas it conjured up. 

"But, " he continued to soliloquize, --"but of revolution there is nochance. Yet the same wit and will that would thrive in revolutionsshould thrive in this commonplace life. Knowledge is power. Well, then, shall I have no power to oust this blockhead? Oust him--what from? Hisfather's halls? Well, but if he were dead, who would be the heir ofHazeldean? Have I not heard my mother say that I am as near in blood tothis squire as any one, if he had no children? Oh, but the boy's life isworth ten of mine! Oust him from what? At least from the thoughts of hisUncle Egerton, --an uncle who has never even seen him! That, at least, is more feasible. 'Make my way in life, ' sayest thou, Audley Egerton?Ay, --and to the fortune thou hast robbed from my ancestors. Simulation!simulation! Lord Bacon allows simulation. Lord Bacon practised it, and--"

Here the soliloquy came to a sudden end; for as, rapt in his thoughts, the boy had continued to walk backwards, he had come to the verge wherethe lawn slided off into the ditch of the ha-ha; and just as he wasfortifying himself by the precept and practice of my Lord Bacon, theground went from under him, and--slap into the ditch went Randal Leslie!

It so happened that the squire, whose active genius was always at somerepair or improvement, had been but a few days before widening andsloping off the ditch just in that part, so that the earth was freshand damp, and not yet either turfed or flattened down. Thus when Randal, recovering his first surprise and shock, rose to his feet, he found hisclothes covered with mud; while the rudeness of the fall was evinced bythe fantastic and extraordinary appearance of his hat, which, hollowedhere, bulging there, and crushed out of all recognition generally, was as little like the hat of a decorous, hard-reading younggentleman--protege of the dignified Mr. Audley Egerton--as any hatpicked out of a kennel after some drunken brawl possibly could be. 

Randal was dizzy and stunned and bruised, and it was some moments beforehe took heed of his raiment. When he did so his spleen was greatlyaggravated. He was still boy enough not to like the idea of presentinghimself to the unknown squire and the dandy Frank in such a trim: heresolved incontinently to regain the lane and return home, withoutaccomplishing the object of his journey; and seeing the footpath rightbefore him, which led to a gate that he conceived would admit him intothe highway sooner than the path by which he had come, he took it atonce. 

It is surprising how little we human creatures heed the warnings of ourgood genius. I have no doubt that some benignant power had precipitatedRandal Leslie into the ditch, as a significant hint of the fate of allwho choose what is, nowadays; by no means an uncommon step in the marchof intellect, --namely, the walking backwards, in order to gratify avindictive view of one's neighbour's property! I suspect that, beforethis century is out, many a fine fellow will thus have found his ha-ha, and scrambled out of the ditch with a much shabbier coat than he hadon when he fell into it. But Randal did not thank his good genius forgiving him a premonitory tumble, --and I never yet knew a man who did!

CHAPTER, XI. 

The squire was greatly ruffled at breakfast that morning. He was toomuch of an Englishman to bear insult patiently, and he considered thathe had been personally insulted in the outrage offered to his recentdonation to the parish. His feelings, too, were hurt as well as hispride. There was something so ungrateful in the whole thing, justafter he had taken so much pains, not only in the resuscitation but theembellishment of the stocks. It was not, however, so rare an occurrencefor the squire to be ruffled as to create any remark. Riccabocca, indeed, as a stranger, and Mrs. Hazeldean, as a wife, had the quick tactto perceive that the host was glum and the husband snappish; but theone was too discreet, and the other too sensible, to chafe the new sore, whatever it might be, and shortly after breakfast the squire retiredinto his study, and absented himself from morning service. In hisdelightful "Life of Oliver Goldsmith, " Mr. Forster takes care totouch our hearts by introducing his hero's excuse for not enteringthe priesthood. "He did not feel himself good enough. " Thy Vicar ofWakefield, poor Goldsmith, was an excellent substitute for thee; andDr. Primrose, at least, will be good enough for the world until MissJemima's fears are realized. Now, Squire Hazeldean had a tendernessof conscience much less reasonable than Goldsmith's. There wereoccasionally days in which he did not feel good enough--I don't say fora priest, but even for one of the congregation, --"days in which, " saidthe squire in his own blunt way, "as I have never in my life met a worsedevil than a devil of a temper, I'll not carry mine into the familypew. He sha'n't be growling out hypocritical responses from my poorgrandmother's prayer-book. " So the squire and his demon stayed at home. But the demon was generally cast out before the day was over: and onthis occasion, when the bell rang for afternoon service, it may bepresumed that the squire had reasoned or fretted himself into a properstate of mind; for he was then seen sallying forth from the porch of hishall, arm-in-arm with his wife, and at the head of his household. Thesecond service was (as is commonly the case in rural districts) morenumerously attended than the first one; and it was our parson's wont todevote to this service his most effective discourse. 

Parson Dale, though a very fair scholar, had neither the deep theologynor the archaeological learning that distinguish the rising generationof the clergy. I much doubt if he could have passed what would now becalled a creditable examination in the Fathers; and as for all the niceformalities in the rubric, he would never have been the man to divide acongregation or puzzle a bishop. Neither was Parson Dale very eruditein ecclesiastical architecture. He did not much care whether all thedetails in the church were purely Gothic or not; crockets and finials, round arch and pointed arch, were matters, I fear, on which he had nevertroubled his head. 

But one secret Parson Dale did possess, which is perhaps of equalimportance with those subtler mysteries, --he knew how to fill hischurch! Even at morning service no pews were empty, and at eveningservice the church overflowed. 

Parson Dale, too, may be considered nowadays to hold but a mean ideaof the spiritual authority of the Church. He had never been knownto dispute on its exact bearing with the State, --whether it wasincorporated with the State or above the State, whether it wasantecedent to the Papacy or formed from the Papacy, etc. According tohis favourite maxim, "Quieta non movere, "--["Not to disturb things thatare quiet. "]--I have no doubt that he would have thought that the lessdiscussion is provoked upon such matters the better for both Church andlaity. Nor had he ever been known to regret the disuse of the ancientcustom of excommunication, nor any other diminution of the powers of thepriesthood, whether minatory or militant; yet for all this, ParsonDale had a great notion of the sacred privilege of a minister of thegospel, --to advise, to deter, to persuade, to reprove. And it was forthe evening service that he prepared those sermons which may be called"sermons that preach at you. " He preferred the evening for that salutarydiscipline, not only because the congregation was more numerous, butalso because, being a shrewd man in his own innocent way, he knew thatpeople bear better to be preached at after dinner than before; that youarrive more insinuatingly at the heart when the stomach is at peace. There was a genial kindness in Parson Dale's way of preaching at you. It was done in so imperceptible, fatherly, a manner that you never feltoffended. He did it, too, with so much art that nobody but your ownguilty self knew that you were the sinner he was exhorting. Yet he didnot spare rich nor poor: he preached at the squire, and that greatfat farmer, Mr. Bullock, the churchwarden, as boldly as at Hodge theploughman and Scrub the hedger. As for Mr. Stirn, he had preached at himmore often than at any one in the parish; but Stirn, though he had thesense to know it, never had the grace to reform. There was, too, inParson Dale's sermons something of that boldness of illustration whichwould have been scholarly if he had not made it familiar, and whichis found in the discourses of our elder divines. Like them, he did notscruple now and then to introduce an anecdote from history, or borrowan allusion from some non-scriptural author, in order to enliven theattention of his audience, or render an argument more plain. And thegood man had an object in this, a little distinct from, though whollysubordinate to, the main purpose of his discourse. He was a friend toknowledge, --but to knowledge accompanied by religion; and sometimeshis references to sources not within the ordinary reading of hiscongregation would spirit up some farmer's son, with an evening'sleisure on his hands, to ask the parson for further explanation, and soto be lured on to a little solid or graceful instruction, under a safeguide. 

Now, on the present occasion, the parson, who had always his eye andheart on his flock, and who had seen with great grief the realization ofhis fears at the revival of the stocks; seen that a spirit of discontentwas already at work amongst the peasants, and that magisterial andinquisitorial designs were darkening the natural benevolence of thesquire, --seen, in short, the signs of a breach between classes, and theprecursors of the ever inflammable feud between the rich and the poor, meditated nothing less than a great Political Sermon, --a sermon thatshould extract from the roots of social truths a healing virtue forthe wound that lay sore, but latent, in the breast of his parish ofHazeldean. 

And thus ran--

THE POLITICAL SERMON OF PARSON DALE. 

CHAPTER XII. 

 For every man shall bear his own burden. --Gal. Vi. 5. 

"BRETHREN! every man has his burden. If God designed our lives to end atthe grave, may we not believe that He would have freed an existence sobrief from the cares and sorrows to which, since the beginning of theworld, mankind has been subjected? Suppose that I am a kind father, andhave a child whom I dearly love, but I know by a divine revelationthat he will die at the age of eight years, surely I should not vex hisinfancy by needless preparations for the duties of life? If I am a richman, I should not send him from the caresses of his mother to the sterndiscipline of school. If I am a poor man, I should not take him with meto hedge and dig, to scorch in the sun, to freeze in the winter's cold:why inflict hardships on his childhood for the purpose of fitting himfor manhood, when I know that he is doomed not to grow into man? Butif, on the other hand, I believe my child is reserved for a more durableexistence, then should I not, out of the very love I bear to him, prepare his childhood for the struggle of life, according to thatstation in which he is born, giving many a toil, many a pain, to theinfant, in order to rear and strengthen him for his duties as man? So itis with our Father that is in heaven. Viewing this life as our infancyand the next as our spiritual maturity, where 'in the ages to come Hemay show the exceeding riches of His grace, ' it is in His tenderness, as in His wisdom; to permit the toil and the pain which, in taskingthe powers and developing the virtue of the soul, prepare it for 'theearnest of our inheritance. ' Hence it is that every man has his burden. Brethren, if you believe that God is good, yea, but as tender as a humanfather, you will know that your troubles in life are a proof that youare reared for an eternity. But each man thinks his own burden thehardest to bear: the poor-man groans under his poverty, the rich manunder the cares that multiply with wealth. For so far from wealthfreeing us from trouble, all the wise men who have written in all ageshave repeated, with one voice, the words of the wisest, 'When goodsincrease, they are increased that eat them: and what good is there tothe owners thereof, saving the beholding of them with their eyes?' Andthis is literally true, my brethren: for, let a man be as rich as wasthe great King Solomon himself, unless he lock up all his gold in achest, it must go abroad to be divided amongst others; yea, though, like Solomon, he make him great works, --though he build houses and plantvineyards, and make him gardens and orchards, --still the gold that hespends feeds but the mouths he employs; and Solomon himself could noteat with a better relish than the poorest mason who builded the house, or the humblest labourer who planted the vineyard. Therefore 'when goodsincrease, they are increased that eat them. ' And this, my brethren, mayteach us toleration and compassion for the rich. We share their riches, whether they will or not; we do not share their cares. The profanehistory of our own country tells us that a princess, destined to bethe greatest queen that ever sat on this throne, envied the milk-maidsinging; and a profane poet, whose wisdom was only less than that of theinspired writers, represents the man who, by force--and wit, had risento be a king sighing for the sleep vouchsafed to the meanest of hissubjects, --all bearing out the words of the son of David, 'The sleepof the labouring man is sweet, whether he eat little or much; but theabundance of the rich will not suffer him to sleep. '

"Amongst my brethren now present there is, doubtless, some one who hasbeen poor, and by honest industry has made himself comparatively rich. Let his heart answer me while I speak: are not the chief cares that nowdisturb him to be found in the goods he hath acquired? Has he not bothvexations to his spirit and trials to his virtue, which he knew not whenhe went forth to his labour, and took no heed of the morrow? But it isright, my brethren, that to every station there should be its care, to every man his burden; for if the poor did not sometimes so far feelpoverty to be a burden as to desire to better their condition, and(to use the language of the world) 'seek to rise in life, ' their mostvaluable energies would never be aroused; and we should not witnessthat spectacle, which is so common in the land we live in, --namely, thesuccessful struggle of manly labour against adverse fortune, --a strugglein which the triumph of one gives hope to thousands. It is said thatnecessity is the mother of invention; and the social blessings which arenow as common to us as air and sunshine have come from that law of ournature which makes us aspire towards indefinite improvement, enricheseach successive generation by the labours of the last, and in freecountries often lifts the child of the labourer to a place amongstthe rulers of the land. Nay, if necessity is the mother of invention, poverty is the creator of the arts. If there had been no poverty, and nosense of poverty, where would have been that which we call the wealth ofa country? Subtract from civilization all that has been produced bythe poor, and what remains?--the state of the savage. Where you now seelabourer and prince, you would see equality indeed, --the equality ofwild men. No; not even equality there! for there brute force becomeslordship, and woe to the weak! Where you now see some in frieze, some inpurple, you would see nakedness in all. Where stands the palace andthe cot, you would behold but mud huts and caves. As far as the peasantexcels the king among savages, so far does the society exalted andenriched by the struggles of labour excel the state in which Povertyfeels no disparity, and Toil sighs for no ease. On the other hand, ifthe rich were perfectly contented with their wealth, their heartswould become hardened in the sensual enjoyments it procures. It is thatfeeling, by Divine Wisdom implanted in the soul, that there is vanityand vexation of spirit in the things of Mammon, which still leaves therich man sensitive to the instincts of Heaven, and teaches him to seekfor happiness in those beneficent virtues which distribute his wealth tothe profit of others. If you could exclude the air from the rays of thefire, the fire itself would soon languish and die in the midst of itsfuel; and so a man's joy in his wealth is kept alive by the air which itwarms; and if pent within itself, is extinguished. 

"And this, my brethren, leads me to another view of the vast subjectopened to us by the words of the apostle, 'Every man shall bear hisown burden. ' The worldly conditions of life are unequal. Why are theyunequal? O my brethren, do you not perceive? Think you that, if it hadbeen better for our spiritual probation that there should be neithergreat nor lowly, rich nor poor, Providence would not so have orderedthe dispensations of the world, and so, by its mysterious but mercifulagencies, have influenced the framework and foundations of society? Butif from the remotest period of human annals, and in all the numberlessexperiments of government which the wit of man has devised, still thisinequality is ever found to exist, may we not suspect that there issomething in the very principles of our nature to which that inequalityis necessary and essential? Ask why this inequality? Why?--as well askwhy life is the sphere of duty and the nursery of virtues! For if allmen were equal, if there were no suffering and no ease, no poverty andno wealth, would you not sweep with one blow the half, at least, ofhuman virtues from the world? If there were no penury and no pain, whatwould become of fortitude; what of patience; what of resignation? Ifthere were no greatness and no wealth, what would become of benevolence, of charity, of the blessed human pity, of temperance in the midst ofluxury, of justice in the exercise of power? Carry the question further;grant all conditions the same, --no reverse, no rise, and no fall, nothing to hope for, nothing to fear, --what a moral death you would atonce inflict upon all the energies of the soul, and what a link betweenthe Heart of Man and the Providence of God would be snapped asunder!If we could annihilate evil, we should annihilate hope; and hope, mybrethren, is the avenue to faith. If there be 'a time to weep and a timeto laugh, ' it is that he who mourns may turn to eternity for comfort, and he who rejoices may bless God for the happy hour. Ah, my brethren, were it possible to annihilate the inequalities of human life, it wouldbe the banishment of our worthiest virtues, the torpor of our spiritualnature, the palsy of our mental faculties. The moral world, like theworld without us, derives its health and its beauty from diversity andcontrast. 

"'Every man shall bear his own burden. ' True; but now turn to an earlierverse in the same chapter, --'Bear ye one another's burdens, and sofulfil the law of Christ. ' Yes, while Heaven ordains to each hispeculiar suffering, it connects the family of man into one household, bythat feeling which, more perhaps than any other, distinguishes us fromthe brute creation, --I mean the feeling to which we give the name ofsympathy, --the feeling for each other! The herd of deer shun the stagthat is marked by the gunner; the flock heedeth not the sheep thatcreeps into the shade to die; but man has sorrow and joy not in himselfalone, but in the joy and sorrow of those around him. He who feels onlyfor himself abjures his very nature as man; for do we not say of one whohas no tenderness for mankind that he is inhuman; and do we not call himwho sorrows with the sorrowful humane?

"Now, brethren, that which especially marked the divine mission of ourLord is the direct appeal to this sympathy which distinguishes us fromthe brute. He seizes, not upon some faculty of genii given but to few, but upon that ready impulse of heart which is given to us all; and insaying, 'Love one another, ' 'Bear ye one another's burdens, ' he elevatesthe most delightful of our emotions into the most sacred of His laws. The lawyer asks our Lord, 'Who is my neighbour?' Our Lord replies by theparable of the good Samaritan. The priest and the Levite saw the woundedman that fell among the thieves and passed by on the other side. Thatpriest might have been austere in his doctrine, that Levite might havebeen learned in the law; but neither to the learning of the Levite norto the doctrine of the priest does our Saviour even deign to allude. Hecites but the action of the Samaritan, and saith to the lawyer, 'Whichnow of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fellamong the thieves? And he said, He that showed mercy unto him. Then saidJesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise. '

"O shallowness of human judgments! It was enough to be born a Samaritanin order to be rejected by the priest, and despised by the Levite. Yetnow, what to us the priest and the Levite, of God's chosen race thoughthey were? They passed from the hearts of men when they passed thesufferer by the wayside; while this loathed Samaritan, half thrust fromthe pale of the Hebrew, becomes of our family, of our kindred; a brotheramongst the brotherhood of Love, so long as Mercy and Affliction shallmeet in the common thoroughfare of Life!

"'Bear ye one another's burdens and so fulfil the law of Christ. ' Thinknot, O my brethren, that this applies only to almsgiving, to that reliefof distress which is commonly called charity, to the obvious duty ofdevoting from our superfluities something that we scarcely miss to thewants of a starving brother. No. I appeal to the poorest amongst ye, if the worst burdens are those of the body, --if the kind word and thetender thought have not often lightened your hearts more than breadbestowed with a grudge, and charity that humbles you by a frown. Sympathy is a beneficence at the command of us all, --yea, of thepauper as of the king; and sympathy is Christ's wealth. Sympathy isbrotherhood. The rich are told to have charity for the poor, and thepoor are enjoined to respect their superiors. Good: I say not to thecontrary. But I say also to the poor, 'In your turn have charity for therich;' and I say to the rich, 'In your turn respect the poor. '

"'Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ. 'Thou, O poor man, envy not nor grudge thy brother his larger portionof worldly goods. Believe that he hath his sorrows and crosses likethyself, and perhaps, as more delicately nurtured, he feels them more;nay, hath he not temptations so great that our Lord hath exclaimed, 'Howhardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of heaven'?And what are temptations but trials; what are trials but perils andsorrows? Think not that you can bestow no charity on the rich man, evenwhile you take your sustenance from his hands. A heathen writer, often cited by the earliest preachers of the gospel, hath truly said, 'Wherever there is room for a man there is place for a benefit. '

"And I ask any rich brother amongst you, when he hath gone forthto survey his barns and his granaries, his gardens and orchards, ifsuddenly in the vain pride of his heart, he sees the scowl on the browof the labourer, --if he deems himself hated in the midst of his wealth, if he feels that his least faults are treasured up against him withthe hardness of malice, and his plainest benefits received with theingratitude of envy, --I ask, I say, any rich man, whether straightwayall pleasure in his worldly possessions does not fade from his heart, and whether he does not feel what a wealth of gladness it is in thepower of the poor man to bestow! For all these things of Mammon passaway; but there is in the smile of him whom we have served a somethingthat we may take with us into heaven. If, then, ye bear one another'sburdens, they who are poor will have mercy on the errors and compassionfor the griefs of the rich. To all men it was said--yes, to Lazarus asto Dives--'Judge not, that ye be not judged. ' But think not, O rich man, that we preach only to the poor. If it be their duty not to grudge theethy substance, it is thine to do all that may sweeten their labour. Remember that when our Lord said, 'How hardly shall they that haveriches enter into the kingdom of heaven, ' He replied also to them whoasked, 'Who then can be saved?' 'The things which are impossible withmen are possible with God, ' that is, man left to his own temptationswould fail; but, strengthened by God, he shall be saved. If thy richesare the tests of thy trial, so may they also be the instruments of thyvirtues. Prove by thy riches that thou art compassionate and tender, temperate and benign, and thy riches themselves may become the evidenceat once of thy faith and of thy works. 

"We have constantly on our lips the simple precept, 'Do unto others asyou would be done by. ' Why do we fail so often in the practice? Becausewe neglect to cultivate that SYMPATHY which nature implants as aninstinct, and the Saviour exalts as a command. If thou wouldst do untothy neighbour as thou wouldst be done by, ponder well how thy neighbourwill regard the action thou art about to do to him. Put thyself into hisplace. If thou art strong and he is weak, descend from thy strength andenter into his weakness; lay aside thy burden for the while, and buckleon his own; let thy sight see as through his eyes, thy heart beat asin his bosom. Do this, and thou wilt often confess that what had seemedjust to thy power will seem harsh to his weakness. For 'as a zealous manhath not done his duty when he calls his brother drunkard and beast, 'even so an administrator of the law mistakes his object if he writeson the grand column of society only warnings that irritate the bold andterrify the timid; and a man will be no more in love with law than withvirtue, 'if he be forced to it with rudeness and incivilities. ' If, then, ye would bear the burden of the lowly, O ye great, feel not onlyfor them, but with! Watch that your pride does not chafe them, yourpower does not wantonly gall. Your worldly inferior is of the classfrom which the Apostles were chosen, amidst which the Lord of Creationdescended from a throne above the seraphs. "

The parson here paused a moment, and his eye glanced towards the pewnear the pulpit, where sat the magnate of Hazeldean. The squire wasleaning his chin thoughtfully on his hand, his brow inclined downwards, and the natural glow of his complexion much heightened. 

"But, " resumed the parson, softly, without turning to his book, andrather as if prompted by the suggestion of the moment--"but he who hascultivated sympathy commits not these errors, or, if committing them, hastens to retract. So natural is sympathy to the good man that heobeys it mechanically when he suffers his heart to be the monitor of hisconscience. In this sympathy, behold the bond between rich and poor! Bythis sympathy, whatever our varying worldly lots, they become what theywere meant to be, --exercises for the virtues more peculiar to each; andthus, if in the body each man bear his own burden, yet in the fellowshipof the soul all have common relief in bearing the burdens of each other. This is the law of Christ, --fulfil it, O my flock!"

Here the parson closed his sermon, and the congregation bowed theirheads. 

BOOK THIRD. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

SHOWING HOW MY NOVEL CAME TO BE CALLED "MY NOVEL. "

"I am not displeased with your novel, so far as it has gone, " said myfather, graciously; "though as for the Sermon--" Here I trembled; butthe ladies, Heaven bless them! had taken Parson Dale under their specialprotection; and observing that my father was puckering up his browscritically, they rushed forward boldly in defence of The Sermon, and Mr. Caxton was forced to beat a retreat. However, like a skilful general, herenewed the assault upon outposts less gallantly guarded. But as it isnot my business to betray my weak points, I leave it to the ingenuityof cavillers to discover the places at which the Author of "Human Error"directed his great guns. 

"But, " said the captain, "you are a lad of too much spirit, Pisistratus, to keep us always in the obscure country quarters of Hazeldean, --youwill march us out into open service before you have done with us?"

PISISTRATUS (magisterially, for he has been somewhat nettled by Mr. Caxton's remarks, and he puts on an air of dignity in order to awe awayminor assailants). --"Yes, Captain Roland; not yet a while, but all ingood time. I have not stinted myself in canvas, and behind my foregroundof the Hall and the Parsonage I propose hereafter to open somelengthened perspective of the varieties of English life--"

MR. CAXTON. --"Hum!"

BLANCHE (putting her hand on my father's lip). --"We shall know betterthe design, perhaps, when we know the title. Pray, Mr. Author, what isthe title?"

MY MOTHER (with more animation than usual). --"Ay, Sisty, the title!"

PISISTRATUS (startled). --"The title! By the soul of Cervantes! I havenever yet thought of a title!"

CAPTAIN ROLAND (solemnly). --"There is a great deal in a good title. As anovel reader, I know that by experience. "

MR. SQUILLS. --"Certainly; there is not a catchpenny in the world butwhat goes down, if the title be apt and seductive. Witness 'OldParr's Life Pills. ' Sell by the thousand, Sir, when my 'Pills for WeakStomachs, ' which I believe to be just the same compound, never paid forthe advertising. "

MR. CAXTON. --"Parr's Life Pills! a fine stroke of genius. It is notevery one who has a weak stomach, or time to attend to it if he have. But who would not swallow a pill to live to a hundred and fifty-two?"

PISISTRATUS (stirring the fire in great excitement). --"My title! mytitle!--what shall be my title?"

MR. CAXTON (thrusting his hand into his waistcoat, and in his mostdidactic of tones). --"From a remote period, the choice of a title hasperplexed the scribbling portion of mankind. We may guess how theirinvention has been racked by the strange contortions it has produced. To begin with the Hebrews. 'The Lips of the Sleeping' (LabiaDormientium)--what book did you suppose that title to designate?--ACatalogue of Rabbinical Writers! Again, imagine some young lady ofold captivated by the sentimental title of 'The Pomegranate with itsFlower, ' and opening on a Treatise on the Jewish Ceremonials! Let usturn to the Romans. Aulus Gellius commences his pleasant gossipping'Noctes' with a list of the titles in fashion in his day. For instance, 'The Muses' and 'The Veil, ' 'The Cornucopia, ' 'The Beehive, ' and 'TheMeadow. ' Some titles, indeed, were more truculent, and promised food tothose who love to sup upon horrors, --such as 'The Torch, ' 'The Poniard, ''The Stiletto'--"

PISISTRATUS (impatiently). --"Yes, sir, but to come to My Novel. "

MR. CAXTON (unheeding the interruption). --"You see you have a finechoice here, and of a nature pleasing, and not unfamiliar, to aclassical reader; or you may borrow a hint from the early dramaticwriters. "

PISISTRATUS (more hopefully). --"Ay, there is something in the Drama akinto the Novel. Now, perhaps, I may catch an idea. "

MR. CAXTON. --"For instance, the author of the 'Curiosities ofLiterature' (from whom, by the way, I am plagiarizing much of theinformation I bestow upon you) tells us of a Spanish gentleman whowrote a Comedy, by which he intended to serve what he took for MoralPhilosophy. "

PISISTRATUS (eagerly). --"Well, sir?"

MR. CAXTON. --"And called it 'The Pain of the Sleep of the World. '"

PISISTRATUS. --"Very comic, indeed, sir. "

MR. CAXTON. --"Grave things were then called Comedies, as old things arenow called Novels. Then there are all the titles of early Romance itselfat your disposal, --'Theagenes and Chariclea' or 'The Ass' of Longus, or'The Golden Ass' of Apuleius, or the titles of Gothic Romance, such as'The most elegant, delicious, mellifluous, and delightful History ofPerceforest, King of Great Britain. '" And therewith my father ran over alist of names as long as the Directory, and about as amusing. 

"Well, to my taste, " said my mother, "the novels I used to read when agirl (for I have not read many since, I am ashamed to say)--"

MR. CAXTON. --"No, you need not be at all ashamed of it, Kitty. "

MY MOTHER (proceeding). --"Were much more inviting than any you mention, Austin. "

THE CAPTAIN. --"True. "

MR. SQUILLS. --"Certainly. Nothing like them nowadays!"

MY MOTHER. --"'Says she to her Neighbour, What?'"

THE CAPTAIN. --"'The Unknown, or the Northern Gallery'--"

MR. SQUILLS. --"'There is a Secret; Find it out!'"

PISISTRATUS (pushed to the verge of human endurance, and upsettingtongs, poker, and fire-shovel). --"What nonsense you are talking, all ofyou! For Heaven's sake consider what an important matter we are calledupon to decide. It is not now the titles of those very respectable workswhich issued from the Minerva Press that I ask you to remember, --it isto invent a title for mine, --My Novel!"

MR. CAXTON (clapping his hands gently). --"Excellent! capital! Nothingcan be better; simple, natural, pertinent, concise--"

PISISTRATUS. --"What is it, sir, what is it? Have you really thought of atitle to My Novel?"

MR. CAXTON. --"You have hit it yourself, --'My Novel. ' It is your Novel;people will know it is your Novel. Turn and twist the English languageas you will, be as allegorical as Hebrew, Greek, Roman, Fabulist, orPuritan, still, after all, it is your Novel, and nothing more nor lessthan your Novel. "

PISISTRATUS (thoughtfully, and sounding the words various ways). --"'MyNovel!'--um-um! 'My Novel!' rather bold--and curt, eh?"

MR. CAXTON. --"Add what you say you intend it to depict, --Varieties inEnglish Life. "

MY MOTHER. --"'My Novel; or, Varieties in English Life'--I don't thinkit sounds amiss. What say you, Roland? Would it attract you in acatalogue?"

My uncle hesitates, when Mr. Caxton exclaims imperiously. --"The thing issettled! Don't disturb Camarina. "

SQUILLS. --"If it be not too great a liberty, pray who or what isCamarina?"

MR. CAXTON. --"Camarina, Mr. Squills, was a lake, apt to be low, and thenliable to be muddy; and 'Don't disturb Camarina' was a Greek proverbderived from an oracle of Apollo; and from that Greek proverb, no doubt, comes the origin of the injunction, 'Quieta non movere, ' which becamethe favourite maxim of Sir Robert Walpole and Parson Dale. The Greekline, Mr. Squills" (here my father's memory began to warm), is preservedby Stephanus Byzantinus, 'De Urbibus, '

 [Greek proverb]

Zenobius explains it in his proverbs; Suidas repeats Zenobius; Lucianalludes to it; so does Virgil in the Third Book of the AEneid; andSilius Italicus imitates Virgil, --

 "'Et cui non licitum fatis Camarina moveri. '

"Parson Dale, as a clergyman and a scholar, had, no doubt, theseauthorities at his fingers' end. And I wonder he did not quote them, "quoth my father; "but to be sure he is represented as a mild man, andso might not wish to humble the squire over-much in the presence of hisfamily. Meanwhile, My Novel is My Novel; and now that, that matter issettled, perhaps the tongs, poker, and shovel may be picked up, thechildren may go to bed, Blanche and Kitty may speculate apart upon thefuture dignities of the Neogilos, --taking care, nevertheless, to finishthe new pinbefores he requires for the present; Roland may cast up hisaccount book, Mr. Squills have his brandy and water, and all the worldbe comfortable, each in his own way. Blanche, come away from thescreen, get me my slippers, and leave Pisistratus to himself. [Greekline]--don't disturb Camarina. You see, my dear, " added my fatherkindly, as, after settling himself into his slippers, he detainedBlanche's hand in his own, --"you see, my dear, every house has itsCamarina. Alan, who is a lazy animal, is quite content to let it alone;but woman, being the more active, bustling, curious creature, is alwaysfor giving it a sly stir. "

BLANCHE (with female dignity). --"I assure you, that if Pisistratus hadnot called me, I should not have--"

MR. CAXTON (interrupting her, without lifting his eyes from the book hehad already taken). --"Certainly you would not. I am now in the midst ofthe great Oxford Controversy. [The same Greek proverb]--don't disturbCamarina. "

A dead silence for half-an-hour, at the end of which--

PISISTRATUS (from behind the screen). --"Blanche, my dear, I want toconsult you. "

Blanche does not stir. 

PISISTRATUS. --"Blanche, I say. " Blanche glances in triumph towards Mr. Caxton. 

MR. CAXTON (laying down his theological tract, and rubbing hisspectacles mournfully). --"I hear him, child; I hear him. I retract myvindication of man. Oracles warn in vain: so long as there is a woman onthe other side of the screen, it is all up with Camarina. "

CHAPTER II. 

It is greatly to be regretted that Mr. Stirn was not present at theparson's Discourse; but that valuable functionary was far otherwiseengaged, --indeed, during the summer months he was rarely seen at theafternoon service. Not that he cared for being preached at, --not he; Mr. Stirn would have snapped his fingers at the thunders of the Vatican. But the fact was, that Mr. Stirn chose to do a great deal of gratuitousbusiness upon the day of rest. The squire allowed all persons who choseto walk about the park on a Sunday; and many came from a distance tostroll by the lake, or recline under the elms. These visitors wereobjects of great suspicion, nay, of positive annoyance, to Mr. Stirn--and, indeed, not altogether without reason, for we English havea natural love of liberty, which we are even more apt to display inthe grounds of other people than in those which we cultivate ourselves. Sometimes, to his inexpressible and fierce satisfaction, Mr. Stirnfell upon a knot of boys pelting the swans; sometimes he missed ayoung sapling, and found it in felonious hands, converted into awalking-stick; sometimes he caught a hulking fellow scrambling up theha-ha to gather a nosegay for his sweetheart from one of poor Mrs. Hazeldean's pet parterres; not infrequently, indeed, when all the familywere fairly at church, some curious impertinents forced or sneaked theirway into the gardens, in order to peep in at the windows. For these, and various other offences of like magnitude, Mr. Stirn had long, but vainly, sought to induce the squire to withdraw a permission sovillanously abused. But though there were times when Mr. Hazeldeangrunted and growled, and swore "that he would shut up the park, andfill it [illegally] with mantraps and spring-guns, " his anger alwaysevaporated in words. The park was still open to all the world on aSunday; and that blessed day was therefore converted into a day oftravail and wrath to Mr. Stirn. But it was from the last chime of theafternoon-service bell until dusk that the spirit of this vigilantfunctionary was most perturbed; for, amidst the flocks that gatheredfrom the little hamlets round to the voice of the pastor, there werealways some stray sheep, or rather climbing, desultory, vagabond goats, who struck off in all perverse directions, as if for the special purposeof distracting the energetic watchfulness of Mr. Stirn. As soon aschurch was over, if the day were fine, the whole park became a sceneanimated with red cloaks or lively shawls, Sunday waistcoats and hatsstuck full of wildflowers--which last Mr. Stirn often stoutlymaintained to be Mrs. Hazeldean's newest geraniums. Now, on this Sunday, especially, there was an imperative call upon an extra exertion ofvigilance on the part of the superintendent, --he had not only to detectordinary depredators and trespassers; but, first, to discover theauthors of the conspiracy against the stocks; and, secondly, to "make anexample. "

He had begun his rounds, therefore, from the early morning; and justas the afternoon bell was sounding its final peal, he emerged upon thevillage green from a hedgerow, behind which he had been at watch toobserve who had the most suspiciously gathered round the stocks. At thatmoment the place was deserted. At a distance, the superintendent sawthe fast disappearing forms of some belated groups hastening towards thechurch; in front, the stocks stood staring at him mournfully from itsfour great eyes, which had been cleansed from the mud, but still lookedbleared and stained with the inarks of the recent outrage. Here Mr. Stirn paused, took off his hat, and wiped his brows. 

"If I had sum 'un to watch here, " thought he, "while I takes a turn bythe water-side, p'r'aps summat might come out; p'r'aps them as did itben't gone to church, but will come sneaking round to look on theirwillany! as they says murderers are always led back to the place wherethey ha' left the body. But in this here willage there ben't a man, woman, or child as has any consarn for squire or parish, barringmyself. " It was just as he arrived at that misanthropical conclusionthat Mr. Stirn beheld Leonard Fairfield walking very fast from his ownhome. The superintendent clapped on his hat, and stuck his right armakimbo. "Hollo, you, sir, " said he, as Lenny now came in hearing, "wherebe you going at that rate?"

"Please, sir, I be going to church. "

"Stop, sir, --stop, Master Lenny. Going to church!--why, the bell'sdone; and you knows the parson is very angry at them as comes in late, disturbing the congregation. You can't go to church now!"

"Please, sir--"

"I says you can't go to church now. You must learn to think a littleof others, lad. You sees how I sweats to serve the squire! and you mustserve him too. Why, your mother's got the house and premishes almostrent-free; you ought to have a grateful heart, Leonard Fairfield, andfeel for his honour! Poor man! his heart is well-nigh bruk, I am sure, with the goings on. "

Leonard opened his innocent blue eyes, while Mr. Stirn dolorously wipedhis own. 

"Look at that 'ere dumb cretur, " said Stirn, suddenly, pointing to thestocks, --"look at it. If it could speak, what would it say, LeonardFairfield? Answer me that! 'Damn the stocks, ' indeed!"

"It was very bad in them to write such naughty words, " said Lenny, gravely. "Mother was quite shocked when she heard of it this morning. "

MR. STIRN. --"I dare say she was, considering what she pays for thepremishes;" (insinuatingly) "you does not know who did it, --eh, Lenny?"

LENNY. --"No, sir; indeed I does not!"

MR. STIRN. --"Well, you see, you can't go to church, --prayers halfover by this time. You recollex that I put them stocks under your'sponsibility, ' and see the way you's done your duty by 'em! I've half amind to--"

Mr. Stirn cast his eyes on the eyes of the stocks. "Please, sir, " beganLenny again, rather frightened. 

"No, I won't please; it ben't pleasing at all. But I forgives you thistime, only keep a sharp lookout, lad, in future. Now you must stayhere--no, there--under the hedge, and you watches if any persons comesto loiter about, or looks at the stocks, or laughs to hisself, while Igo my rounds. I shall be back either afore church is over or just arter;so you stay till I comes, and give me your report. Be sharp, boy, or itwill be worse for you and your mother; I can let the premishes for L4 ayear more to-morrow. "

Concluding with that somewhat menacing and very significant remark, andnot staying for an answer, Mr. Stirn waved his hand and walked off. 

Poor Lenny remained by the stocks, very much dejected, and greatlydisliking the neighbourhood to which the was consigned. At length heslowly crept off to the hedge, and sat himself down in the place ofespionage pointed out to him. Now, philosophers tell us that what iscalled the point of honour is a barbarous feudal prejudice. Amongstthe higher classes, wherein those feudal prejudices may be supposed toprevail, Lenny Fairfield's occupation would not have been consideredpeculiarly honourable; neither would it have seemed so to the moreturbulent spirits among the humbler orders, who have a point of honourof their own, which consists in the adherence to each other in defianceof all lawful authority. But to Lenny Fairfield, brought up much apartfrom other boys, and with a profound and grateful reverence for thesquire instilled into all his habits of thought, notions of honourbounded themselves to simple honesty and straightforward truth; and ashe cherished an unquestioning awe of order and constitutional authority, so it did not appear to him that there was anything derogatory anddebasing in being thus set to watch for an offender. On the contrary, ashe began to reconcile himself to the loss of the church service, andto enjoy the cool of the summer shade and the occasional chirp of thebirds, he got to look on the bright side of the commission to which hewas deputed. In youth, at least, everything has its bright side, --eventhe appointment of Protector to the Parish Stocks. For the stocks itselfLeonard had no affection, it is true; but he had no sympathy with itsaggressors, and he could well conceive that the squire would be verymuch hurt at the revolutionary event of the night. "So, " thought poorLeonard in his simple heart, --"so, if I can serve his honour, by keepingoff mischievous boys, or letting him know who did the thing, I'm sureit would be a proud day for Mother. " Then he began to consider that, however ungraciously Mr. Stirn had bestowed on him the appointment, still it was a compliment to him, --showed trust and confidence in him, picked him out from his contemporaries as the sober, moral, pattern boy;and Lenny had a great deal of pride in him, especially in matters ofrepute and character. 

All these things considered, I say, Leonard Fairfield reclined on hislurking-place, if not with positive delight and intoxicating rapture, atleast with tolerable content and some complacency. 

Mr. Stirn might have been gone a quarter of an hour, when a boy camethrough a little gate in the park, just opposite to Lenny's retreat inthe hedge, and, as if fatigued with walking, or oppressed by the heat ofthe day, paused on the green for a moment or so, and then advanced underthe shade of the great tree which overhung the stocks. 

Lenny pricked up his ears, and peeped out jealously. 

He had never seen the boy before: it was a strange face to him. 

Leonard Fairfield was not fond of strangers; moreover, he had a vaguebelief that strangers were at the bottom of that desecration of thestocks. The boy, then, was a stranger; but what was his rank? Was heof that grade in society in which the natural offences are or are notconsonant to, or harmonious with, outrages upon stocks? On that LennyFairfield did not feel quite assured. According to all the experience ofthe villager, the boy was not dressed like a young gentleman. Leonard'snotions of such aristocratic costume were naturally fashioned upon themodel of Frank Hazeldean. They represented to him a dazzling vision ofsnow-white trousers and beautiful blue coats and incomparable cravats. Now the dress of this stranger, though not that of a peasant or of afarmer, did not in any way correspond with Lenny's notion of the costumeof a young gentleman. It looked to him highly disreputable: the coatwas covered with mud, and the hat was all manner of shapes, with a gapbetween the side and crown. 

Lenny was puzzled, till it suddenly occurred to him that the gatethrough which the boy had passed was in the direct path across the parkfrom a small town, the inhabitants of which were in very bad odour atthe Hall, --they had immemorially furnished the most daring poachers tothe preserves, the most troublesome trespassers on the park, the mostunprincipled orchard robbers, and the most disputatious asserters ofvarious problematical rights of way, which, according to the Town, werepublic, and, according to the Hall, had been private since the Conquest. It was true that the same path led also directly from the squire'shouse, but it was not probable that the wearer of attire so equivocalhad been visiting there. All things considered, Lenny had no doubt inhis mind but that the stranger was a shop-boy or 'prentice from the townof Thorndyke; and the notorious repute of that town, coupled with thispresumption, made it probable that Lenny now saw before him one of themidnight desecrators of the stocks. As if to confirm thesuspicion, which passed through Lenny's mind with a rapidity whollydisproportionate to the number of lines it costs me to convey it, theboy, now standing right before the stocks, bent down and read that pithyanathema with which it was defaced. And having read it, he repeated italoud, and Lenny actually saw him smile, --such a smile! so disagreeableand sinister! Lenny had never before seen the smile sardonic. 

But what were Lenny's pious horror and dismay when this ominous strangerfairly seated himself on the stocks, rested his heels profanely onthe lids of two of the four round eyes, and taking out a pencil and apocket-book, began to write. 

Was this audacious Unknown taking an inventory of the church and theHall for the purposes of conflagration? He looked at one and at theother, with a strange fixed stare as he wrote, --not keeping his eyeson the paper, as Lenny had been taught to do when he sat down to hiscopy-book. The fact is, that Randal Leslie was tired and faint, and hefelt the shock of his fall the more, after the few paces he had walked, so that he was glad to rest himself a few moments; and he took thatopportunity to write a line to Frank, to excuse himself for notcalling again, intending to tear the leaf on which he wrote out ofhis pocket-book and leave it at the first cottage he passed, withinstructions to take it to the Hall. 

While Randal was thus innocently engaged, Lenny came up to him, with thefirm and measured pace of one who has resolved, cost what it may, to dohis duty. And as Lenny, though brave, was not ferocious, so the anger hefelt and the suspicions he entertained only exhibited themselves in thefollowing solemn appeal to the offender's sense of propriety, --"Ben'tyou ashamed of yourself? Sitting on the squire's new stocks! Do get up, and go along with you!"

Randal turned round sharply; and though, at any other moment, he wouldhave had sense enough to extricate himself very easily from his falseposition, yet Nemo mortalium, etc. No one is always wise. And Randal wasin an exceedingly bad humour. The affability towards his inferiors, for which I lately praised him, was entirely lost in the contempt forimpertinent snobs natural to an insulted Etonian. 

Therefore, eying Lenny with great disdain, Randal answered briefly, --

"You are an insolent young blackguard. "

So curt a rejoinder made Lenny's blood fly to his face. Persuaded beforethat the intruder was some lawless apprentice or shop-lad, he was nowmore confirmed in that judgment, not only by language so uncivil, but bythe truculent glance which accompanied it, and which certainly didnot derive any imposing dignity from the mutilated, rakish, hang-dog, ruinous hat, under which it shot its sullen and menacing fire. 

Of all the various articles of which our male attire is composed, thereis perhaps not one which has so much character and expression as the topcovering. A neat, well-brushed, short-napped, gentlemanlike hat, put onwith a certain air, gives a distinction and respectability to the wholeexterior; whereas, a broken, squashed, higgledy-piggledy sort of a hat, such as Randal Leslie had on, would go far towards transforming thestateliest gentleman who ever walked down St. James's Street into theideal of a ruffianly scamp. 

Now, it is well known that there is nothing more antipathetic to yourpeasant-boy than a shop-boy. Even on grand political occasions, therural working-class can rarely be coaxed into sympathy with the tradingtown class. Your true English peasant is always an aristocrat. Moreover, and irrespectively of this immemorial grudge of class, there issomething peculiarly hostile in the relationship between boy and boywhen their backs are once up, and they are alone on a quiet bit ofgreen, --something of the game-cock feeling; something that tends tokeep alive, in the population of this island (otherwise so lamblike andpeaceful), the martial propensity to double the thumb tightly over thefour fingers, and make what is called "a fist of it. " Dangerous symptomsof these mingled and aggressive sentiments were visible in LennyFairfield at the words and the look of the unprepossessing stranger. Andthe stranger seemed aware of them; for his pale face grew more pale, andhis sullen eye more fixed and more vigilant. 

"You get off them stocks, " said Lenny, disdaining to reply to the coarseexpressions bestowed on him; and, suiting the action to the word, hegave the intruder what he meant for a shove, but what Randal took fora blow. The Etonian sprang up, and the quickness of his movement, aidedbut by a slight touch of his hand, made Lenny lose his balance, and senthim neck-and-crop over the stocks. Burning with rage, the young villagerrose alertly, and, flying at Randal, struck out right and left. 

CHAPTER III. 

Aid me, O ye Nine! whom the incomparable Persius satirized hiscontemporaries for invoking, and then, all of a sudden, invoked on hisown behalf, --aid me to describe that famous battle by the stocks, andin defence of the stocks, which was waged by the two representativesof Saxon and Norman England. Here, sober support of law and dutyand delegated trust, --pro aris et focis; there, haughty invasion andbellicose spirit of knighthood and that respect for name and personwhich we call "honour. " Here, too, hardy physical force, --there, skilfuldiscipline. Here--The Nine are as deaf as a post, and as cold as astone! Plague take the jades! I can do better without them. 

Randal was a year or two older than Lenny, but he was not so tall nor sostrong, nor even so active; and after the first blind rush, when the twoboys paused, and drew back to breathe, Lenny, eying the slight form andhueless cheek of his opponent, and seeing blood trickling from Randal'slip, was seized with an instantaneous and generous remorse. "It wasnot fair, " he thought, "to fight one whom he could beat so easily. " So, retreating still farther, and letting his arms fall to his side, he saidmildly, "There, let's have no more of it; but go home and be good. "

Randal Leslie had no remarkable degree of that constitutional qualitycalled physical courage; but he had some of those moral qualitieswhich supply its place. He was proud, he was vindictive, he had highself-esteem, he had the destructive organ more than the combative, --whathad once provoked his wrath it became his instinct to sweep away. Therefore, though all his nerves were quivering, and hot tears were inhis eyes, he approached Lenny with the sternness of a gladiator, andsaid between his teeth, which he set hard, choking back the sob of rageand pain, --

"You have struck me--and you shall not stir from this ground till I havemade you repent it. Put up your hands, --defend yourself. "

Lenny mechanically obeyed; and he had good need of the admonition; forif before he had had the advantage, now that Randal had recovered thesurprise to his nerves, the battle was not to the strong. 

Though Leslie had not been a fighting boy at Eton, still his temper hadinvolved him in some conflicts when he was in the lower forms, andhe had learned something of the art as well as the practice inpugilism, --an excellent thing too, I am barbarous enough to believe, andwhich I hope will never quite die out of our public schools. Ah, many ayoung duke has been a better fellow for life from a fair set-to with atrader's son; and many a trader's son has learned to look a lord moremanfully in the face on the hustings, from the recollection of the soundthrashing he once gave to some little Lord Leopold Dawdle. 

So Randal now brought his experience and art to bear; put asidethose heavy roundabout blows, and darted in his own, quick and sharp, supplying to the natural feebleness of his arm the due momentum ofpugilistic mechanics. Ay, and the arm, too, was no longer so feeble; forstrange is the strength that comes from passion and pluck!

Poor Lenny, who had never fought before, was bewildered; his sensationsgrew so entangled that he could never recall them distinctly; he had adim reminiscence of some breathless impotent rush, of a sudden blindnessfollowed by quick flashes of intolerable light, of a deadly faintness, from which he was roused by sharp pangs--here--there--everywhere; andthen all he could remember was, that he was lying on the ground, huddled up and panting hard, while his adversary bent over him with acountenance as dark and livid as Lara himself might have bent over thefallen Otho. For Randal Leslie was not one who, by impulse and nature, subscribed to the noble English maxim, "Never hit a foe when he isdown;" and it cost him a strong, if brief, self-struggle not to sethis heel on that prostrate form. It was the mind, not the heart, that subdued the savage within him, as muttering somethinginwardly--certainly not Christian forgiveness--the victor turnedgloomily away. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Just at that precise moment, who should appear but Mr. Stirn! For, infact, being extremely anxious to get Lenny into disgrace, he had hopedthat he should have found the young villager had shirked the commissionintrusted to him; and the right-hand man had slily come back to see ifthat amiable expectation were realized. He now beheld Lenny rising withsome difficulty, still panting hard, and with hysterical sounds akinto what is vulgarly called blubbering, his fine new waistcoat sprinkledwith his own blood, which flowed from his nose, --nose that seemedto Lenny Fairfield's feelings to be a nose no more, but a swollen, gigantic, mountainous Slawkenbergian excrescence; in fact, he felt allnose! Turning aghast from this spectacle, Mr. Stirn surveyed, with nomore respect than Lenny had manifested, the stranger boy, who had againseated himself on the stocks (whether to recover his breath, or whetherto show that his victory was consummated, and that he was in his rightsof possession). "Hollo, " said Mr. Stirn, "what is all this? What's thematter, Lenny, you blockhead?"

"He will sit there, " answered Lenny, in broken gasps, "and he has beatme because I would not let him; but I doesn't mind that, " added thevillager, trying hard to suppress his tears, "and I am ready again forhim--that I am. "

"And what do you do lollopoping there on them blessed stocks?"

"Looking at the landscape; out of my light, man!"

This tone instantly inspired Mr. Stirn with misgivings: it was a toneso disrespectful to him that he was seized with involuntary respect; whobut a gentleman could speak so to Mr. Stirn?

"And may I ask who you be?" said Stirn, falteringly, and half inclinedto touch his hat. "What Is your name, pray? What's your bizness?"

"My name is Randal Leslie, and my business was to visit your master'sfamily, --that is, if you are, as I guess from your manner, Mr. Hazeldean's ploughman!"

So saying, Randal rose; and moving on a few paces, turned, and throwinghalf-a-crown on the road, said to Lenny, "Let that pay you for yourbruises, and remember another time how you speak to a gentleman. As foryou, fellow, "--and he pointed his scornful hand towards Mr. Stirn, who, with his mouth open, and his hat now fairly off, stood bowing to theearth, --"as for you, give my compliments to Mr. Hazeldean, and say thatwhen he does us the honour to visit us at Rood Hall, I trust that themanners of our villagers will make him ashamed of Hazeldean. "

Oh, my poor Squire! Rood Hall ashamed of Hazeldean! If that message hadbeen delivered to you, you would never have looked up again!

With those bitter words, Randal swung himself over the stile that ledinto the parson's glebe, and left Lenny Fairfield still feeling hisnose, and Mr. Stirn still bowing to the earth. 

CHAPTER V. 

Randal Leslie had a very long walk home; he was bruised and sore fromhead to foot, and his mind was still more sore and more bruised than hisbody. But if Randal Leslie had rested himself in the squire's gardens, without walking backwards and indulging in speculations suggested byMarat, and warranted by my Lord Bacon, he would have passed a mostagreeable evening, and really availed himself of the squire's wealthby going home in the squire's carriage. But because he chose to takeso intellectual a view of property, he tumbled into a ditch; becausehe tumbled into a ditch, he spoiled his clothes; because he spoiled hisclothes, he gave up his visit; because he gave up his visit, he got intothe village green, and sat on the stocks with a hat that gave him theair of a fugitive from the treadmill; because he sat on the stocks--withthat hat, and a cross face under it--he had been forced into the mostdiscreditable squabble with a clodhopper, and was now limping home, at war with gods and men; ergo (this is a moral that will bearrepetition), --ergo, when you walk in a rich man's grounds, be contentedto enjoy what is yours, namely, the prospect, --I dare say you will enjoyit more than he does!

CHAPTER VI. 

If, in the simplicity of his heart and the crudity of his experience, Lenny Fairfield had conceived it probable that Mr. Stirn would addressto him some words in approbation of his gallantry and in sympathy forhis bruises, he soon found himself wofully mistaken. That trulygreat man, worthy prime minister of Hazeldean, might perhaps pardon adereliction from his orders, if such dereliction proved advantageous tothe interests of the service, or redounded to the credit of thechief; but he was inexorable to that worst of diplomatic offences, --anill-timed, stupid, over-zealous obedience to orders, which, if itestablished the devotion of the employee, got the employer into whatis popularly called a scrape! And though, by those unversed in theintricacies of the human heart, and unacquainted with the especialhearts of prime ministers and right-hand men, it might have seemednatural that Mr. Stirn, as he stood still, hat in hand, in the middleof the road, stung, humbled, and exasperated by the mortification he hadreceived from the lips of Randal Leslie, would have felt that that younggentleman was the proper object of his resentment, yet such a breach ofall the etiquette of diplomatic life as resentment towards a superiorpower was the last idea that would have suggested itself to the profoundintellect of the premier of Hazeldean. Still, as rage, like steam, mustescape somewhere, Mr. Stirn, on feeling--as he afterwards expressed itto his wife--that his "buzzom was a burstin', " turned with the naturalinstinct of self-preservation to the safety-valve provided for theexplosion; and the vapours within him rushed into vent upon LennyFairfield. He clapped his hat on his head fiercely, and thus relievedhis "buzzom. "

"You young willain! you howdaeious wiper! and so all this blessedSabbath afternoon, when you ought to have been in church on yourmarrow-bones, a praying for your betters, you has been a fitting with ayoung gentleman, and a wisiter to your master, on the wery place of theparridge hinstitution that you was to guard and pertect; and a bloodyingit all over, I declares, with your blaggard little nose!" Thus saying, and as if to mend the matter, Mr. Stirn aimed an additional stroke atthe offending member; but Lenny mechanically putting up both arms todefend his face, Mr. Stirn struck his knuckles against the large brassbuttons that adorned the cuff of the boy's coat-sleeve, --an incidentwhich considerably aggravated his indignation. And Lenny, whose spiritwas fairly roused at what the narrowness of his education conceived tobe a signal injustice, placing the trunk of the tree between Mr. Stirnand himself, began that task of self-justification which it was equallyimpolitic to conceive and imprudent to execute, since, in such a case, to justify was to recriminate. 

"I wonder at you, Master Stirn, --if Mother could hear you! You know itwas you who would not let me go to church; it was you who told me to--"

"Fit a young gentleman, and break the Sabbath, " said Mr. Stirn, interrupting him with a withering sneer. "Oh, yes! I told you todisgrace his honour the squire, and me, and the parridge, and bringus all into trouble. But the squire told me to make an example, and Iwill!" With those words, quick as lightning flashed upon Mr. Stirn'smind the luminous idea of setting Lenny in the very stocks which he hadtoo faithfully guarded. Eureka! the "example" was before him! Here hecould gratify his long grudge against the pattern boy; here, by sucha selection of the very best lad in the parish, he could strike terrorinto the worst; here he could appease the offended dignity of RandalLeslie; here was a practical apology to the squire for the affront putupon his young visitor; here, too, there was prompt obedience to thesquire's own wish that the stocks should be provided as soon as possiblewith a tenant. Suiting the action to the thought, Mr. Stirn made a rapidplunge at his victim, caught him by the skirt of his jacket; and in afew seconds more, the jaws of the stocks had opened, and Lenny Fairfieldwas thrust therein, --a sad spectacle of the reverses of fortune. This done, and while the boy was too astounded, too stupefied, by thesuddenness of the calamity, for the resistance he might otherwise havemade, --nay, for more than a few inaudible words, --Mr. Stirn hurried fromthe spot, but not without first picking up and pocketing the half-crowndesigned for Lenny, and which, so great had been his first emotions, he had hitherto even almost forgotten. He then made his way towards thechurch, with the intention to place himself close by the door, catchthe squire as he came out, whisper to him what had passed, and lead him, with the whole congregation at his heels, to gaze upon the sacrificeoffered up to the joint powers of Nemesis and Themis. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Unaffectedly I say it--upon the honour of a gentleman, and thereputation of an author, --unaffectedly I say it, no words of mine cando justice to the sensations experienced by Lenny Fairfield, as he satalone in that place of penance. He felt no more the physical pain ofhis bruises; the anguish of his mind stifled and overbore all corporealsuffering, --an anguish as great as the childish breast is capable ofholding. 

For first and deepest of all, and earliest felt, was the burning senseof injustice. He had, it might be with erring judgment, but with allhonesty, earnestness, and zeal, executed the commission entrusted tohim; he had stood forth manfully in discharge of his duty; he hadfought for it, suffered for it, bled for it. This was his reward! Nowin Lenny's mind there was pre-eminently that quality which distinguishesthe Anglo Saxon race, --the sense of justice. It was perhaps thestrongest principle in his moral constitution; and the principle hadnever lost its virgin bloom and freshness by any of the minor acts ofoppression and iniquity which boys of higher birth often suffer fromharsh parents, or in tyrannical schools. So that it was for thefirst time that that iron entered into his soul, and with it came itsattendant feeling, --the wrathful, galling sense of impotence. He hadbeen wronged, and he had no means to right himself. Then came anothersensation, if not so deep, yet more smarting and envenomed for thetime, --shame! He, the good boy of all good boys; he, the pattern of theschool, and the pride of the parson; he, whom the squire, in sight ofall his contemporaries, had often singled out to slap on the back, andthe grand squire's lady to pat on the head, with a smiling gratulationon his young and fair repute; he, who had already learned so dearly toprize the sweets of an honourable name, --he to be made, as it were, inthe twinkling of an eye, a mark for opprobrium, a butt of scorn, a jeer, and a byword! The streams of his life were poisoned at the fountain. Andthen came a tenderer thought of his mother! of the shock this would beto her, --she who had already begun to look up to him as her stay andsupport; he bowed his head, and the tears, long suppressed, rolled down. 

Then he wrestled and struggled, and strove to wrench his limbs fromthat hateful bondage, --for he heard steps approaching. And he began topicture to himself the arrival of all the villagers from church, thesad gaze of the parson, the bent brow of the squire, the idle, ill-suppressed titter of all the boys, jealous of his unspottedcharacter, --character of which the original whiteness could never, neverbe restored!

He would always be the boy who had sat in the stocks! And the wordsuttered by the squire came back on his soul, like the voice ofconscience in the ears of some doomed Macbeth: "A sad disgrace, Lenny, --you'll never be in such a quandary. " "Quandary"--the word wasunfamiliar to him; it must mean something awfully discreditable. Thepoor boy could have prayed for the earth to swallow him. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

"Kettles and frying-pans! what has us here?" cried the tinker. 

This time Mr. Sprott was without his donkey; for it being Sunday, itis presumed that the donkey was enjoying his Sabbath on the common. The tinker was in his Sunday's best, clean and smart, about to take hislounge in the park. 

Lenny Fairfield made no answer to the appeal. 

"You in the wood, my baby! Well, that's the last sight I shouldha' thought to see. But we all lives to larn, " added the tinker, sententiously. "Who gave you them leggins? Can't you speak, lad?"

"Nick Stirn. "

"Nick Stirn! Ay, I'd ha' ta'en my davy on that: and cos vy?"

"'Cause I did as he told me, and fought a boy as was trespassing onthese very stocks; and he beat me--but I don't care for that; and thatboy was a young gentleman, and going to visit the squire; and so NickStirn--" Lenny stopped short, choked by rage and humiliation. 

"Augh, " said the tinker, starting, "you fit with a young gentleman, didyou? Sorry to hear you confess that, my lad! Sit there and be thankfulyou ha' got off so cheap. 'T is salt and battery to fit with yourbetters, and a Lunnon justice o' peace would have given you two monthso' the treadmill. 

"But vy should you fit cos he trespassed on the stocks? It ben't yournatural side for fitting, I takes it. "

Lenny murmured something not very distinguishable about serving thesquire, and doing as he was bid. 

"Oh, I sees, Lenny, " interrupted the tinker, in a tone of greatcontempt, "you be one of those who would rayther 'unt with the 'oundsthan run with the 'are! You be's the good pattern boy, and would peachagin your own border to curry favour with the grand folks. Fie, lad! yoube sarved right; stick by your border, then you'll be 'spected when yougets into trouble, and not be 'varsally 'spised, --as you'll be arterchurch-time! Vell, I can't be seen 'sorting with you, now you are inthis d'rogotary fix; it might hurt my c'r'acter, both with them as builtthe stocks and them as wants to pull 'em down. Old kettles to mend! Vy, you makes me forgit the Sabbath! Sarvent, my lad, and wish you wellout of it; 'specks to your mother, and say we can deal for the pan andshovel all the same for your misfortin. "

The tinker went his way. Lenny's eye followed him with the sullennessof despair. The tinker, like all the tribe of human comforters, had onlywatered the brambles to invigorate the prick of the horns. Yes, if Lennyhad been caught breaking the stocks, some at least would have pitiedhim; but to be incarcerated for defending them! You might as well haveexpected that the widows and orphans of the Reign of Terror would havepitied Dr. Guillotin when he slid through the grooves of his own deadlymachine. And even the tinker, itinerant, ragamuffin vagabond as he was, felt ashamed to be found with the pattern boy! Lenny's head sank againon his breast heavily, as if it had been of lead. Some few minutesthus passed, when the unhappy prisoner became aware of the presence ofanother spectator to his shame; he heard no step, but he saw a shadowthrown over the sward. He held his breath, and would not look up, withsome vague idea that if he refused to see he might escape being seen. 

CHAPTER IX. 

"Per Bacco!" said Dr. Riccabocca, putting his hand on Lenny's shoulder, and bending down to look into his face, --"per Bacco! my young friend, doyou sit here from choice or necessity?"

Lenny slightly shuddered, and winced under the touch of one whom he hadhitherto regarded with a sort of superstitious abhorrence. 

"I fear, " resumed Riccabocca, after waiting in vain for an answer to hisquestion, "that though the situation is charming, you did not select ityourself. What is this?"--and the irony of the tone vanished--"what isthis, my poor boy? You have been bleeding, and I see that those tearswhich you try to check come from a deep well. Tell me, povero fanciullomio" (the sweet Italian vowels, though Lenny did not understand them, sounded softly and soothingly), --"tell me, my child, how all thishappened. Perhaps I can help you; we have all erred, --we should all helpeach other. "

Lenny's heart, that just before had seemed bound in brass, found itselfa way as the Italian spoke thus kindly, and the tears rushed down; buthe again stopped them, and gulped out sturdily, --

"I have not done no wrong; it ben't my fault, --and 't is that whichkills me!" concluded Lenny, with a burst of energy. 

"You have not done wrong? Then, " said the philosopher, drawing outhis pocket-handkerchief with great composure, and spreading it on theground, --"then I may sit beside you. I could only stoop pityingly oversin, but I can lie down on equal terms with misfortune. "

Lenny Fairfield did not quite comprehend the words, but enough of theirgeneral meaning was apparent to make him cast a grateful glance on theItalian. Riccabocca resumed, as he adjusted the pocket-handkerchief, "Ihave a right to your confidence, my child, for I have been afflictedin my day; yet I too say with thee, 'I have not done wrong. ' Cospetto!"(and here the doctor seated himself deliberately, resting one arm onthe side column of the stocks, in familiar contact with thecaptive's shoulder, while his eye wandered over the lovely scenearound)--"Cospetto! my prison, if they had caught me, would not have hadso fair a look-out as this. But, to be sure, it is all one; there are nougly loves, and no handsome prisons. "

With that sententious maxim, which, indeed, he uttered in his nativeItalian, Riccabocca turned round and renewed his soothing invitations toconfidence. A friend in need is a friend indeed, even if he come inthe guise of a Papist and wizard. All Lenny's ancient dislike to theforeigner had gone, and he told him his little tale. 

Dr. Riccabocca was much too shrewd a man not to see exactly the motiveswhich had induced Mr. Stirn to incarcerate his agent (barring only thatof personal grudge, to which Lenny's account gave him no clew). That aman high in office should make a scapegoat of his own watch-dog for anunlucky snap, or even an indiscreet bark, was nothing strange to thewisdom of the student of Machiavelli. However, he set himself to thetask of consolation with equal philosophy and tenderness. He began byreminding, or rather informing, Leonard Fairfield of all the instancesof illustrious men afflicted by the injustice of others that occurred tohis own excellent memory. He told him how the great Epictetus, when inslavery, had a master whose favourite amusement was pinching his leg, which, as the amusement ended in breaking that limb, was worse than thestocks. He also told him the anecdote of Lenny's own gallant countryman, Admiral Byng, whose execution gave rise to Voltaire's celebratedwitticism, "En Angleterre on tue un admiral pour encourager les autres. "

 ["In England they execute one admiral in order to encourage the others. "]

Many other illustrations, still more pertinent to the case in point, hiserudition supplied from the stores of history. But on seeing thatLenny did not seem in the slightest degree consoled by these memorableexamples, he shifted his ground, and reducing his logic to the strictargumentum ad rem, began to prove, first, that there was no disgraceat all in Lenny's present position, that every equitable personwould recognize the tyranny of Stirn and the innocence of its victim;secondly, that if even here he were mistaken, for public opinion wasnot always righteous, what was public opinion after all?--"A breath, apuff, " cried Dr. Riccabocca, "a thing without matter, --without length, breadth, or substance, --a shadow, a goblin of our own creating. A man'sown conscience is his sole tribunal, and he should care no more for thatphantom 'opinion' than he should fear meeting a ghost if he crossed thechurchyard at dark. "

Now, as Lenny did very much fear meeting a ghost if he crossed thechurchyard at dark, the simile spoiled the argument, and he shook hishead very mournfully. Dr. Riccabocca, was about to enter into a thirdcourse of reasoning, which, had it come to an end, would doubtless havesettled the matter, and reconciled Lenny to sitting in the stocks tilldoomsday, when the captive, with the quick ear and eye of terror andcalamity, became conscious that church was over, that the congregationin a few seconds more would be flocking thitherwards. He saw visionaryhats and bonnets through the trees, which Riccabocca saw not, despiteall the excellence of his spectacles; heard phantasmal rustlings andmurmurings which Riccabocca heard not, despite all that theoreticalexperience in plots, stratagems, and treasons, which should have madethe Italian's ear as fine as a conspirator's or a mole's. And withanother violent but vain effort at escape, the prisoner exclaimed, --

"Oh, if I could but get out before they come! Let me out, let me out!Oh, kind sir, have pity, --let me out!"

"Diavolo!" said the philosopher, startled, "I wonder that I neverthought of that before. After all, I believe he has hit the right nailon the head, " and, looking close, he perceived that though the partitionof wood had hitched firmly into a sort of spring-clasp, which defiedLenny's unaided struggles, still it was not locked (for, indeed, thepadlock and key were snug in the justice-room of the squire, who neverdreamed that his orders would be executed so literally and summarilyas to dispense with all formal appeal to himself). As soon as Dr. Riccabocca made that discovery, it occurred to him that all the wisdomof all the schools that ever existed can't reconcile man or boy to a badposition--the moment there is a fair opportunity of letting him out ofit. Accordingly, without more ado, he lifted up the creaking board, andLenny Fairfield darted forth like a bird from a cage, halted a moment asif for breath, or in joy; and then, taking at once to his heels, fled, as a hare to its form, fast to his mother's home. 

Dr. Riccabocca dropped the yawning wood into its place, picked uphis handkerchief and restored it to his pocket; and then, with somecuriosity, began to examine the nature of that place of duress whichhad caused so much painful emotion to its rescued victim. "Man is avery irrational animal at best, " quoth the sage, soliloquizing, "and isfrightened by strange buggaboos! 'T is but a piece of wood! how littleit really injures! And, after all, the holes are but rests to the legs, and keep the feet out of the dirt. And this green bank to sit upon, under the shade of the elm-tree-verily the position must be morepleasant than otherwise! I've a great mind--" Here the doctor lookedaround, and seeing the coast still clear, the oddest notion imaginabletook possession of him; yet, not indeed a notion so odd, consideredphilosophically, --for all philosophy is based on practicalexperiment, --and Dr. Riccabocca felt an irresistible desire practicallyto experience what manner of thing that punishment of the stocks reallywas. "I can but try! only for a moment, " said he apologetically to hisown expostulating sense of dignity. "I have time to do it, before anyone comes. " He lifted up the partition again: but stocks are builton the true principle of English law, and don't easily allow a man tocriminate himself, --it was hard to get into them without the help ofa friend. However, as we before noticed, obstacles only whetted Dr. Riccabocca's invention. He looked round, and saw a withered bit of stickunder the tree; this he inserted in the division of the stocks, somewhatin the manner in which boys place a stick under a sieve for the purposeof ensnaring sparrows; the fatal wood thus propped, Dr. Riceabocca satgravely down on the bank, and thrust his feet through the apertures. 

"Nothing in it!" cried he, triumphantly, after a moment's deliberation. "The evil is only in idea. Such is the boasted reason of mortals!" Withthat reflection, nevertheless, he was about to withdraw his feet fromtheir voluntary dilemma, when the crazy stick suddenly gave way andthe partition fell back into its clasp. Dr. Riceabocca was fairlycaught, --"Facilis descensus--sed revocare gradum!" True, his hands wereat liberty, but his legs were so long that, being thus fixed, they keptthe hands from the rescue; and as Dr. Riccabocca's form was by no meanssupple, and the twin parts of the wood stuck together with that firmnessof adhesion which things newly painted possess, so, after some vaintwists and contortions, in which he succeeded at length (not without astretch of the sinews that made them crack again) in finding the claspand breaking his nails thereon, the victim of his own rash experimentresigned himself to his fate. Dr. Riceabocca was one of those men whonever do things by halves. When I say he resigned himself, I mean notonly Christian but philosophical resignation. The position was not quiteso pleasant as, theoretically, he had deemed it; but he resolved tomake himself as comfortable as he could. At first, as is natural in alltroubles to men who have grown familiar with that odoriferous comforterwhich Sir Walter Raleigh is said first to have bestowed upon theCaucasian races, the doctor made use of his hands to extract from hispocket his pipe, match-box, and tobacco-pouch. After a few whiffs hewould have been quite reconciled to his situation, but for the discoverythat the sun had shifted its place in the heavens, and was no longershaded from his face by the elm-tree. The doctor again looked round, andperceived that his red silk umbrella, which he had laid aside when hehad seated himself by Lenny, was within arm's reach. Possessing himselfof this treasure, he soon expanded its friendly folds. And thus, doublyfortified within and without, under shade of the umbrella, and hispipe composedly between his lips, Dr. Riceabocca gazed on his ownincarcerated legs, even with complacency. 

"'He who can despise all things, '" said he, in one of his nativeproverbs, "'possesses all things!'--if one despises freedom, one isfree! This seat is as soft as a sofa! I am not sure, " he resumed, soliloquizing, after a pause, --"I am not sure that there is notsomething more witty than manly and philosophical in that nationalproverb of mine which I quoted to the fanciullo, 'that there areno handsome prisons'! Did not the son of that celebrated Frenchman, surnamed Bras de Fer, write a book not only to prove that adversitiesare more necessary than prosperities, but that among all adversities aprison is the most pleasant and profitable? But is not this condition ofmine, voluntarily and experimentally incurred, a type of my life? Isit the first time that I have thrust myself into a hobble? And if in ahobble of mine own choosing, why should I blame the gods?"

Upon this, Dr. Riceabocca fell into a train of musing so remote fromtime and place, that in a few minutes he no more remembered that he wasin the parish stocks than a lover remembers that flesh is grass, a miserthat mammon is perishable, a philosopher that wisdom is vanity. Dr. Riccabocca was in the clouds. 

CHAPTER X. 

The dullest dog that ever wrote a novel (and, entre nous, reader)--butlet it go no further, --we have a good many dogs among the fraternitythat are not Munitos might have seen with half an eye that the parson'sdiscourse had produced a very genial and humanizing effect upon hisaudience. 

 [Munito was the name of a dog famous for his learning (a Porson of a dog) at the date of my childhood. There are no such dogs nowadays. ]

When all was over, and the congregation stood up to let Mr. Hazeldeanand his family walk first down the aisle (for that was the custom atHazeldean), moistened eyes glanced at the squire's sun-burned manlyface, with a kindness that bespoke revived memory of many a generousbenefit and ready service. The head might be wrong now and then, --theheart was in the right place after all. And the lady leaning on his armcame in for a large share of that gracious good feeling. True, she nowand then gave a little offence when the cottages were not so clean asshe fancied they ought to be, --and poor folks don't like a liberty takenwith their houses any more than the rich do; true that she was not quiteso popular with the women as the squire was, for, if the husband wenttoo often to the ale-house, she always laid the fault on the wife, and said, "No man would go out of doors for his comforts, if he hada smiling face and a clean hearth at his home;" whereas the squiremaintained the more gallant opinion that "If Gill was a shrew, it wasbecause Jack did not, as in duty bound, stop her mouth with a kiss!"Still, notwithstanding these more obnoxious notions on her part, and acertain awe inspired by the stiff silk gown and the handsome aquilinenose, it was impossible, especially in the softened tempers ofthat Sunday afternoon, not to associate the honest, comely, beamingcountenance of Mrs. Hazeldean with comfortable recollections of soups, jellies, and wine in sickness, loaves and blankets in winter, cheeringwords and ready visits in every little distress, and pretexts affordedby improvement in the grounds and gardens (improvements which, as thesquire, who preferred productive labour, justly complained, "would neverfinish") for little timely jobs of work to some veteran grandsire, whostill liked to earn a penny, or some ruddy urchin in a family that "cametoo fast. " Nor was Frank, as he walked a little behind, in the whitestof trousers and the stiffest of neckcloths, --with a look of suppressedroguery in his bright hazel eye, that contrasted his assumed statelinessof mien, --without his portion of the silent blessing. Not that he haddone anything yet to deserve it; but we all give youth so large a creditin the future. As for Miss Jemima, her trifling foibles only rose fromtoo soft and feminine a susceptibility, too ivy-like a yearning for somemasculine oak whereon to entwine her tendrils; and so little confined toself was the natural lovingness of her disposition, that she had helpedmany a village lass to find a husband, by the bribe of a marriage giftfrom her own privy purse; notwithstanding the assurances with which sheaccompanied the marriage gift, --namely, that "the bridegroom would turnout like the rest of his ungrateful sex; but that it was a comfort tothink that it would be all one in the approaching crash!" So that shehad her warm partisans, especially amongst the young; while theslim captain, on whose arm she rested her forefinger, was at leasta civil-spoken gentleman, who had never done any harm, and who woulddoubtless do a deal of good if he belonged to the parish. Nay, eventhe fat footman who came last, with the family Prayer-book, had his dueshare in the general association of neighbourly kindness between halland hamlet. Few were there present to whom he had not extended theright-hand of fellowship with a full horn of October in the clasp ofit; and he was a Hazeldean man, too, born and bred, as two-thirds ofthe squire's household (now letting themselves out from their large pewunder the gallery) were. 

On his part, too, you could see that the squire "was moved withal, " anda little humbled moreover. Instead of walking erect, and taking bowand courtesy as a matter of course, and of no meaning, he hung his headsomewhat, and there was a slight blush on his cheek; and as he glancedupward and round him--shyly, as it were--and his eye met those friendlylooks, it returned them with an earnestness that had in it somethingtouching as well as cordial, --an eye that said, as well as eye couldsay, "I don't quite deserve it, I fear, neighbours; but I thank you foryour good-will with my whole heart. " And so readily was that glance ofthe eye understood, that I think, if that scene had taken place out ofdoors instead of in the church, there would have been a hurrah as thesquire passed out of sight. 

Scarcely had Mr. Hazeldean got clear of the churchyard, ere Mr. Stirnwas whispering in his ear. As Stirn whispered, the squire's face grewlong, and his colour rose. The congregation, now flocking out of thechurch, exchanged looks with each other; that ominous conjunctionbetween squire and man chilled back all the effects of the parson'ssermon. The squire struck his cane violently into the ground. "Iwould rather you had told me Black Bess had got the glanders. A younggentleman, coming to visit my son, struck and insulted in Hazeldean;a young gentleman, --'s death, sir, a relation--his grandmother was aHazeldean. I do believe Jemima's right, and the world's coming to anend! But Leonard Fairfield in the stocks! What will the parson say? andafter such a sermon! 'Rich man, respect the poor!' And the good widowtoo; and poor Mark, who almost died in my arms! Stirn, you have a heartof stone! You confounded, lawless, merciless miscreant, who the deucegave you the right to imprison man or boy in my parish of Hazeldeanwithout trial, sentence, or warrant? Run and let the boy out before anyone sees him: run, or I shall--"

The squire elevated the cane, and his eyes shot fire. Mr. Stirn did notrun, but he walked off very fast. The squire drew back a few paces, andagain took his wife's arm. "Just wait a bit for the parson, while I talkto the congregation. I want to stop 'em all, if I can, from going intothe village; but how?"

Frank heard, and replied readily, --"Give 'em some beer, sir. "

"Beer! on a Sunday! For shame, Frank!" cried Mrs. Hazeldean. 

"Hold your tongue, Harry. Thank you, Frank, " said the squire, and hisbrow grew as clear as the blue sky above him. I doubt if Riccaboccacould have got him out of his dilemma with the same ease as Frank haddone. 

"Halt there, my men, --lads and lasses too, --there, halt a bit. Mrs. Fairfield, do you hear?--halt. I think his reverence has given us acapital sermon. Go up to the Great House all of you, and drink a glassto his health. Frank, go with them, and tell Spruce to tap one of thecasks kept for the haymakers. Harry" (this in a whisper), "catch theparson, and tell him to come to me instantly. "

"My dear Hazeldean, what has happened? You are mad. "

"Don't bother; do what I tell you. "

"But where is the parson to find you?"

"Where? gadzooks, Mrs. H. , --at the stocks, to be sure!"

CHAPTER XI. 

Dr. Riccabocca, awakened out of his revery by the sound of footsteps, was still so little sensible of the indignity of his position, that heenjoyed exceedingly, and with all the malice of his natural humour, the astonishment and stupor manifested by Stirn, when that functionarybeheld the extraordinary substitute which fate and philosophy had foundfor Lenny Fairfield. Instead of the weeping, crushed, broken-heartedcaptive whom he had reluctantly come to deliver, he stared speechlessand aghast upon the grotesque but tranquil figure of the doctor enjoyinghis pipe, and cooling himself under his umbrella, with a sangfroidthat was truly appalling and diabolical. Indeed, considering that Stirnalways suspected the Papisher of having had a hand in the whole of thatblack and midnight business, in which the stocks had been broken, bungedup, and consigned to perdition, and that the Papisher had the evilreputation of dabbling in the Black Art, the hocus-pocus way in whichthe Lenny he had incarcerated was transformed into the doctor he found, conjoined with the peculiarly strange eldrich and Mephistopheleanphysiognomy and person of Riccabocca, could not but strike a thrill ofsuperstitious dismay into the breast of the parochial tyrant; whileto his first confused and stammered exclamations and interrogatories, Riccabocca replied with so tragic an air, such ominous shakes of thehead, such mysterious equivocating, long-worded sentences, that Stirnevery moment felt more and more convinced that the boy had sold himselfto the Powers of Darkness, and that he himself, prematurely and in theflesh, stood face to face with the Arch-Enemy. 

Mr. Stirn had not yet recovered his wonted intelligence, which, to dohim justice, was usually prompt enough, when the squire, followed hardby the parson, arrived at the spot. Indeed, Mrs. Hazeldean's report ofthe squire's urgent message, disturbed manner, and most unparalleledinvitation to the parishioners, had given wings to Parson Dale'sordinarily slow and sedate movements. And while the squire, sharingStirn's amazement, beheld indeed a great pair of feet projecting fromthe stocks, and saw behind them the grave face of Dr. Riccabocca underthe majestic shade of the umbrella, but not a vestige of the onlybeing his mind could identify with the tenancy of the stocks, Mr. Dale, catching him by the arm, and panting hard, exclaimed with a petulance hehad never before been known to display, --except at the whist-table, --

"Mr. Hazeldean, Mr. Hazeldean, I am scandalized, --I am shocked at you. I can bear a great deal from you, sir, as I ought to do; but to ask mywhole congregation, the moment after divine service, to go up and guzzleale at the Hall, and drink my health, as if a clergyman's sermon hadbeen a speech at a cattle-fair! I am ashamed of you, and of the parish!What on earth has come to you all?"

"That's the very question I wish to Heaven I could answer, " groaned thesquire, quite mildly and pathetically, --"What on earth has come to usall? Ask Stirn:" (then bursting out) "Stirn, you infernal rascal, don'tyou hear? What on earth has come to us all?"

"The Papisher is at the bottom of it, sir, " said Stirn, provoked out ofall temper. "I does my duty, but I is but a mortal man, arter all. "

"A mortal fiddlestick! Where's Leonard Fairfield, I say?"

"Him knows best, " answered Stirn, retreating mechanically for safety'ssake behind the parson, and pointing to Dr. Riccabocca. Hitherto, thoughboth the squire and parson had indeed recognized the Italian, they hadmerely supposed him to be seated on the bank. It never entered intotheir heads that so respectable and dignified a man could by anypossibility be an inmate, compelled or voluntary, of the parish stocks. No, not even though, as I before said, the squire had seen, just underhis nose, a very long pair of soles inserted in the apertures, thatsight had only confused and bewildered him, unaccompanied, as it oughtto have been, with the trunk and face of Lenny Fairfield. Those solesseemed to him optical delusions, phantoms of the overheated brain; butnow, catching hold of Stirn, while the parson in equal astonishmentcaught hold of him, the squire faltered out, "Well, this beatscock-fighting! The man's as mad as a March hare, and has taken Dr. Rickeybockey for Little Lenny!"

"Perhaps, " said the doctor, breaking silence with a bland smile, andattempting an inclination of the head as courteous as his position wouldpermit, --"perhaps, if it be quite the same to you, before you proceed toexplanations, you will just help me out of the stocks. "

The parson, despite his perplexity and anger, could not repress a smile, as he approached his learned friend, and bent down for the purpose ofextricating him. 

"Lord love your reverence, you'd better not!" cried Mr. Stirn. "Don't betempted, --he only wants to get you into is claws. I would not go a nearhim for all the--"

The speech was interrupted by Dr. Riccabocca himself, who now, thanks tothe parson, had risen into his full height, and half a head taller thanall present--even than the tall squire--approached Mr. Stirn, witha gracious wave of the hand. Mr. Stirn retreated rapidly towards thehedge, amidst the brambles of which he plunged himself incontinently. 

"I guess whom you take me for, Mr. Stirn, " said the Italian, lifting hishat with his characteristic politeness. "It is certainly a great honour;but you will know better one of these days, when the gentleman inquestion admits you to a personal interview in another--and a hotterworld. "

CHAPTER XII. 

"But how on earth did you get into my new stocks?" asked the squire, scratching his head. 

"My dear sir, Pliny the elder got into the crater of Mount Etna. "

"Did he, and what for?"

"To try what it was like, I suppose, " answered Riccabocca. The squireburst out a laughing. 

"And so you got into the stocks to try what it was like. Well, I can'twonder, --it is a very handsome pair of stocks, " continued the squire, with a loving look at the object of his praise. "Nobody need be ashamedof being seen in those stocks, --I'should not mind it myself. "

"We had better move on, " said the parson, dryly, "or we shall have thewhole village here presently, gazing on the lord of the manor in thesame predicament as that from which we have just extricated the doctor. Now, pray, what is the matter with Lenny Fairfield? I can't understand aword of what has passed. You don't mean to say that good Lenny Fairfield(who was absent from church, by the by) can have done anything to getinto disgrace?"

"Yes, he has though, " cried the squire. "Stirn, I say, Stirn!" But Stirnhad forced his way through the hedge and vanished. Thus left to his ownpowers of narrative at secondhand, Mr. Hazeldean now told all he had tocommunicate, --the assault upon Randal Leslie, and the prompt punishmentinflicted by Stirn; his own indignation at the affront to his youngkinsman, and his good-natured merciful desire to save the culprit frompublic humiliation. 

The parson, mollified towards the rude and hasty invention of thebeer-drinking, took the squire by the hand. "Ah, Mr. Hazeldean, forgiveme, " he said repentantly; "I ought to have known at once that it wasonly some ebullition of your heart that could stifle your sense ofdecorum. But this is a sad story about Lenny brawling and fighting onthe Sabbath-day. So unlike him, too. I don't know what to make of it. "

"Like or unlike, " said the squire, "it has been a gross insult to youngLeslie, and looks all the worse because I and Audley are not just thebest friends in the world. I can't think what it is, " continued Mr. Hazeldean, musingly; "but it seems that there must be always someassociation of fighting connected with that prim half-brother of mine. There was I, son of his own mother, --who might have been shot throughthe lungs, only the ball lodged in the shoulder! and now his wife'skinsman--my kinsman, too--grandmother a Hazeldean, --a hard-reading, sober lad, as I am given to understand, can't set his foot into thequietest parish in the three kingdoms, but what the mildest boy thatever was seen makes a rush at him like a mad bull. It is FATALITY!"cried the squire, solemnly. 

"Ancient legend records similar instances of fatality in certainhouses, " observed Riccabocca. "There was the House of Pelops, andPolynices and Eteocles, the sons of OEdipus. "

"Pshaw!" said the parson; "but what's to be done?"

"Done?" said the squire; "why, reparation must be made to youngLeslie. And though I wished to spare Lenny, the young ruffian, a publicdisgrace--for your sake, Parson Dale, and Mrs. Fairfield's--yet a goodcaning in private--"

"Stop, sir!" said Riccabocca, mildly, "and hear me. " The Italian then, with much feeling and considerable tact, pleaded the cause of his poorprotege, and explained how Lenny's error arose only from mistaken zealfor the squire's service, and in the execution of the orders receivedfrom Mr. Stirn. 

"That alters the matter, " said the squire, softened; "and all that isnecessary now will be for him to make a proper apology to my kinsman. "

"Yes, that is just, " rejoined the parson; "but I still don't learn howhe got out of the stocks. "

Riccabocca then resumed his tale; and, after confessing his ownprincipal share in Lenny's escape, drew a moving picture of the boy'sshame and honest mortification. "Let us march against Philip!" cried theAthenians when they heard Demosthenes--

"Let us go at once and comfort the child!" cried the parson, beforeRiccabocca could finish. 

With that benevolent intention all three quickened their pace, and soonarrived at the widow's cottage. But Lenny had caught sight of theirapproach through the window; and not doubting that, in spite ofRiccabocca's intercession, the parson was come to upbraid and the squireto re-imprison, he darted out by the back way, got amongst the woods, and lay there perdu all the evening. Nay, it was not till after darkthat his mother--who sat wringing her hands in the little kitchen, andtrying in vain to listen to the parson and Mrs. Dale, who (after sendingin search of the fugitive) had kindly come to console the mother--hearda timid knock at the door and a nervous fumble at the latch. She startedup, opened the door, and Lenny sprang to her bosom, and there buried hisface, sobbing aloud. 

"No harm, my boy, " said the parson, tenderly; "you have nothing tofear, --all is explained and forgiven. "

Lenny looked up, and the veins on his forehead were much swollen. "Sir, "said he, sturdily, "I don't want to be forgiven, --I ain't done no wrong. And--I've been disgraced--and I won't go to school, never no more. "

"Hush, Carry!" said the parson to his wife, who with the usualliveliness of her little temper, was about to expostulate. "Good-night, Mrs. Fairfield. I shall come and talk to you to-morrow, Lenny; by thattime you will think better of it. "

The parson then conducted his wife home, and went up to the Hall toreport Lenny's safe return; for the squire was very uneasy about him, and had even in person shared the search. As soon as he heard Lennywas safe--"Well, " said the squire, "let him go the first thing in themorning to Rood Hall, to ask Master Leslie's pardon, and all will beright and smooth again. "

"A young villain!" cried Frank, with his cheeks the colour of scarlet;"to strike a gentleman and an Etonian, who had just been to call on me!But I wonder Randal let him off so well, --any other boy in the sixthform would have killed him!"

"Frank, " said the parson, sternly, "if we all had our deserts, whatshould be done to him who not only lets the sun go down on his ownwrath, but strives with uncharitable breath to fan the dying embers ofanother's?"

The clergyman here turned away from Frank, who bit his lip, and seemedabashed, while even his mother said not a word in his exculpation; forwhen the parson did reprove in that stern tone, the majesty of theHall stood awed before the rebuke of the Church. Catching Riccabocca'sinquisitive eye, Mr. Dale drew aside the philosopher, and whispered tohim his fears that it would be a very hard matter to induce Lenny to begRandal Leslie's pardon, and that the proud stomach of the pattern-boywould not digest the stocks with as much ease as a long regimen ofphilosophy had enabled the sage to do. This conference Miss Jemima sooninterrupted by a direct appeal to the doctor respecting the number ofyears (even without any previous and more violent incident) that theworld could possibly withstand its own wear and tear. 

"Ma'am, " said the doctor, reluctantly summoned away to look at a passagein some prophetic periodical upon that interesting subject, --"ma'am, it is very hard that you should make one remember the end of the world, since, in conversing with you, one's natural temptation is to forget itsexistence. "

Miss Jemima's cheeks were suffused with a deeper scarlet than Frank'shad been a few minutes before. Certainly that deceitful, heartlesscompliment justified all her contempt for the male sex; and yet--such ishuman blindness--it went far to redeem all mankind in her credulous andtoo confiding soul. 

"He is about to propose, " sighed Miss Jemima. 

"Giacomo, " said Riccabocca, as he drew on his nightcap, and steppedmajestically into the four-posted bed, "I think we shall get that boyfor the garden now!"

Thus each spurred his hobby, or drove her car, round the Hazeldeanwhirligig. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Whatever, may be the ultimate success of Miss Jemima Hazeldean's designsupon Dr. Riccabocca, the Machiavellian sagacity with which the Italianhad counted upon securing the services of Lenny Fairfield was speedilyand triumphantly established by the result. No voice of the parson's, charmed he ever so wisely, could persuade the peasant-boy to go and askpardon of the young gentleman, to whom, because he had done as he wasbid, he owed an agonizing defeat and a shameful incarceration; and, to Mrs. Dale's vexation, the widow took the boy's part. She was deeplyoffended at the unjust disgrace Lenny had undergone in being put in thestocks; she shared his pride, and openly approved his spirit. Nor wasit without great difficulty that Lenny could be induced to resume hislessons at school, --nay, even to set foot beyond the precincts of hismother's holding. The point of the school at last he yielded, thoughsullenly; and the parson thought it better to temporize as to the moreunpalatable demand. Unluckily, Lenny's apprehensions of the mockery thatawaited him in the merciless world of his village were realized. ThoughStirn at first kept his own counsel the tinker blabbed the whole affair. And after the search instituted for Lenny on the fatal night, allattempt to hush up what had passed would have been impossible. So thenStirn told his story, as the tinker had told his own; both tales werevery unfavourable to Leonard Fairfield. The pattern-boy had broken theSabbath, fought with his betters, and been well mauled into the bargain;the village lad had sided with Stirn and the authorities in spying outthe misdemeanours of his equals therefore Leonard Fairfield, in bothcapacities of degraded pattern-boy and baffled spy, could expect nomercy, --he was ridiculed in the one, and hated in the other. 

It is true that, in the presence of the schoolmaster and under the eyeof Mr. Dale, no one openly gave vent to malignant feelings; but themoment those checks were removed, popular persecution began. 

Some pointed and mowed at him, some cursed him for a sneak, and allshunned his society; voices were heard in the hedgerows, as he passedthrough the village at dusk, "Who was put into the stocks?--baa!" "Whogot a bloody nob for playing spy to Nick Stirn?--baa!" To resist thisspecies of aggression would have been a vain attempt for a wiser headand a colder temper than our poor pattern-boy's. He took his resolutionat once, and his mother approved it; and the second or third day afterDr. Riccabocca's return to the Casino, Lenny Fairfield presented himselfon the terrace with a little bundle in his hand. "Please, sir, " said heto the doctor, who was sitting cross-legged on the balustrade, with hisred silk umbrella over his head, --"please, sir, if you'll be good enoughto take me now, and give me any hole to sleep in, I'll work foryour honour night and day; and as for wages, Mother says, 'just suityourself, sir. '"

"My child, " said the doctor, taking Lenny by the hand, and looking athim with the sagacious eye of a wizard, "I knew you would come! andGiacomo is already prepared for you! As to wages, we'll talk of them byand by. "

Lenny being thus settled, his mother looked for some evenings on thevacant chair, where he had so long sat in the place of her belovedMark; and the chair seemed so comfortless and desolate, thus left all toitself, that she could bear it no longer. 

Indeed the village had grown as distasteful to her as to Lenny, --perhapsmore so; and one morning she hailed the steward as he was trotting hishog-maued cob beside the door, and bade him tell the squire that "shewould take it very kind if he would let her off the six months' noticefor the land and premises she held; there were plenty to step into theplace at a much better rent. "

"You're a fool, " said the good-natured steward; "and I'm very glad youdid not speak to that fellow Stirn instead of to me. You've been doingextremely well here, and have the place, I may say, for nothing. "

"Nothin' as to rent, sir, but a great deal as to feelin', " said thewidow. "And now Lenny has gone to work with the foreign gentleman, Ishould like to go and live near him. "

"Ah, yes, I heard Lenny had taken himself off to the Casino, more foolhe; but, bless your heart, 't is no distance, --two miles or so. Can't hecome home every night after work?"

"No, sir, " exclaimed the widow, almost fiercely; "he sha'n't come homehere, to be called bad names and jeered at!--he whom my dead good manwas so fond and proud of. No, sir; we poor folks have our feelings, asI said to Mrs. Dale, and as I will say to the squire hisself. Not thatI don't thank him for all favours, --he be a good gentleman if let alone;but he says he won't come near us till Lenny goes and axes pardin. Pardin for what, I should like to know? Poor lamb! I wish you could ha'seen his nose, sir, --as big as your two fists. Ax pardin! if the squirehad had such a nose as that, I don't think it's pardin he'd been ha'axing. But I let the passion get the better of me, --I humbly beg you'llexcuse it, sir. I'm no schollard, as poor Mark was, and Lenny would havebeen, if the Lord had not visited us otherways. Therefore just get thesquire to let me go as soon as may be; and as for the bit o' hay andwhat's on the grounds and orchard, the new comer will no doubt settlethat. "

The steward, finding no eloquence of his could induce the widowto relinquish her resolution, took her message to the squire. Mr. Hazeldean, who was indeed really offended at the boy's obstinate refusalto make the amende honorable to Randal Leslie, at first only bestowed ahearty curse or two on the pride and ingratitude both of mother and son. It may be supposed, however, that his second thoughts were more gentle, since that evening, though he did not go himself to the widow, he senthis "Harry. " Now, though Harry was sometimes austere and brusqueenough on her own account, and in such business as might especially betransacted between herself and the cottagers, yet she never appeared asthe delegate of her lord except in the capacity of a herald of peace andmediating angel. It was with good heart, too, that she undertookthis mission, since, as we have seen, both mother and son were greatfavourites of hers. She entered the cottage with the friendliest beamin her bright blue eye, and it was with the softest tone of herfrank cordial voice that she accosted the widow. But she was no moresuccessful than the steward had been. The truth is, that I don't believethe haughtiest duke in the three kingdoms is really so proud as yourplain English rural peasant, nor half so hard to propitiate and dealwith when his sense of dignity is ruffled. Nor are there many of my ownliterary brethren (thin-skinned creatures though we are) so sensitivelyalive to the Public Opinion, wisely despised by Dr. Riccabocca, as thatsame peasant. He can endure a good deal of contumely sometimes, it istrue, from his superiors (though, thank Heaven! that he rarely meetswith unjustly); but to be looked down upon and mocked and pointed at byhis own equals--his own little world--cuts him to the soul. And if youcan succeed in breaking this pride and destroying this sensitiveness, then he is a lost being. He can never recover his self-esteem, andyou have chucked him half-way--a stolid, inert, sullen victim--to theperdition of the prison or the convict-ship. 

Of this stuff was the nature both of the widow and her son. Had thehoney of Plato flowed from the tongue of Mrs. Hazeldean, it could nothave turned into sweetness the bitter spirit upon which it descended. But Mrs. Hazeldean, though an excellent woman, was rather a bluff, plain-spoken one; and after all she had some little feeling for the sonof a gentleman, and a decayed, fallen gentleman, who, even by Lenny'saccount, had been assailed without any intelligible provocation; norcould she, with her strong common-sense, attach all the importance whichMrs. Fairfield did to the unmannerly impertinence of a few young cubs, which she said truly, "would soon die away if no notice was taken ofit. " The widow's mind was made up, and Mrs. Hazeldean departed, --withmuch chagrin and some displeasure. 

Mrs. Fairfield, however, tacitly understood that the request she hadmade was granted, and early one morning her door was found locked, thekey left at a neighbour's to be given to the steward; and, on furtherinquiry, it was ascertained that her furniture and effects had beenremoved by the errand cart in the dead of the night. Lenny had succeededin finding a cottage on the road-side, not far from the Casino; andthere, with a joyous face, he waited to welcome his mother to breakfast, and show how he had spent the night in arranging her furniture. 

"Parson!" cried the squire, when all this news came upon him, as he waswalking arm in arm with Mr. Dale to inspect some proposed improvement inthe Almshouse, "this is all your fault. Why did you not go and talk tothat brute of a boy and that dolt of a woman? You've got 'soft sawderenough, ' as Frank calls it in his new-fashioned slang. "

"As if I had not talked myself hoarse to both!" said the parson, in atone of reproachful surprise at the accusation. "But it was in vain!O Squire, if you had taken my advice about the stocks, --'quieta nonmovere'!"

"Bother!" said the squire. "I suppose I am to be held up as a tyrant, a Nero, a Richard the Third, or a Grand Inquisitor, merely for havingthings smart and tidy! Stocks indeed! Your friend Rickeybockey said hewas never more comfortable in his life, --quite enjoyed sitting there. And what did not hurt Rickeybockey's dignity (a very gentlemanlikeman he is, when he pleases) ought to be no such great matter to MasterLeonard Fairfield. But 't is no use talking! What's to be done now? Thewoman must not starve; and I'm sure she can't live out of Rickeybockey'swages to Lenny, --by the way, I hope he don't board the boy upon hisand Jackeymo's leavings: I hear they dine upon newts and sticklebacks, faugh! I'll tell you what, Parson, now I think of it, at the back of thecottage which she has taken there are some fields of capital land justvacant. Rickeybockey wants to have 'em, and sounded me as to the rentwhen he was at the Hall. I only half promised him the refusal. And hemust give up four or five acres of the best land round the cottage tothe widow--just enough for her to manage--and she can keep a dairy. If she want capital, I'll lend her some in your name, --only don't tellStirn; and as for the rent--we'll talk of that when we see how she getson, thankless, obstinate jade that she is! You see, " added the squire, as if he felt there was some apology due for this generosity to anobject whom he professed to consider so ungrateful, "her husband was afaithful servant, and so--I wish you would not stand there staring meout of countenance, but go down to the woman at once, or Stirn willhave let the land to Rickeybockey, as sure as a gun. And hark ye, Dale, perhaps you can contrive, if the woman is so cursedly stiffbacked, notto say the land is mine, or that it is any favour I want to do her--or, in short, manage it as you can for the best. " Still even this charitablemessage failed. The widow knew that the land was the squire's, and wortha good L3 an acre. "She thanked him humbly for that and all favours; butshe could not afford to buy cows, and she did not wish to be beholdento any one for her living. And Lenny was well off at Mr. Rickeybockey's, and coming on wonderfully in the garden way, and she did not doubt shecould get some washing; at all events, her haystack would bring in agood bit of money, and she should do nicely, thank their honours. "

Nothing further could be done in the direct way, but the remark aboutthe washing suggested some mode of indirectly benefiting the widow;and a little time afterwards, the sole laundress in that immediateneighbourhood happening to die, a hint from the squire obtained fromthe landlady of the inn opposite the Casino such custom as she had tobestow, which at times was not inconsiderable. And what with Lenny'swages (whatever that mysterious item might be), the mother and soncontrived to live without exhibiting any of those physical signs of fastand abstinence which Riccabocca and his valet gratuitously afforded tothe student in animal anatomy. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Of all the wares and commodities in exchange and barter, wherein somainly consists the civilization of our modern world, there is not onewhich is so carefully weighed, so accurately measured, so plumbed andgauged, so doled and scraped, so poured out in minima and balanced withscruples, --as that necessary of social commerce called "an apology"! Ifthe chemists were half so careful in vending their poisons, there wouldbe a notable diminution in the yearly average of victims to arsenic andoxalic acid. But, alas! in the matter of apology, it is not from theexcess of the dose, but the timid, niggardly, miserly manner in whichit is dispensed, that poor Humanity is hurried off to the Styx! How manytimes does a life depend on the exact proportions of an apology! Is ita hairbreadth too short to cover the scratch for which you want it? Makeyour will, --you are a dead man! A life do I say?--a hecatomb of lives!How many wars would have been prevented, how many thrones would bestanding, dynasties flourishing, commonwealths brawling round a bema, or fitting out galleys for corn and cotton, if an inch or two moreof apology had been added to the proffered ell! But then that plaguy, jealous, suspicious, old vinegar-faced Honour, and her partner Pride--aspenny-wise and pound-foolish a she-skinflint as herself--have themonopoly of the article. And what with the time they lose in adjustingtheir spectacles, hunting in the precise shelf for the precise qualitydemanded, then (quality found) the haggling as to quantum, --consideringwhether it should be Apothecary's weight or Avoirdupois, or Englishmeasure or Flemish, --and, finally, the hullabuloo they make if thecustomer is not perfectly satisfied with the monstrous little he getsfor his money, I don't wonder, for my part, how one loses temperand patience, and sends Pride, Honour, and Apology all to the devil. Aristophanes, in his comedy of "Peace, " insinuates a beautiful allegoryby only suffering that goddess, though in fact she is his heroine, toappear as a mute. She takes care never to open her lips. The shrewdGreek knew very well that she would cease to be Peace, if she once beganto chatter. Wherefore, O reader, if ever you find your pump under theiron heel of another man's boot, Heaven grant that you may hold yourtongue, and not make things past all endurance and forgiveness bybawling out for an apology!

CHAPTER XV. 

But the squire and his son, Frank, were large-hearted generous creaturesin the article of apology, as in all things less skimpingly dealt out. And seeing that Leonard Fairfield would offer no plaster to RandalLeslie, they made amends for his stinginess by their own prodigality. The squire accompanied his son to Rood Hall, and none of the familychoosing to be at home, the squire in his own hand, and from his ownhead, indited and composed an epistle which might have satisfied all thewounds which the dignity of the Leslies had ever received. 

This letter of apology ended with a hearty request that Randal wouldcome and spend a few days with his son. Frank's epistle was to the samepurport, only more Etonian and less legible. 

It was some days before Randal's replies to these epistles werereceived. The replies bore the address of a village near London; andstated that the writer was now reading with a tutor preparatory toentrance to Oxford, and could not, therefore, accept the invitationextended to him. 

For the rest, Randal expressed himself with good sense, though not withmuch generosity. He excused his participation in the vulgarity of such aconflict by a bitter, but short allusion to the obstinacy and ignoranceof the village boor; and did not do what you, my kind reader, certainlywould have done under similar circumstances, --namely, intercede inbehalf of a brave and unfortunate antagonist. Most of us like a foebetter after we have fought him, --that is, if we are the conqueringparty; this was not the case with Randal Leslie. There, so far as theEtonian was concerned, the matter rested. And the squire, irritated thathe could not repair whatever wrong that young gentleman had sustained, no longer felt a pang of regret as he passed by Mrs. Fairfield'sdeserted cottage. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Lenny Fairfield continued to give great satisfaction to his newemployers, and to profit in many respects by the familiar kindness withwhich he was treated. Riccabocca, who valued himself on penetrating intocharacter, had from the first seen that much stuff of no common qualityand texture was to be found in the disposition and mind of the Englishvillage boy. On further acquaintance, he perceived that, under a child'sinnocent simplicity, there were the workings of an acuteness thatrequired but development and direction. He ascertained that thepattern-boy's progress at the village school proceeded from somethingmore than mechanical docility and readiness of comprehension. Lenny hada keen thirst for knowledge, and through all the disadvantages of birthand circumstance, there were the indications of that natural geniuswhich converts disadvantages themselves into stimulants. Still, withthe germs of good qualities lay the embryos of those which, difficult toseparate, and hard to destroy, often mar the produce of the soil. Witha remarkable and generous pride in self-repute, there was somestubbornness; with great sensibility to kindness, there was also strongreluctance to forgive affront. 

This mixed nature in an uncultivated peasant's breast interestedRiccabocca, who, though long secluded from the commerce of mankind, still looked upon man as the most various and entertaining volume whichphilosophical research can explore. He soon accustomed the boy to thetone of a conversation generally subtle and suggestive; and Lenny'slanguage and ideas became insensibly less rustic and more refined. Then Riccabocca selected from his library, small as it was, books that, though elementary, were of a higher cast than Lenny could have foundwithin his reach at Hazeldean. Riccabocca knew the English languagewell, --better in grammar, construction, and genius than many a notill-educated Englishman; for he had studied it with the minuteness withwhich a scholar studies a dead language, and amidst his collection hehad many of the books which had formerly served him for that purpose. These were the first works he lent to Lenny. Meanwhile Jackeymo impartedto the boy many secrets in practical gardening and minute husbandry, for at that day farming in England (some favoured counties andestates excepted) was far below the nicety to which the art has beenimmemorially carried in the north of Italy, --where, indeed, you maytravel for miles and miles as through a series of market-gardens; sothat, all these things considered, Leonard Fairfield might be said tohave made a change for the better. Yet, in truth, and looking below thesurface, that might be fair matter of doubt. For the same reason whichhad induced the boy to fly his native village, he no longer repaired tothe church of Hazeldean. The old intimate intercourse between him andthe parson became necessarily suspended, or bounded to an occasionalkindly visit from the latter, --visits which grew more rare and lessfamiliar, as he found his former pupil in no want of his services, andwholly deaf to his mild entreaties to forget and forgive the past, andcome at least to his old seat in the parish church. Lenny still went tochurch, --a church a long way off in another parish, --but the sermons didnot do him the same good as Parson Dale's had done; and the clergyman, who had his own flock to attend to, did not condescend, as Parson Dalewould have done, to explain what seemed obscure, and enforce what wasprofitable, in private talk, with that stray lamb from another's fold. 

Now I question much if all Dr. Riccabocca's maxims, though they wereoften very moral and generally very wise, served to expand the peasantboy's native good qualities, and correct his bad, half so well as thefew simple words, not at all indebted to Machiavelli, which Leonard hadonce reverently listened to when he stood by Mark's elbow-chair, yieldedup for the moment to the good parson, worthy to sit in it; for Mr. Dalehad a heart in which all the fatherless of the parish found their place. Nor was this loss of tender, intimate, spiritual lore so counterbalancedby the greater facilities for purely intellectual instruction as modernenlightenment might presume. For, without disputing the advantage ofknowledge in a general way, knowledge, in itself, is not friendlyto content. Its tendency, of course, is to increase the desires, todissatisfy us with what is, in order to urge progress to what may be;and in that progress, what unnoticed martyrs among the many must fallbaffled and crushed by the way! To how large a number will be givendesires they will never realize, dissatisfaction of the lot from whichthey will never rise! Allons! one is viewing the dark side of thequestion. It is all the fault of that confounded Riccabocca, who hasalready caused Lenny Fairfield to lean gloomily on his spade, and, afterlooking round and seeing no one near him, groan out querulously, --"Andam I born to dig a potato ground?"

Pardieu, my friend Lenny, if you live to be seventy, and ride in yourcarriage, and by the help of a dinner-pill digest a spoonful of curry, you may sigh to think what a relish there was in potatoes, roasted inashes after you had digged them out of that ground with your own stoutyoung hands. Dig on, Lenny Fairfield, dig on! Dr. Riccabocca willtell you that there was once an illustrious personage--[The EmperorDiocletian]--who made experience of two very different occupations, --onewas ruling men, the other was planting cabbages; he thought plantingcabbages much the pleasanter of the two!

CHAPTER XVIL

Dr. Riccabocca had secured Lenny Fairfield, and might thereforebe considered to have ridden his hobby in the great whirligig withadroitness and success. But Miss Jemima was still driving round in hercar, handling the reins, and flourishing the whip, without apparentlyhaving got an inch nearer to the flying form of Dr. Riccabocca. 

Indeed, that excellent and only too susceptible spinster, with all herexperience of the villany of man, had never conceived the wretch to beso thoroughly beyond the reach of redemption as when Dr. Riccabocca tookhis leave, and once more interred himself amidst the solitudes of theCasino, and without having made any formal renunciation of his criminalcelibacy. For some days she shut herself up in her own chamber, andbrooded with more than her usual gloomy satisfaction on the certaintyof the approaching crash. Indeed, many signs of that universal calamity, which, while the visit of Riccabocca lasted, she had permitted herselfto consider ambiguous, now became luminously apparent. Even thenewspaper, which during that credulous and happy period had given half acolumn to Births and Marriages, now bore an ominously long catalogue ofDeaths; so that it seemed as if the whole population had lost heart, andhad no chance of repairing its daily losses. The leading article spoke, with the obscurity of a Pythian, of an impending CRISIS. Monstrousturnips sprouted out from the paragraphs devoted to General News. Cowsbore calves with two heads, whales were stranded in the Humber, showersof frogs descended in the High Street of Cheltenham. 

All these symptoms of the world's decrepitude and consummation, which bythe side of the fascinating Riccabocca might admit of some doubt as totheir origin and cause, now, conjoined with the worst of all, namely, the frightfully progressive wickedness of man, --left to Miss Jemimano ray of hope save that afforded by the reflection that she couldcontemplate the wreck of matter without a single sentiment of regret. 

Mrs. Dale, however, by no means shared the despondency of her fairfriend, and having gained access to Miss Jemima's chamber, succeeded, though not without difficulty, in her kindly attempts to cheer thedrooping spirits of that female misanthropist. Nor, in her benevolentdesire to speed the car of Miss Jemima to its hymeneal goal, was Mrs. Dale so cruel towards her male friend, Dr. Riccabocca, as she seemed toher husband. For Mrs. Dale was a woman of shrewdness and penetration, asmost quick-tempered women are; and she knew that Miss Jemima was oneof those excellent young ladies who are likely to value a husband inproportion to the difficulty of obtaining him. In fact, my readers ofboth sexes must often have met, in the course of their experience, withthat peculiar sort of feminine disposition, which requires the warmth ofthe conjugal hearth to develop all its native good qualities; nor isit to be blamed overmuch if, innocently aware of this tendency inits nature, it turns towards what is best fitted for its growth andimprovement, by laws akin to those which make the sunflower turn tothe sun, or the willow to the stream. Ladies of this disposition, permanently thwarted in their affectionate bias, gradually languishaway into intellectual inanition, or sprout out into those abnormaleccentricities which are classed under the general name of "oddity" or"character. " But once admitted to their proper soil, it is astonishingwhat healthful improvement takes place, --how the poor heart, beforestarved and stinted of nourishment, throws out its suckers, and burstsinto bloom and fruit. And thus many a belle from whom the beaux havestood aloof, only because the puppies think she could be had for theasking, they see afterwards settled down into true wife and fond mother, with amaze at their former disparagement, and a sigh at their blindhardness of heart. 

In all probability Mrs. Dale took this view of the subject; andcertainly, in addition to all the hitherto dormant virtues which wouldbe awakened in Miss Jemima when fairly Mrs. Riccabocca, she countedsomewhat upon the mere worldly advantage which such a match would bestowupon the exile. So respectable a connection with one of the oldest, wealthiest, and most popular families in the shire would in itself givehim a position not to be despised by a poor stranger in the land; andthough the interest of Miss Jemima's dowry might not be much, regardedin the light of English pounds (not Milanese lire), still it wouldsuffice to prevent that gradual process of dematerialization which thelengthened diet upon minnows and sticklebacks had already made apparentin the fine and slow-evanishing form of the philosopher. 

Like all persons convinced of the expediency of a thing, Mrs. Dale sawnothing wanting but opportunities to insure its success. And that thesemight be forthcoming she not only renewed with greater frequency, andmore urgent instance than ever, her friendly invitations to Riccaboccato drink tea and spend the evening, but she so artfully chafed thesquire on his sore point of hospitality, that the doctor received weeklya pressing solicitation to dine and sleep at the Hall. 

At first the Italian pished and grunted, and said Cospetto, andPer Bacco, and Diavolo, and tried to creep out of so much profferedcourtesy. But like all single gentlemen, he was a little under thetyrannical influence of his faithful servant; and Jackeymo, though hecould bear starving as well as his master when necessary, still, whenhe had the option, preferred roast beef and plum-pudding. Moreover, thatvain and incautious confidence of Riccabocca touching the vast sum athis command, and with no heavier drawback than that of so amiable alady as Miss Jemima--who had already shown him (Jackeymo) many littledelicate attentions--had greatly whetted the cupidity which was inthe servant's Italian nature, --a cupidity the more keen because, longdebarred its legitimate exercise on his own mercenary interests, hecarried it all to the account of his master's!

Thus tempted by his enemy and betrayed by his servant, the unfortunateRiccabocca fell, though with eyes not unblinded, into the hospitablesnares extended for the destruction of his--celibacy! He went oftento the Parsonage, often to the Hall, and by degrees the sweets ofthe social domestic life, long denied him, began to exercise theirenervating charm upon the stoicism of our poor exile. Frank had nowreturned to Eton. An unexpected invitation had carried off CaptainHigginbotham to pass a few weeks at Bath with a distant relation, whohad lately returned from India, and who, as rich as Creesus, feltso estranged and solitary in his native isle that, when the captain"claimed kindred there, " to his own amaze "he had his claims allowed;"while a very protracted sitting of parliament still delayed in Londonthe squire's habitual visitors during the later summer; so that--achasm thus made in his society--Mr. Hazeldean welcomed with no hollowcordiality the diversion or distraction he found in the foreigner'scompanionship. Thus, with pleasure to all parties, and strong hopes tothe two female conspirators, the intimacy between the Casino and Hallrapidly thickened; but still not a word resembling a distinct proposaldid Dr. Riccabocca breathe. And still, if such an idea obtruded itselfon his mind, it was chased therefrom with so determined a Diavolo thatperhaps, if not the end of the world, at least the end of Miss Jemima'stenure in it, might have approached and seen her still Miss Jemima, butfor a certain letter with a foreign postmark that reached the doctor oneTuesday morning. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

The servant saw that something had gone wrong, and, under pretence ofsyringing the orange-trees, he lingered near his master, and peeredthrough the sunny leaves upon Riccabocca's melancholy brows. 

The doctor sighed heavily. Nor did he, as was his wont after some suchsigh, mechanically take up that dear comforter the pipe. But thoughthe tobacco-pouch lay by his side on the balustrade, and the pipe stoodagainst the wall between his knees, childlike lifting up its lips to thecustomary caress, he heeded neither the one nor the other, but laid theletter silently on his lap, and fixed his eyes upon the ground. 

"It must be bad news indeed!" thought Jackeymo, and desisted from hiswork. Approaching his master, he took up the pipe and the tobacco-pouch, and filled the bowl slowly, glancing all the while towards that darkmusing face on which, when abandoned by the expression of intellectualvivacity or the exquisite smile of Italian courtesy, the deep downwardlines revealed the characters of sorrow. Jackeymo did not venture tospeak; but the continued silence of his master disturbed him much. Helaid that peculiar tinder which your smokers use upon the steel, andstruck the spark, --still not a word, nor did Riccabocca stretch forthhis hand. 

"I never knew him in this taking before, " thought Jackeymo; anddelicately he insinuated the neck of the pipe into the nerveless fingersof the band that lay supine on those quiet knees. The pipe fell to theground. 

Jackeymo crossed himself, and began praying to his sainted namesake withgreat fervour. 

The doctor rose slowly, and as if with effort; he walked once or twiceto and fro the terrace; and then he halted abruptly and said, --

"Friend!"

"Blessed Monsignore San Giacomo, I knew thou wouldst hear me!" criedthe servant; and he raised his master's hand to his lips, then abruptlyturned away and wiped his eyes. 

"Friend, " repeated Riccabocca, and this time with a tremulous emphasis, and in the softest tone of a voice never wholly without the music of thesweet South, "I would talk to thee of my child. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

"The letter, then, relates to the signorina. She is well?"

"Yes, she is well now. She is in our native Italy. " Jackeymo raisedhis eyes involuntarily towards the orange-trees, and the morning breezeswept by and bore to him the odour of their blossoms. 

"Those are sweet even here, with care, " said he, pointing to the trees. "I think I have said that before to the padrone. "

But Riccabocca was now looking again at the letter, and did not noticeeither the gesture or the remark of his servant. "My aunt is no more!"said he, after a pause. 

"We will pray for her soul!" answered Jackeymo, solemnly. "But she wasvery old, and had been a long time ailing. Let it not grieve the padronetoo keenly: at that age, and with those infirmities, death comes as afriend. "

"Peace be to her dust!" returned the Italian. "If she had her faults, be they now forgotten forever; and in the hour of my danger and distressshe sheltered my infant! That shelter is destroyed. This letter is fromthe priest, her confessor. And the home of which my child is bereavedfalls to the inheritance of my enemy. "

"Traitor!" muttered Jackeymo; and his right hand seemed to feel forthe weapon which the Italians of lower rank often openly wear in theirgirdles. 

"The priest, " resumed Riccabocca, calmly, "has rightly judged inremoving my child as a guest from the house in which that traitor entersas lord. "

"And where is the signorina?"

"With the poor priest. See, Giacomo, here, here--this is her handwritingat the end of the letter, --the first lines she ever yet traced to me. "

Jackeymo took off his hat, and looked reverently on the large charactersof a child's writing. But large as they were, they seemed indistinct, for the paper was blistered with the child's tears; and on the placewhere they had not fallen, there was a round fresh moist stain of thetear that had dropped from the lids of the father. Riccabocca renewed, "The priest recommends a convent. "

"To the devil with the priest!" cried the servant; then crossinghimself rapidly, he added, "I did not mean that, Monsignore SanGiacomo, --forgive me! But your Excellency does not think of making a nunof his only child!"

 [The title of Excellency does not, in Italian, necessarily express any exalted rank, but is often given by servants to their masters. ]

"And yet why not?" said Riccabocca, mournfully; "what can I give her inthe world? Is the land of the stranger a better refuge than the home ofpeace in her native clime?"

"In the land of the stranger beats her father's heart!"

"And if that beat were stilled, what then? Ill fares the life that asingle death can bereave of all. In a convent at least (and the priest'sinfluence can obtain her that asylum amongst her equals and amidst hersex) she is safe from trial and from penury--to her grave!"

"Penury! Just see how rich we shall be when we take those fields atMichaelmas. "

"Pazzie!"--[Follies]--said Riccabocca, listlessly. "Are these suns moreserene than ours, or the soil more fertile? Yet in our own Italy, saiththe proverb, 'He who sows land reaps more care than corn. ' It weredifferent, " continued the father, after a pause, and in a more resolutetone, "if I had some independence, however small, to count on, --nay, if among all my tribe of dainty relatives there were but one female whowould accompany Violante to the exile's hearth, --Ishmael had his Hagar. But how can we two rough-bearded men provide for all the namelesswants and cares of a frail female child? And she has been so delicatelyreared, --the woman-child needs the fostering hand and tender eye of awoman. "

"And with a word, " said Jackeymo, resolutely, "the padrone might secureto his child all that he needs to save her from the sepulchre of aconvent; and ere the autumn leaves fall, she might be sitting on hisknee. Padrone, do not think that you can conceal from me the truth, thatyou love your child better than all things in the world, --now the Patriais as dead to you as the dust of your fathers, --and your heart-stringswould crack with the effort to tear her from them, and consign her to aconvent. Padrone, never again to hear her voice, never again to see herface! Those little arms that twined round your neck that dark night, when we fled fast for life and freedom, and you said, as you felt theirclasp, 'Friend, all is not yet lost. '"

"Giacomo!" exclaimed the father, reproachfully, and his voice seemed tochoke him. Riccabocca turned away, and walked restlessly to and frothe terrace; then, lifting his arms with a wild gesture, as he stillcontinued his long irregular strides, he muttered, "Yes, Heaven is mywitness that I could have borne reverse and banishment without a murmur, had I permitted myself that young partner in exile and privation. Heavenis my witness that, if I hesitate now, it is because I would not listento my own selfish heart. Yet never, never to see her again, --my child!And it was but as the infant that I beheld her! O friend, friend!" (and, stopping short with a burst of uncontrollable emotion, he bowed hishead upon his servant's shoulder), "thou knowest what I have enduredand suffered at my hearth, as in my country; the wrong, the perfidy, the--the--" His voice again failed him; he clung to his servant'sbreast, and his whole frame shook. 

"But your child, the innocent one--think now only of her!" falteredGiacomo, struggling with his own sobs. "True, only of her, " repliedthe exile, raising his face, "only of her. Put aside thy thoughts forthyself, friend, --counsel me. If I were to send for Violante, and if, transplanted to these keen airs, she drooped and died--Look, look, the priest says that she needs such tender care; or if I myself weresummoned from the world, to leave her in it alone, friendless, homeless, breadless perhaps, at the age of woman's sharpest trial againsttemptation, would she not live to mourn the cruel egotism that closed onher infant innocence the gates of the House of God?"

Jackeymo was appalled by this appeal; and indeed Riccabocca hadnever before thus reverently spoken of the cloister. In his hours ofphilosophy, he was wont to sneer at monks and nuns, priesthood andsuperstition. But now, in that hour of emotion, the Old Religionreclaimed her empire; and the sceptical world-wise man, thinking only ofhis child, spoke and felt with a child's simple faith. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"But again I say, " murmured Jackeymo, scarce audibly, and after a longsilence, "if the padrone would make up his mind--to marry!"

He expected that his master would start up in his customary indignationat such a suggestion, --nay, he might not have been sorry so to havechanged the current of feeling; but the poor Italian only wincedslightly, and mildly withdrawing himself from his servant's supportingarm, again paced the terrace, but this time quietly and in silence. Aquarter of an hour thus passed. "Give me the pipe, " said Dr. Riccabocca, passing into the belvidere. 

Jackeymo again struck the spark, and, wonderfully relieved at thepadrone's return to the habitual adviser, mentally besought his saintednamesake to bestow a double portion of soothing wisdom on the benignantinfluences of the weed. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Dr. Riccabocca had been some little time in the solitude of thebelvidere, when Lenny Fairfield, not knowing that his employer wastherein, entered to lay down a book which the doctor had lent him, withinjunctions to leave it on a certain table when done with. Riccaboccalooked up at the sound of the young peasant's step. 

"I beg your honour's pardon, I did not know--"

"Never mind: lay the book there. I wish to speak with you. You lookwell, my child: this air agrees with you as well as that of Hazeldean?"

"Oh, yes, Sir!"

"Yet it is higher ground, --more exposed?"

"That can hardly be, sir, " said Lenny; "there are many plants grow herewhich don't flourish at the squire's. The hill yonder keeps off the eastwind, and the place lays to the south. "

"Lies, not lays, Lenny. What are the principal complaints in theseparts?"

"Eh, sir?"

"I mean what maladies, what diseases?"

"I never heard tell of any, sir, except the rheumatism. "

"No low fevers, no consumption?"

"Never heard of them, sir. "

Riccabocca drew a long breath, as if relieved. "That seems a very kindfamily at the Hall. "

"I have nothing to say against it, " answered Lenny, bluntly. "I have notbeen treated justly. But as that book says, sir, 'It is not every onewho comes into the world with a silver spoon in his mouth. '"

Little thought the doctor that those wise maxims may leave sore thoughtsbehind them! He was too occupied with the subject most at his own heartto think then of what was in Lenny Fairfield's. 

"Yes; a kind, English domestic family. Did you see much of MissHazeldean?"

"Not so much as of the Lady. "

"Is she liked in the village, think you?"

"Miss Jemima? Yes. She never did harm. Her little dog bit me once, --shedid not ask me to beg its pardon, she asked mine! She's a very niceyoung lady; the girls say she is very affable; and, " added Lenny, with asmile, "there are always more weddings going on when she is down at theHall. "

"Oh!" said Riccabocca. Then, after a long whiff, "Did you ever see herplay with the little children? Is she fond of children, do you think?"

"Lord, sir, you guess everything! She's never so pleased as when she'splaying with the babies. "

"Humph!" grunted Riccabocca. "Babies! well, that's woman-like. I don'tmean exactly babies, but when they're older, --little girls?"

"Indeed, Sir, I dare say; but, " said Lenny, primly, "I never as yet keptcompany with the little girls. "

"Quite right, Lenny; be equally discreet all your life. Mrs. Dale isvery intimate with Miss Hazeldean, --more than with the squire's lady. Why is that, think you?"

"Well, sir, " said Leonard, shrewdly, "Mrs. Dale has her little tempers, though she's a very good lady; and Madame Hazeldean is rather high, andhas a spirit. But Miss Jemima is so soft: any one could live with MissJemima, as Joe and the servants say at the Hall. "

"Indeed! get my hat out of the parlour, and--just bring a clothes-brush, Lenny. A fine sunny day for a walk. "

After this most mean and dishonourable inquisition into the characterand popular repute of Miss Hazeldean, Signor Riccabocca seemed as muchcheered up and elated as if he had committed some very noble action;and he walked forth in the direction of the Hall with a far lighter andlivelier step than that with which he had paced the terrace. 

"Monsignore San Giacomo, by thy help and the pipe's, the padrone shallhave his child!" muttered the servant, looking up from the garden. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Yet Dr. Riccabocca was not rash. The man who wants his wedding-garmentto fit him must allow plenty of time for the measure. But from that day, the Italian notably changed his manner towards Miss Hazeldean. He ceasedthat profusion of compliment in which he had hitherto carried offin safety all serious meaning. For indeed the doctor considered thatcompliments to a single gentleman were what the inky liquid it dispensesis to the cuttle-fish, that by obscuring the water sails away from itsenemy. Neither did he, as before, avoid prolonged conversations withthe young lady, and contrive to escape from all solitary rambles byher side. On the contrary, he now sought every occasion to be in hersociety; and entirely dropping the language of gallantry, he assumedsomething of the earnest tone of friendship. He bent down his intellectto examine and plumb her own. To use a very homely simile, he blew awaythat froth which there is on the surface of mere acquaintanceships, especially with the opposite sex; and which, while it lasts, scarceallows you to distinguish between small beer and double X. ApparentlyDr. Riccabocca was satisfied with his scrutiny, --at all events underthat froth there was no taste of bitter. The Italian might not findany great strength of intellect in Miss Jemima, but he found that, disentangled from many little whims and foibles, --which he had himselfthe sense to perceive were harmless enough if they lasted, and not soabsolutely constitutional but what they might be removed by a tenderhand, --Miss Hazeldean had quite enough sense to comprehend the plainduties of married life; and if the sense could fail, it found asubstitute in good old homely English principles, and the instincts ofamiable, kindly feelings. 

I know not how it is, but your very clever man never seems to care somuch as your less gifted mortals for cleverness in his helpmate. Yourscholars and poets and ministers of state are more often than not foundassorted with exceedingly humdrum, good sort of women, and apparentlylike them all the better for their deficiencies. Just see how happilyRacine lived with his wife, and what an angel he thought her, and yetshe had never read his plays. Certainly Goethe never troubled the ladywho called him "Mr. Privy Councillor" with whims about "monads, " andspeculations on colour, nor those stiff metaphysical problems on whichone breaks one's shins in the Second Past of the "Faust. " Probablyit may be that such great geniuses--knowing that, as compared withthemselves, there is little difference between your clever woman andyour humdrum woman--merge at once all minor distinctions, relinquishall attempts at sympathy in hard intellectual pursuits, and are quitesatisfied to establish that tie which, after all, best resists wearand tear, --namely, the tough household bond between one human heart andanother. 

At all events, this, I suspect, was the reasoning of Dr. Riccabocca, when one morning, after a long walk with Miss Hazeldean, he muttered tohimself, --

 "Duro con duro Non fete mai buon muro, "--

which may bear the paraphrase, "Bricks without mortar would make a verybad wall. " There was quite enough in Miss Jemima's disposition to makeexcellent mortar: the doctor took the bricks to himself. 

When his examination was concluded, our philosopher symbolically evincedthe result he had arrived at by a very simple proceeding on hispart, which would have puzzled you greatly if you had not paused, andmeditated thereon, till you saw all that it implied. Dr. Riccabocca, took of his spectacles! He wiped them carefully, put them into theirshagreen case, and locked them in his bureau, --that is to say, he leftoff wearing his spectacles. 

You will observe that there was a wonderful depth of meaning in thatcritical symptom, whether it be regarded as a sign outward, positive, and explicit, or a sign metaphysical, mystical, and esoteric. For, asto the last, it denoted that the task of the spectacles was over;that, when a philosopher has made up his mind to marry, it is betterhenceforth to be shortsighted--nay, even somewhat purblind--than tobe always scrutinizing the domestic felicity, to which he is about toresign himself, through a pair of cold, unillusory barnacles. As for thethings beyond the hearth, if he cannot see without spectacles, is henot about to ally to his own defective vision a good sharp pair of eyes, never at fault where his interests are concerned? On the other hand, regarded positively, categorically, and explicitly, Dr. Roccabocca, bylaying aside those spectacles, signified that he was about to commencethat happy initiation of courtship when every man, be he ever so much aphilosopher, wishes to look as young and as handsome as time and naturewill allow. Vain task to speed the soft language of the eyes through themedium of those glassy interpreters! I remember, for my own part, thatonce, on a visit to the town of Adelaide, I--Pisistratus Caxton--was ingreat danger of falling in love, --with a young lady, too, who would havebrought me a very good fortune, --when she suddenly produced from herreticule a very neat pair of No. 4, set in tortoiseshell, and fixingupon me their Gorgon gaze, froze the astonished Cupid into stone! AndI hold it a great proof of the wisdom of Riccabocca, and of his vastexperience in mankind, that he was not above the consideration of whatyour pseudo-sages would have regarded as foppish and ridiculous trifles. It argued all the better for that happiness which is our being's endand aim that in condescending to play the lover, he put those unbecomingpetrifiers under lock and key. 

And certainly, now the spectacles were abandoned, it was impossible todeny that the Italian had remarkably handsome eyes. Even through thespectacles, or lifted a little above them, they were always bright andexpressive; but without those adjuncts, the blaze was softer and moretempered: they had that look which the French call veloute, or velvety;and he appeared altogether ten years younger. If our Ulysses, thusrejuvenated by his Minerva, has not fully made up his mind to makea Penelope of Miss Jemima, all I can say is, that he is worse thanPolyphemus, who was only an Anthropophagos, --

He preys upon the weaker sex, and is a Gynopophagite!

CHAPTER XXIII. 

"And you commission me, then, to speak to our dear Jemima?" said Mrs. Dale, joyfully, and without any bitterness whatever in that "dear. "

DR. RICCABOCCA. --"Nay, before speaking to Miss Hazeldean, it wouldsurely be proper to know how far my addresses would be acceptable to thefamily. "

MRS. DALE. --"Ah!"

DR. RICCAROCCA. --"The squire is of course the head of the family. "

MRS. DALE (absent and distraite). --"The squire--yes, very true--quiteproper. " (Then, looking up, and with naivete) "Can you believe me? Inever thought of the squire. And he is such an odd man, and has so manyEnglish prejudices, that really--dear me, how vexatious that it shouldnever once have occurred to me that Mr. Hazeldean had a voice in thematter! Indeed, the relationship is so distant, it is not like being herfather; and Jemima is of age, and can do as she pleases; and--but, asyou say, it is quite proper that he should be consulted as the head ofthe family. "

DR. RICCASOCCA. --"And you think that the Squire of Hazeldean mightreject my alliance! Pshaw! that's a grand word indeed, --I mean, that hemight object very reasonably to his cousin's marriage with a foreigner, of whom he can know nothing, except that which in all countries isdisreputable, and is said in this to be criminal, --poverty. "

MRS. DALE (kindly)--"You misjudge us poor English people, and you wrongthe squire, Heaven bless him! for we were poor enough when he singledout my husband from a hundred for the minister of his parish, for hisneighbour and his friend. I will speak to him fearlessly--"

DR. RICCABOCCA. --"And frankly. And now I have used that word, let mego on with the confession which your kindly readiness, my fair friend, somewhat interrupted. I said that if I might presume to think myaddresses would be acceptable to Miss Hazeldean and her family, I wastoo sensible of her amiable qualities not to--not to--"

MRS. DALE (with demure archness). --"Not to be the happiest ofmen, --that's the customary English phrase, Doctor. "

RICCABOCCA (gallantly). --"There cannot be a better. But, " continued he, seriously, "I wish it first to be understood that I have--been marriedbefore!"

MRS. DALE (astonished). --"Married before!"

RICCABOCCA. --"And that I have an only child, dear to me, --inexpressiblydear. That child, a daughter, has hitherto lived abroad; circumstancesnow render it desirable that she should make her home with me; and I ownfairly that nothing has so attached me to Miss Hazeldean, nor so inducedmy desire for our matrimonial connection, as my belief that she has theheart and the temper to become a kind mother to my little one. "

MRS. DALE (with feeling and warmth). --"You judge her rightly there. "

RICCABOCCA. --"Now, in pecuniary matters, as you may conjecture from mymode of life, I have nothing to offer to Miss Hazeldean correspondentwith her own fortune, whatever that may be!"

MRS. DALE. --"That difficulty is obviated by settling Miss Hazeldean'sfortune on herself, which is customary in such cases. "

Dr. Riccabocca's face lengthened. "And my child, then?" said he, feelingly. There was something in that appeal so alien from all sordidand merely personal mercenary motives, that Mrs. Dale could not have hadthe heart to make the very rational suggestion, "But that child is notJemima's, and you may have children by her. "

She was touched, and replied hesitatingly, "But from what you and Jemimamay jointly possess you can save something annually, --you can insureyour life for your child. We did so when our poor child whom we lost wasborn" (the tears rushed into Mrs. Dale's eyes); "and I fear that Charlesstill insures his life for my sake, though Heaven knows that--that--"

The tears burst out. That little heart, quick and petulant thoughit was, had not a fibre of the elastic muscular tissues which aremercifully bestowed on the hearts of predestined widows. Dr. Riccaboccacould not pursue the subject of life insurances further. But theidea--which had never occurred to the foreigner before, thoughso familiar with us English people when only possessed of a lifeincome--pleased him greatly. I will do him the justice to say that hepreferred it to the thought of actually appropriating to himself and tohis child a portion of Miss Hazeldean's dower. 

Shortly afterwards he took his leave, and Mrs. Dale hastened to seekher husband in his study, inform him of the success of her matrimonialscheme, and consult him as to the chance of the squire's acquiescencetherein. "You see, " said she, hesitatingly, "though the squire might beglad to see Jemima married to some Englishman, yet if he asks who andwhat is this Dr. Riccabocca, how am I to answer him?"

"You should have thought of that before, " said Mr. Dale, with unwontedasperity; "and, indeed, if I had ever believed anything serious couldcome out of what seemed to me so absurd, I should long since haverequested you not to interfere in such matters. Good heavens!" continuedthe parson, changing colour, "if we should have assisted, underhand asit were, to introduce into the family of a man to whom we owe so mucha connection that he would dislike, how base we should be, howungrateful!"

Poor Mrs. Dale was frightened by this speech, and still more by herhusband's consternation and displeasure. To do Mrs. Dale justice, whenever her mild partner was really either grieved or offended, herlittle temper vanished, --she became as meek as a lamb. As soon as sherecovered the first shock she experienced, she hastened to dissipate theparson's apprehensions. She assured him that she was convinced that, ifthe squire disapproved of Riccabocca's pretensions, the Italian wouldwithdraw them at once, and Miss Hazeldean would never know of hisproposals. Therefore, in that case, no harm would be done. 

This assurance, coinciding with Mr. Dale's convictions as toRiccabocca's scruples on the point of honour, tended much to composethe good man; and if he did not, as my reader of the gentler sex wouldexpect from him, feel alarm lest Miss Jemima's affections should havebeen irretrievably engaged, and her happiness thus put in jeopardy bythe squire's refusal, it was not that the parson wanted tenderness ofheart, but experience in womankind; and he believed, very erroneously, that Miss Jemima Hazeldean was not one upon whom a disappointment ofthat kind would produce a lasting impression. Therefore Mr. Dale, aftera pause of consideration, said kindly, --

"Well, don't vex yourself, --and I was to blame quite as much as you. But, indeed, I should have thought it easier for the squire to havetransplanted one of his tall cedars into his kitchen-garden than for youto inveigle Dr. Riccabocca into matrimonial intentions. But a man whocould voluntarily put himself into the parish stocks for the sake ofexperiment must be capable of anything! However, I think it better thatI, rather than yourself, should speak to the squire, and I will go atonce. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The parson put on the shovel-hat, which--conjoined with other details inhis dress peculiarly clerical, and already, even then, beginning to beout of fashion with Churchmen--had served to fix upon him emphaticallythe dignified but antiquated style and cognomen of "Parson;" and tookhis way towards the Home Farm, at which he expected to find the squire. But he had scarcely entered upon the village green when he beheld Mr. Hazeldean, leaning both hands on his stick, and gazing intently uponthe parish stocks. Now, sorry am I to say that, ever since the Hegiraof Lenny and his mother, the Anti-Stockian and Revolutionary spirit inHazeldean, which the memorable homily of our parson had a while avertedor suspended, had broken forth afresh. For though while Lenny waspresent to be mowed and jeered at, there had been no pity for him, yet no sooner was he removed from the scene of trial than a universalcompassion for the barbarous usage he had received produced what iscalled "the reaction of public opinion. " Not that those who had mowedand jeered repented them of their mockery, or considered themselves inthe slightest degree the cause of his expatriation. No; they, with therest of the villagers, laid all the blame upon the stocks. It was not tobe expected that a lad of such exemplary character could be thrust intothat place of ignominy, and not be sensible to the affront. And who, inthe whole village, was safe, if such goings-on and puttings-in wereto be tolerated in silence, and at the expense of the very best andquietest lad the village had ever known? Thus, a few days afterthe widow's departure, the stocks was again the object of midnightdesecration: it was bedaubed and bescratched, it was hacked and hewed, it was scrawled over with pithy lamentations for Lenny, and laconicexecrations on tyrants. Night after night new inscriptions appeared, testifying the sarcastic wit and the vindictive sentiment of the parish. And perhaps the stocks was only spared from axe and bonfire by theconvenience it afforded to the malice of the disaffected: it became thePasquin of Hazeldean. 

As disaffection naturally produces a correspondent vigour in authority, so affairs had been lately administered with greater severity than hadbeen hitherto wont in the easy rule of the squire and his predecessors. Suspected persons were naturally marked out by Mr. Stirn, and reportedto his employer, who, too proud or too pained to charge them openly withingratitude, at first only passed them by in his walks with a silent andstiff inclination of his head; and afterwards, gradually yielding to thebaleful influence of Stirn, the squire grumbled forth "that he didnot see why he should be always putting himself out of his way to showkindness to those who made such a return. There ought to be a differencebetween the good and the bad. " Encouraged by this admission, Stirn hadconducted himself towards the suspected parties, and their whole kithand kin, with the iron-handed justice that belonged to his character. For some, habitual donations of milk from the dairy and vegetables fromthe gardens were surlily suspended; others were informed that their pigswere always trespassing on the woods in search of acorns, or that theywere violating the Game Laws in keeping lurchers. A beer-house, popular in the neighbourhood, but of late resorted to over-much by thegrievance-mongers (and no wonder, since they had become the popularparty), was threatened with an application to the magistrates forthe withdrawal of its license. Sundry old women, whose grandsons werenotoriously ill-disposed towards the stocks, were interdicted fromgathering dead sticks under the avenues, on pretence that they brokedown the live boughs; and, what was more obnoxious to the youngermembers of the parish than most other retaliatory measures, threechestnut-trees, one walnut, and two cherry-trees, standing at the bottomof the Park, and which had, from time immemorial, been given up to theyouth of Hazeldean, were now solemnly placed under the general defenceof "private property. " And the crier had announced that, henceforth, alldepredators on the fruit trees in Copse Hollow would be punished withthe utmost rigour of the law. Stirn, indeed, recommended much morestringent proceedings than all these indications of a change of policy, which, he averred, would soon bring the parish to its senses, --such asdiscontinuing many little jobs of unprofitable work that employed thesurplus labour of the village. But there the squire, falling into thedepartment and under the benigner influence of his Harry, was as yet notproperly hardened. When it came to a question that affected the absolutequantity of loaves to be consumed by the graceless mouths that fedupon him, the milk of human kindness--with which Providence has sobountifully supplied that class of the mammalia called the "Bucolic, "and of which our squire had an extra "yield"--burst forth, and washedaway all the indignation of the harsher Adam. 

Still your policy of half-measures, which irritates without crushingits victims, which flaps an exasperated wasp-nest with a silkpocket-handkerchief, instead of blowing it up with a match and train, is rarely successful; and after three or four other and much guiltiervictims than Lenny had been incarcerated in the stocks, the parishof Hazeldean was ripe for any enormity. Pestilent Jacobinical tracts, conceived and composed in the sinks of manufacturing towns, found theirway into the popular beer-house, --Heaven knows how, though the tinkerwas suspected of being the disseminator by all but Stirn, who still, ina whisper, accused the Papishers. And, finally, there appeared amongstthe other graphic embellishments which the poor stocks had received, the rude gravure of a gentleman in a broad-brimmed hat and top-boots, suspended from a gibbet, with the inscription beneath, "A warnin to halltirans--mind your hi!--sighnde Captin sTraw. "

It was upon this significant and emblematic portraiture that thesquire was gazing when the parson joined him. "Well, Parson, " said Mr. Hazeldean, with a smile which he meant to be pleasant and easy, but which was exceedingly bitter and grim, "I wish you joy of yourflock, --you see they have just hanged me in effigy!"

The parson stared, and though greatly shocked, smothered his emotion;and attempted, with the wisdom of the serpent and the mildness of thedove, to find another original for the effigy. 

"It is very bad, " quoth he, "but not so bad as all that, Squire; that'snot the shape of your bat. It is evidently meant for Mr. Stirn. "

"Do you think so?" said the squire, softened. "Yet the top-boots--Stirnnever wears top-boots. "

"No more do you, except in the hunting-field. If you look again, thoseare not tops, they are leggings, --Stirn wears leggings. Besides, thatflourish, which is meant for a nose, is a kind of hook, like Stirn's;whereas your nose--though by no means a snub--rather turns up than not, as the Apollo's does, according to the plaster cast in Riccabocca'sparlour. "

"Poor Stirn!" said the squire, in a tone that evinced complacency, notunmingled with compassion, "that's what a man gets in this world bybeing a faithful servant, and doing his duty with zeal for his employer. But you see things have come to a strange pass, and the question nowis, what course to pursue. The miscreants hitherto have defied allvigilance, and Stirn recommends the employment of a regular nightwatch, with a lanthorn and bludgeon. "

"That may protect the stocks certainly; but will it keep thosedetestable tracts out of the beer-house?"

"We shall shut the beer-house up the next sessions. "

"The tracts will break out elsewhere, --the humour's in the blood!"

"I've half a mind to run off to Brighton or Leamingtongood hunting atLeamington--for a year, just to let the rogues see how they can get onwithout me!"

The squire's lip trembled. 

"My dear Mr. Hazeldean, " said the parson, taking his friend's hand, "I don't want to parade my superior wisdom; but, if you had taken myadvice, 'quieta non movere!' Was there ever a parish so peaceableas this, or a country gentleman so beloved as you were, before youundertook the task which has dethroned kings and ruined States, --thatof wantonly meddling with antiquity, whether for the purpose ofuncalled-for repairs, or the revival of obsolete uses. "

At this rebuke, the squire did not manifest his constitutionaltendencies to choler; but he replied almost meekly, "If it were to doagain, faith, I would leave the parish to the enjoyment of the shabbiestpair of stocks that ever disgraced a village. Certainly I meant it forthe best, --an ornament to the green; however, now the stocks is rebuilt, the stocks must be supported. Will Hazeldean is not the man to give wayto a set of thankless rapscallions. "

"I think, " said the parson, "that you will allow that the Houseof Tudor, whatever its faults, was a determined, resolute dynastyenough, --high-hearted and strong-headed. A Tudor would never have falleninto the same calamities as the poor Stuart did!"

"What the plague has the House of Tudor got to do with my stocks?"

"A great deal. Henry VIII. Found a subsidy so unpopular that he gave itup; and the people, in return, allowed him to cut off as many heads ashe pleased, besides those in his own family. Good Queen Bess, who, Iknow, is your idol in history--"

"To be sure!--she knighted my ancestor at Tilbury Fort. "

"Good Queen Bess struggled hard to maintain a certain monopoly; she sawit would not do, and she surrendered it with that frank heartiness whichbecomes a sovereign, and makes surrender a grace. "

"Ha! and you would have me give up the stocks?"

"I would much rather the stocks had remained as it was beforeyou touched it; but, as it is, if you could find a good plausiblepretext--and there is an excellent one at hand, --the sternest kings openprisons, and grant favours, upon joyful occasions. Now a marriage in theroyal family is of course a joyful occasion! and so it should be inthat of the King of Hazeldean. " Admire that artful turn in the parson'seloquence!--it was worthy of Riccabocca himself. Indeed, Mr. Dale hadprofited much by his companionship with that Machiavellian intellect. 

"A marriage, --yes; but Frank has only just got into coattails!"

"I did not allude to Frank, but to your cousin Jemima!"

CHAPTER XXV. 

The squire staggered as if the breath had been knocked out of him, and, for want of a better seat, sat down on the stocks. All the female headsin the neighbouring cottages peered, themselves unseen, through thecasements. What could the squire be about? What new mischief did hemeditate? Did he mean to fortify the stocks? Old Gaffer Solomons, whohad an indefinite idea of the lawful power of squires, and who had beenfor the last ten minutes at watch on his threshold, shook his head andsaid, "Them as a cut out the mon a hanging, as a put it in the squire'shead!"

"Put what?" asked his grand-daughter. 

"The gallus!" answered Solomons, --"he be a going to have it hung fromthe great elfin-tree. And the parson, good mon, is a quoting Scripteragin it; you see he's a taking off his gloves, and a putting his twohan's together, as he do when he pray for the sick, Jeany. "

That description of the parson's mien and manner, which with his usualniceness of observation, Gaffer Solomons thus sketched off, will conveyto you some idea of the earnestness with which the parson pleaded thecause he had undertaken to advocate. He dwelt much upon the sense ofpropriety which the foreigner had evinced in requesting that the squiremight be consulted before any formal communication to his cousin; andhe repeated Mrs. Dale's assurance, that such were Riccabocca's highstandard of honour and belief in the sacred rights of hospitality, that, if the squire withheld his consent to his proposals, the parsonwas convinced that the Italian would instantly retract them. Now, considering that Miss Hazeldean was, to say the least, come to years ofdiscretion, and the squire had long since placed her property entirelyat her own disposal, Mr. Hazeldean was forced to acquiesce in theparson's corollary remark, "That this was a delicacy which could not beexpected from every English pretender to the lady's hand. " Seeing thathe had so far cleared the ground, the parson went on to intimate, thoughwith great tact, that since Miss Jemima would probably marry sooner orlater (and, indeed, that the squire could not wish to prevent her), itmight be better for all parties concerned that it should be with someone who, though a foreigner, was settled in the neighbourhood, and ofwhose character what was known was certainly favourable, rather thanrun the hazard of her being married for her money by some adventurer, orIrish fortune-hunter, at the watering-places she yearly visited. Then hetouched lightly on Riccabocca's agreeable and companionable qualities;and concluded with a skilful peroration upon the excellent occasion thewedding would afford to reconcile Hall and parish, by making a voluntaryholocaust of the stocks. 

As he concluded, the squire's brow, before thoughtful, though notsullen, cleared up benignly. To say truth, the squire was dying to getrid of the stocks, if he could but do so handsomely and with dignity;and had all the stars in the astrological horoscope conjoined togetherto give Miss Jemima "assurance of a husband, " they could not so haveserved her with the squire as that conjunction between the altar and thestocks which the parson had effected!

Accordingly, when Mr. Dale had come to an end, the squire replied, withgreat placidity and good sense, "That Mr. Rickeybockey had behaved verymuch like a gentleman, and that he was very much obliged to him; that he[the squire] had no right to interfere in the matter, further than withhis advice; that Jemima was old enough to choose for herself, and that, as the parson had implied, after all she might go farther and fareworse, --indeed, the farther she went (that is, the longer she waited)the worse she was likely to fare. I own, for my part, " continued thesquire, "that though I like Rickeybockey very much, I never suspectedthat Jemima was caught with his long face; but there's no accounting fortastes. My Harry, indeed, was more shrewd, and gave me many a hint, forwhich I only laughed at her. Still I ought to have thought it lookedqueer when Mounseer took to disguising himself by leaving off hisglasses, ha, ha! I wonder what Harry will say; let's go and talk toher. "

The parson, rejoiced at this easy way of taking the matter, hooked hisarm into the squire's, and they walked amicably towards the Hall. Buton coming first into the gardens they found Mrs. Hazeldean herself, clipping dead leaves or fading flowers from her rose-trees. The squirestole slyly behind her, and startled her in her turn by putting his armround her waist, and saluting her smooth cheek with one of his heartykisses; which, by the way, from some association of ideas, was aconjugal freedom that he usually indulged whenever a wedding was goingon in the village. 

"Fie, William!" said Mrs. Hazeldean, coyly, and blushing as she saw theparson. "Well, who's going to be married now?"

"Lord! was there ever such a woman?--she's guessed it!" cried thesquire, in great admiration. "Tell her all about it, Parson. "

The parson obeyed. 

Mrs. Hazeldean, as the reader may suppose, showed much less surprisethan her husband had done; but she took the news graciously, and mademuch the same answer as that which had occurred to the squire, only withsomewhat more qualification and reserve. "Signor Riccabocca had behavedvery handsomely; and though a daughter of the Hazeldeans of Hazeldeanmight expect a much better marriage in a worldly point of view, yetas the lady in question had deferred finding one so long, it would beequally idle and impertinent now to quarrel with her choice, --if indeedshe should decide on accepting Signor Riccabocca. As for fortune, thatwas a consideration for the two contracting parties. Still, it ought, to be pointed out to Miss Jemima that the interest of her fortune wouldafford but a very small income. That Dr. Riccabocca was a widower wasanother matter for deliberation; and it seemed rather suspicious that heshould have been hitherto so close upon all matters connected with hisformer life. Certainly his manners were in his favour, and as long as hewas merely an acquaintance, and at most a tenant, no one had a right toinstitute inquiries of a strictly private nature; but that, when he wasabout to marry a Hazeldean of Hazeldean, it became the squire at leastto know a little more about him, --who and what he was. Why did he leavehis own country? English people went abroad to save: no foreigner wouldchoose England as a country in which to save money! She supposed thata foreign doctor was no very great things; probably he had been aprofessor in some Italian university. At all events, if the squireinterfered at all, it was on such points that he should requestinformation. "

"My clear madam, " said the parson, "what you say is extremely just. Asto the causes which have induced our friend to expatriate himself, Ithink we need not look far for them. He is evidently one of the manyItalian refugees whom political disturbances have driven to a land ofwhich it is the boast to receive all exiles of whatever party. For hisrespectability of birth and family he certainly ought to obtain somevouchers. And if that be the only objection, I trust we may sooncongratulate Miss Hazeldean on a marriage with a man who, thoughcertainly very poor, has borne privations without a murmur; haspreferred all hardship to debt; has scorned to attempt betraying theyoung lady into any clandestine connection; who, in short, has shownhimself so upright and honest, that I hope my dear Mr. Hazeldean willforgive him if he is only a doctor--probably of Laws--and not, as mostforeigners pretend to be, a marquis or a baron at least. "

"As to that, " cried the squire, "It is the best thing I know aboutRickeybockey that he don't attempt to humbug us by any such foreigntrumpery. Thank Heaven, the Hazeldeans of Hazeldean were nevertuft-hunters and title-mongers; and if I never ran after an Englishlord, I should certainly be devilishly ashamed of a brother-in-lawwhom I was forced to call markee or count! I should feel sure he wasa courier, or runaway valley-de-sham. Turn up your nose at a doctor, indeed, Harry!--pshaw, good English style that! Doctor! my aunt marrieda Doctor of Divinity--excellent man--wore a wig and was made a dean! Solong as Rickeybockey is not a doctor of physic, I don't care a button. If he's that, indeed, it would be suspicious; because, you see, thoseforeign doctors of physic are quacks, and tell fortunes, and go about ona stage with a Merry-Andrew. "

"Lord! Hazeldean, where on earth did you pick up that idea?" said Harry, laughing. 

"Pick it up!--why, I saw a fellow myself at the cattle fair lastyear--when I was buying short-horns--with a red waistcoat and acocked hat, a little like the parson's shovel. He called himselfDr. Phoscophornio, and sold pills. The Merry-Andrew was the funniestcreature, in salmon-coloured tights, turned head over heels, and said hecame from Timbuctoo. No, no: if Rickeybockey's a physic Doctor, weshall have Jemima in a pink tinsel dress tramping about the country in acaravan!"

At this notion both the squire and his wife laughed so heartily that theparson felt the thing was settled, and slipped away, with the intentionof making his report to Riccabocca. 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

It was with a slight disturbance of his ordinary suave and well-bredequanimity that the Italian received the information that he needapprehend no obstacle to his suit from the insular prejudices or theworldly views of the lady's family. Not that he was mean and cowardlyenough to recoil from the near and unclouded prospect of that felicitywhich he had left off his glasses to behold with unblinking, nakedeyes, --no, there his mind was made up; but he had met in life with muchthat inclines a man towards misanthropy, and he was touched not only bythe interest in his welfare testified by a heretical priest, but bythe generosity with which he was admitted into a well-born and wealthyfamily, despite his notorious poverty and his foreign descent. Heconceded the propriety of the only stipulation, which was conveyedto him by the parson with all the delicacy that became one longprofessionally habituated to deal with the subtler susceptibilities ofmankind, --namely, that, amongst Riccabocca's friends or kindred, someperson should be found whose report would confirm the persuasion of hisrespectability entertained by his neighbours, --he assented, I say, to the propriety of this condition; but it was not with alacrity andeagerness. His brow became clouded. The parson hastened to assure himthat the squire was not a man qui stupet in titulis, --["Who was besottedwith titles. "]--that he neither expected nor desired to find anorigin and rank for his brother-in-law above that decent mediocrityof condition to which it was evident from Riccabocca's breeding andaccomplishments he could easily establish his claim. "And though, " saidhe, smiling, "the squire is a warm politician in his own country, andwould never see his sister again, I fear, if she married some convictedenemy of our happy constitution, yet for foreign politics he does notcare a straw; so that if, as I suspect, your exile arises from somequarrel with your government, --which, being foreign, he takes forgranted must be insupportable, --he would but consider you as he woulda Saxon who fled from the iron hand of William the Conqueror, or aLancastrian expelled by the Yorkists in our Wars of the Roses. "

The Italian smiled. "Mr. Hazeldean shall be satisfied, " said he, simply. "I see, by the squire's newspaper, that an English gentleman who knew mein my own country has just arrived in London. I will write to him fora testimonial, at least to my probity and character. Probably he maybe known to you by name, --nay, he must be, for he was a distinguishedofficer in the late war. I allude to Lord L'Estrange. "

The parson started. 

"You know Lord L'Estrange?--profligate, bad man, I fear. "

"Profligate! bad!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "Well, calumnious as the worldis, I should never have thought that such expressions would be appliedto one who, though I knew him but little, --knew him chiefly by theservice he once rendered to me, --first taught me to love and revere theEnglish name!"

"He may be changed since--" the parson paused. 

"Since when?" asked Riccabocca, with evident curiosity. Mr. Dale seemedembarrassed. "Excuse me, " said he, "it is many years ago; and in shortthe opinion I then formed of the nobleman you named was based uponcircumstances which I cannot communicate. "

The punctilious Italian bowed in silence, but he still looked as if heshould have liked to prosecute inquiry. 

After a pause he said, "Whatever your impression respecting LordL'Estrange, there is nothing, I suppose, which would lead you to doubthis honour, or reject his testimonial in my favour?"

"According to fashionable morality, " said Mr. Dale, rather precisely, "I know of nothing that could induce me to suppose that Lord L'Estrangewould not, in this instance, speak the truth. And he has unquestionablya high reputation as a soldier, and a considerable position in theworld. " Therewith the parson took his leave. A few days afterwards, Dr. Riccabocca inclosed to the squire, in a blank envelope, a letter hehad received from Harley L'Estrange. It was evidently intended forthe squire's eye, and to serve as a voucher for the Italian'srespectability; but this object was fulfilled, not in the coarse form ofa direct testimonial, but with a tact and delicacy which seemed to showmore than the fine breeding to be expected from one in Lord L'Estrange'sstation. It evinced that most exquisite of all politeness which comesfrom the heart; a certain tone of affectionate respect (which even thehomely sense of the squire felt, intuitively, proved far more in favourof Riccabocca than the most elaborate certificate of his qualities andantecedents) pervaded the whole, and would have sufficed in itself toremove all scruples from a mind much more suspicious and exacting thanthat of the Squire of Hazeldean. But, to and behold! an obstaclenow occurred to the parson, of which he ought to have thought longbefore, --namely, the Papistical religion of the Italian. Dr. Riccaboccawas professedly a Roman Catholic. He so little obtruded that fact--and, indeed, had assented so readily to any animadversions upon thesuperstition and priestcraft which, according to Protestants, are theessential characteristics of Papistical communities--that it was nottill the hymeneal torch, which brings all faults to light, was fairlyillumined for the altar, that the remembrance of a faith so cast intothe shade burst upon the conscience of the parson. The first idea thatthen occurred to him was the proper and professional one, --namely, theconversion of Dr. Riccabocca. He hastened to his study, took down fromhis shelves long neglected volumes of controversial divinity, armedhimself with an arsenal of authorities, arguments, and texts; then, seizing the shovel-hat, posted off to the Casino. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The parson burst upon the philosopher like an avalanche! He was so fullof his subject that he could not let it out in prudent driblets. No, hewent souse upon the astounded Riccabocca--

 "Tremendo Jupiter ipse rueus tumultu. "

The sage--shrinking deeper into his armchair, and drawing hisdressing-robe more closely round him--suffered the parson to talk forthree quarters of an hour, till indeed he had thoroughly proved hiscase; and, like Brutus, "paused for a reply. "

Then said Riccabocca mildly: "In much of what you have urged so ably, and so suddenly, I am inclined to agree. But base is the man whoformally forswears the creed he has inherited from his fathers, andprofessed since the cradle up to years of maturity, when the changepresents itself in the guise of a bribe; when, for such is human nature, he can hardly distinguish or disentangle the appeal to his reasonfrom the lure to his interests, --here a text, and there a dowry!--hereProtestantism, there Jemima! Own, my friend, that the soberest casuistwould see double under the inebriating effects produced by so mixinghis polemical liquors. Appeal, my good Mr. Dale, from Philip drunken toPhilip sober!--from Riccabocca intoxicated with the assurance ofyour excellent lady, that he is about to be 'the happiest of men, ' toRiccabocca accustomed to his happiness, and carrying it off with theseasoned equability of one grown familiar with stimulants, --in a word, appeal from Riccabocca the wooer to Riccabocca the spouse. I may beconvertible, but conversion is a slow progress; courtship should be aquick one, --ask Miss Jemima. Finalmente, marry me first, and convert meafterwards!"

"You take this too jestingly, " began the parson; "and I don't see why, with your excellent understanding, truths so plain and obvious shouldnot strike you at once. "

"Truths, " interrupted Riccabocca, profoundly, "are the slowest growingthings in the world! It took fifteen hundred years from the date of theChristian era to produce your own Luther, and then he flung his Bible atSatan (I have seen the mark made by the book on the wall of his prisonin Germany), besides running off with a nun, which no Protestantclergyman would think it proper and right to do nowadays. " Then headded, with seriousness, "Look you, my dear sir, I should lose myown esteem if I were even to listen to you now with becomingattention, --now, I say, when you hint that the creed I have professedmay be in the way of my advantage. If so, I must keep the creed andresign the advantage. But if, as I trust not only as a Christian but aman of honour, you will defer this discussion, I will promise to listento you hereafter; and though, to say truth, I believe that you will notconvert me, I will promise you faithfully never to interfere with mywife's religion. "

"And any children you may have?"

"Children!" said Dr. Riccabocca, recoiling; "you are not contented withfiring your pocket-pistol right in my face! you must also pepper me allover with small shot. Children! well, if they are girls, let them followthe faith of their mother; and if boys, while in childhood, let them becontented with learning to be Christians; and when they grow into men, let them choose for themselves which is the best form for the practiceof the great principles which all sects have in common. "

"But, " began Mr. Dale again, pulling a large book from his pocket. 

Dr. Riccabocca flung open the window, and jumped out of it. 

It was the rapidest and most dastardly flight you could possiblyconceive; but it was a great compliment to the argumentative powers ofthe parson, and he felt it as such. Nevertheless, Mr. Dale thought itright to have a long conversation, both with the squire and MissJemima herself, upon the subject which his intended convert had soignominiously escaped. 

The squire, though a great foe to Popery, politically considered, hadalso quite as great a hatred to renegades and apostates. And in hisheart he would have despised Riccabocca if he could have thrown offhis religion as easily as he had done his spectacles. Therefore he saidsimply, "Well, it is certainly a great pity that Rickeybockey is not ofthe Church of England; though, I take it, that would be unreasonable toexpect in a man born and bred under the nose of the Inquisition" (thesquire firmly believed that the Inquisition was in full force in allthe Italian States, with whips, racks, and thumbscrews; and, indeed, hischief information of Italy was gathered from a perusal he had givenin early youth to "The One-Handed Monk"); "but I think he speaks veryfairly, on the whole, as to his wife and children. And the thing'sgone too far now to retract. It's all your fault for not thinking ofit before; and I've now just made up my mind as to the course to pursuerespecting the d---d stocks!"

As for Miss Jemima, the parson left her with a pious thanksgiving thatRiccabocca at least was a Christian, and not a Pagan, Mahometan, or Jew!

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

There is that in a wedding which appeals to a universal sympathy. Noother event in the lives of their superiors in rank creates an equalsensation amongst the humbler classes. 

From the moment the news that Miss Jemima was to be married had spreadthroughout the village, all the old affection for the squire and hisHouse burst forth the stronger for its temporary suspension. Who couldthink of the stocks in such a season? The stocks were swept out offashion, --hunted from remembrance as completely as the question ofRepeal or the thought of Rebellion from the warm Irish heart, when thefair young face of the Royal Wife beamed on the sister isle. 

Again cordial courtesies were dropped at the thresholds by which thesquire passed to his own farm; again the sunburned brows uncovered--nomore with sullen ceremony--were smoothed into cheerful gladness athis nod. Nay, the little ones began again to assemble at their ancientrendezvous by the stocks, as if either familiarized with the phenomenon, or convinced that, in the general sentiment of good-will, its powers ofevil were annulled. 

The squire tasted once more the sweets of the only popularity which ismuch worth having, and the loss of which a wise man would reasonablydeplore, --namely, the popularity which arises from a persuasion of ourgoodness, and a reluctance to recall our faults. Like all blessings, themore sensibly felt from previous interruption, the squire enjoyed thisrestored popularity with an exhilarated sense of existence; his stoutheart beat more vigorously; his stalwart step trod more lightly; hiscomely English face looked comelier and more English than ever, --youwould have been a merrier man for a week to have come within hearing ofhis jovial laugh. 

He felt grateful to Jemima and to Riccabocca as the special agents ofProvidence in this general integratio amoris. To have looked at him, you would suppose that it was the squire who was going to be married asecond time to his Harry!

One may well conceive that such would have been an inauspicious momentfor Parson Dale's theological scruples to have stopped that marriage, chilled all the sunshine it diffused over the village, seen himselfsurrounded again by long sulky visages, --I verily believe, though abetter friend of Church and State never stood on a hustings, that, rather than court such a revulsion, the squire would have foundjesuitical excuses for the marriage if Riccabocca had been discovered tobe the Pope in disguise! As for the stocks, its fate was now irrevocablysealed. In short, the marriage was concluded, --first privately, according to the bridegrooms creed, by a Roman Catholic clergyman, wholived in a town some miles off, and next publicly in the village churchof Hazeldean. 

It was the heartiest rural wedding! Village girls strewed flowers on theway; a booth was placed amidst the prettiest scenery of the Park on themargin of the lake--for there was to be a dance later in the day. EvenMr. Stirn--no, Mr. Stirn was not present; so much happiness would havebeen the death of him! And the Papisher too, who had conjured Lennyout of the stocks nay, who had himself sat in the stocks for the verypurpose of bringing them into contempt, --the Papisher! he had a liefMiss Jemima had married the devil! Indeed he was persuaded that, inpoint of fact, it was all one and the same. Therefore Mr. Stirn hadasked leave to go and attend his uncle the pawnbroker, about to undergoa torturing operation for the stone! Frank was there, summoned from Etonfor the occasion--having grown two inches taller since he left--for theone inch of which nature was to be thanked, for the other a new pair ofresplendent Wellingtons. But the boy's joy was less apparent than thatof others. For Jemima, was a special favourite with him, as she wouldhave been with all boys, --for she was always kind and gentle, and madehim many pretty presents whenever she came from the watering-places;and Frank knew that he should miss her sadly, and thought she had made avery queer choice. 

Captain Higginbotham had been invited; but to the astonishment ofJemima, he had replied to the invitation by a letter to herself, marked"private and confidential. "

"She must have long known, " said the letter, "of his devoted attachmentto her! motives of delicacy, arising from the narrowness of his incomeand the magnanimity of his sentiments, had alone prevented his formalproposals; but now that he was informed (he could scarcely believe hissenses or command his passions) that her relations wished to forceher into a BARBAROUS marriage with a foreigner of MOST FORBIDDINGAPPEARANCE, and most abject circumstances, he lost not a moment inlaying at her feet his own hand and fortune. And he did this the moreconfidently, inasmuch as he could not but be aware of Miss Jemima'sSECRET feelings towards him, while he was proud and happy to say, thathis dear and distinguished cousin, Mr. Sharpe Currie, had honouredhim with a warmth of regard which justified the most brilliantEXPECTATIONS, --likely to be soon realized, as his eminent relative hadcontracted a very bad liver complaint in the service of his country, andcould not last long!"

In all the years they had known each other, Miss Jemima, strange as itmay appear, had never once suspected the captain of any other feelingsto her than those of a brother. To say that she was not gratified bylearning her mistake would be to say that she was more than woman. Indeed, it must have been a source of no ignoble triumph to think thatshe could prove her disinterested affection to her dear Riccabocca bya prompt rejection of this more brilliant offer. She couched therejection, it is true, in the most soothing terms. But the captainevidently considered himself ill used; he did not reply to the letter, and did not come to the wedding. 

To let the reader into a secret, never known to Miss Jemima, CaptainHigginbotham was much less influenced by Cupid than by Plutus in theoffer he had made. The captain was one of that class of gentlemen whoread their accounts by those corpse-lights, or will-o'-the-wisps, calledexpectations. Ever since the squire's grandfather had left him--then inshort clothes--a legacy of L500, the captain had peopled the future withexpectations! He talked of his expectations as a man talks of shares ina Tontine; they might fluctuate a little, --be now up and now down, --butit was morally impossible, if he lived on, but that he should be amillionnaire one of these days. Now, though Miss Jemima was a goodfifteen years younger than himself, yet she always stood for a goodround sum in the ghostly books of the captain. She was an expectation tothe full amount of her L4000, seeing that Frank was an only child, andit would be carrying coals to Newcastle to leave him anything. 

Rather than see so considerable a cipher suddenly sponged out of hisvisionary ledger, rather than so much money should vanish clean outof the family, Captain Higginbotham had taken what he conceived, ifa desperate, at least a certain, step for the preservation of hisproperty. If the golden horn could not be had without the heifer, why, he must take the heifer into the bargain. He had never formed to himselfan idea that a heifer so gentle would toss and fling him over. The blowwas stunning. But no one compassionates the misfortunes of the covetous, though few perhaps are in greater need of compassion. And leaving poorCaptain Higginbotham to retrieve his illusory fortunes as he best mayamong "the expectations" which gathered round the form of Mr. SharpeCurrie, who was the crossest old tyrant imaginable, and never allowedat his table any dishes not compounded with rice, which played Old Nickwith the captain's constitutional functions, I return to the weddingat Hazeldean, just in time to see the bridegroom--who looked singularlywell on the occasion--hand the bride (who, between sunshiny tears andaffectionate smiles, was really a very interesting and even a prettybride, as brides go) into a carriage which the squire had presented tothem, and depart on the orthodox nuptial excursion amidst the blessingsof the assembled crowd. 

It may be thought strange by the unreflective that these ruralspectators should so have approved and blessed the marriage of aHazeldean of Hazeldean with a poor, outlandish, long-haired foreigner;but besides that Riccabocca, after all, had become one of theneighbourhood, and was proverbially "a civil-spoken gentleman, " it isgenerally noticeable that on wedding occasions the bride so monopolizesinterest, curiosity, and admiration that the bridegroom himself goes forlittle or nothing. He is merely the passive agent in the affair, --theunregarded cause of the general satisfaction. It was not Riccaboccahimself that they approved and blessed, --it was the gentleman in thewhite waistcoat who had made Miss Jemima Madam Rickeybockey!

Leaning on his wife's arm (for it was a habit of the squire to lean onhis wife's arm rather than she on his, when he was specially pleased;and there was something touching in the sight of that strong sturdyframe thus insensibly, in hours of happiness, seeking dependence on thefrail arm of woman), --leaning, I say, on his wife's arm, the squire, about the hour of sunset, walked down to the booth by the lake. 

All the parish-young and old, man, woman, and child, were assembledthere, and their faces seemed to bear one family likeness, in the commonemotion which animated all, as they turned to his frank, fatherly smile. Squire Hazeldean stood at the head of the long table: he filled a hornwith ale from the brimming tankard beside him. Then he looked round, and lifted his hand to request silence; and ascending the chair, rosein full view of all. Every one felt that the squire was about to makea speech, and the earnestness of the attention was proportioned to therarity of the event; for (though he was not unpractised in the oratoryof the hustings) only thrice before had the squire made what couldfairly be called "a speech" to the villagers of Hazeldean, --once on akindred festive occasion, when he had presented to them his bride;once in a contested election for the shire, in which he took more thanordinary interest, and was not quite so sober as he ought to havebeen; once in a time of great agricultural distress, when in spite ofreduction of rents, the farmers had been compelled to discard a largenumber of their customary labourers, and when the squire had said, "Ihave given up keeping the hounds because I want to make a fine piece ofwater (that was the origin of the lake), and to drain all the low landsround the Park. Let every man who wants work come to me!" And that sadyear the parish rates of Hazeldean were not a penny the heavier. 

Now, for the fourth time, the squire rose, and thus he spoke, --at hisright hand, Harry; at his left, Frank; at the bottom of the table, asvice-president, Parson Dale, his little wife behind him, only obscurelyseen. She cried readily, and her handkerchief was already before hereyes. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

THE SQUIRE'S SPEECH. 

"Friends and neighbours, I thank you kindly for coming round me thisday, and for showing so much interest in me and mine. My cousin was notborn amongst you as I was, but you have known her from a child. It is afamiliar face, and one that never frowned, which you will miss at yourcottage doors, as I and mine will miss it long in the old Hall--"

Here there was a sob from some of the women, and nothing was seen ofMrs. Dale but the white handkerchief. The squire himself paused, andbrushed away a tear with the back of his hand. Then he resumed, with asudden change of voice that was electrical, --

"For we none of us prize a blessing till we have lost it! Now, friendsand neighbours, a little time ago, it seemed as if some ill-will hadcrept into the village, --ill-will between you and me, neighbours!--why, that is not like Hazeldean!"

The audience hung their heads! You never saw people look so thoroughlyashamed of themselves. The squire proceeded, --

"I don't say it was all your fault; perhaps it was mine. "

"Noa, noa, noa, " burst forth in a general chorus. 

"Nay, friends, " continued the squire, humbly, and in one of thoseillustrative aphorisms which, if less subtle than Riccabocca's, weremore within reach of the popular comprehension, --"nay, we are all human, and every man has his hobby; sometimes he breaks in the hobby, andsometimes the hobby, if it is very hard in the mouth, breaks in him. One man's hobby has an ill habit of always stopping at the public house![Laughter. ] Another man's hobby refuses to stir a peg beyond the doorwhere some buxom lass patted its neck the week before, --a hobby I rodepretty often when I went courting my good wife here! [Much laughter andapplause. ] Others have a lazy hobby that there's no getting on; others, a runaway hobby that there's no stopping: but to cut the matter short, my favourite hobby, as you well know, is always trotted out to any placeon my property which seems to want the eye and hand of the master. Ihate, " cried the squire, warming, "to see things neglected and decayed, and going to the dogs! This land we live in is a good mother to us, andwe can't do too much for her. It is very true, neighbours, that I oweher a good many acres, and ought to speak well of her; but what then? Ilive amongst you, and what I take from the rent with one hand, I divideamongst you with the other. [Low but assenting murmurs. ] Now the more Iimprove my property, the more mouths it feeds. My great-grandfather kepta Field-book in which were entered not only the names of all the farmersand the quantity of land they held, but the average number of thelabourers each employed. My grandfather and father followed his example:I have done the same. I find, neighbours, that our rents have doubledsince my great-grandfather began to make the book. Ay, --but there aremore than four times the number of labourers employed on the estate, andat much better wages too! Well, my men, that says a great deal in favourof improving property, and not letting it go to the dogs. [Applause. ]And therefore, neighbours, you will kindly excuse my bobby: it carriesgrist to your mill. [Reiterated applause. ] Well, but you will say, 'What's the squire driving at?' Why this, my friends: There was only oneworn-out, dilapidated, tumble-down thing in the parish of Hazeldean, andit became an eyesore to me; so I saddled my hobby, and rode at it. Oh, ho! you know what I mean now! Yes, but, neighbours, you need not havetaken it so to heart. That was a scurvy trick of some of you to hang mein effigy, as they call it. "

"It warn't you, " cried a voice in the crowd, "it war Nick Stirn. "

The squire recognized the voice of the tinker; but though he now guessedat the ringleader, on that day of general amnesty he had the prudenceand magnanimity not to say, "Stand forth, Sprott: thou art the man. "Yet his gallant English spirit would not suffer him to come off at theexpense of his servant. 

"If it was Nick Stirn you meant, " said he, gravely, "more shame for you. It showed some pluck to hang the master; but to hang the poor servant, who only thought to do his duty, careless of what ill-will it broughtupon him, was a shabby trick, --so little like the lads of Hazeldean, that I suspect the man who taught it to them was never born in theparish. But let bygones be bygones. One thing is clear, --you don't takekindly to my new pair of stocks! The stocks has been a stumbling-blockand a grievance, and there's no denying that we went on very pleasantlywithout it. I may also say that, in spite of it, we have been comingtogether again lately. And I can't tell you what good it did me to seeyour children playing again on the green, and your honest faces, inspite of the stocks, and those diabolical tracts you've been readinglately, lighted up at the thought that something pleasant was going onat the Hall. Do you know, neighbours, you put me in mind of an old storywhich, besides applying to the parish, all who are married, and all whointend to marry, will do well to recollect. A worthy couple, named Johnand Joan, had lived happily together many a long year, till one unluckyday they bought a new bolster. Joan said the bolster was too hard, andJohn that it was too soft. So, of course, they quarrelled. After sulkingall day, they agreed to put the bolster between them at night. " (Roarsof laughter amongst the men; the women did not know which way to look, except, indeed, Mrs. Hazeldean, who, though she was more than usuallyrosy, maintained her innocent genial smile, as much as to say, "Thereis no harm in the squire's jests. ") The orator resumed, "After they hadthus lain apart for a little time, very silent and sullen, John sneezed. 'God bless you!' says Joan, over the bolster. 'Did you say God blessme?' cries John, 'then here goes the bolster!'"

Prolonged laughter and tumultuous applause. 

"Friends and neighbours, " said the squire, when silence was restored, and lifting the horn of ale, "I have the pleasure to inform you that Ihave ordered the stocks to be taken down, and made into a bench forthe chimney-nook of our old friend Gaffer Solomons yonder. But mind me, lads, if ever you make the parish regret the loss of the stocks, andthe overseers come to me with long faces, and say, 'The stocks mustbe rebuilded, ' why--" Here from all the youth of the village rose sodeprecating a clamour, that the squire would have been the most burglingorator in the world, if he said a word further on the subject. Heelevated the horn over his head--"Why, that's my old Hazeldean again!Health and long life to you all!"

The tinker had sneaked out of the assembly, and did not show his face inthe village for the next six months. And as to those poisonous tracts, in spite of their salubrious labels, "The Poor Man's Friend, " or "TheRights of Labour, " you could no more have found one of them lurking inthe drawers of the kitchen dressers in Hazeldean than you would havefound the deadly nightshade on the flower-stands in the drawing-room ofthe Hall. As for the revolutionary beerhouse, there was no need to applyto the magistrates to shut it up, --it shut itself up before the week wasout. 

O young head of the great House of Hapsburg, what a Hazeldean you mighthave made of Hungary! What a "Moriamur pro rege nostro!" would have rungin your infant reign, --if you had made such a speech as the squire's!

BOOK FOURTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

COMPRISING MR. CAXTON'S OPINIONS ON THE MATRIMONIAL STATE, SUPPORTED BYLEARNED AUTHORITIES. 

"It was no bad idea of yours, Pisistratus, " said my father, graciously, "to depict the heightened affections and the serious intention of SignorRiccabocca by a single stroke, --He left of his spectacles! Good. "

"Yet, " quoth my uncle, "I think Shakspeare represents a lover as fallinginto slovenly habits, neglecting his person, and suffering his hose tobe ungartered, rather than paying that attention to his outer man whichinduces Signor Riccabocca to leave off his spectacles, and look ashandsome as nature will permit him. "

"There are different degrees and many phases of the passion, " repliedmy father. "Shakspeare is speaking of an ill-treated, pining, woe-begonelover, much aggrieved by the cruelty of his mistress, --a lover who hasfound it of no avail to smarten himself up, and has fallen despondentlyinto the opposite extreme. Whereas Signor Riccabocca has nothing tocomplain of in the barbarity of Miss Jemima. "

"Indeed he has not!" cried Blanche, tossing her head, --"forwardcreature!"

"Yes, my dear, " said my mother, trying her best to look stately, "I amdecidedly of opinion that, in that respect, Pisistratus has lowered thedignity of the sex. Not intentionally, " added my mother, mildly, andafraid she had said something too bitter; "but it is very hard for a manto describe us women. "

The captain nodded approvingly; Mr. Squills smiled; my father quietlyresumed the thread of his discourse. 

"To continue, " quoth he. "Riccabocca has no reason to despair of successin his suit, nor any object in moving his mistress to compassion. Hemay, therefore, very properly tie up his garters and leave off hisspectacles. What do you say, Mr. Squills?--for, after all, sincelove-making cannot fail to be a great constitutional derangement, theexperience of a medical man must be the best to consult. "

"Mr. Caxton, " replied Squills, obviously flattered, "you are quiteright: when a man makes love, the organs of self-esteem and desireof applause are greatly stimulated, and therefore, of course, he setshimself off to the best advantage. It is only, as you observe, when, like Shakspeare's lover, he has given up making love as a bad job, andhas received that severe hit on the ganglions which the cruelty of amistress inflicts, that he neglects his personal appearance: he neglectsit, not because he is in love, but because his nervous system isdepressed. That was the cause, if you remember, with poor Major Prim. He wore his wig all awry when Susan Smart jilted him; but I set it rightfor him. "

"By shaming Miss Smart into repentance, or getting him a newsweetheart?" asked my uncle. 

"Pooh!" answered Squills, "by quinine and cold bathing. "

"We may therefore grant, " renewed my father, "that, as a general rule, the process of courtship tends to the spruceness, and even foppery, ofthe individual engaged in the experiment, as Voltaire has very prettilyproved somewhere. Nay, the Mexicans, indeed, were of opinion that thelady at least ought to continue those cares of her person even aftermarriage. There is extant, in Sahagun's 'History of New Spain, ' theadvice of an Aztec or Mexican mother to her daughter, in which she says, 'That your husband may not take you in dislike, adorn yourself, washyourself, and let your garments be clean. ' It is true that the good ladyadds, 'Do it in moderation; since if every day you are washing yourselfand your clothes, the world will say that you are over-delicate; andparticular people will call you--TAPETZON TINEMAXOCH!' What those wordsprecisely mean, " added my father, modestly, "I cannot say, since Inever had the opportunity to acquire the ancient Aztec language, --butsomething very opprobrious and horrible, no doubt. "

"I dare say a philosopher like Signor Riccabocca, " said my uncle, "wasnot himself very tapetzon tine--what d' ye call it?--and a good healthyEnglish wife, that poor affectionate Jemima, was thrown away upon him. "

"Roland, " said my father, "you don't like foreigners; a respectableprejudice, and quite natural in a man who has been trying his best tohew them in pieces and blow them up into splinters. But you don't likephilosophers either, --and for that dislike you have no equally goodreason. "

"I only implied that they are not much addicted to soap and water, " saidmy uncle. 

"A notable mistake. Many great philosophers have been very great beaux. Aristotle was a notorious fop. Buffon put on his best laced ruffleswhen he sat down to write, which implies that he washed his hands first. Pythagoras insists greatly on the holiness of frequent ablutions; andHorace--who, in his own way, was as good a philosopher as any the Romansproduced--takes care to let us know what a neat, well-dressed, dapperlittle gentleman he was. But I don't think you ever read the 'Apology'of Apuleius?"

"Not I; what is it about?" asked the captain. 

"About a great many things. It is that Sage's vindication from severalmalignant charges, --amongst others, and principally indeed, that ofbeing much too refined and effeminate for a philosopher. Nothingcan exceed the rhetorical skill with which he excuses himself forusing--tooth-powder. 'Ought a philosopher, ' he exclaims, 'to allowanything unclean about him, especially in the mouth, --the mouth, whichis the vestibule of the soul, the gate of discourse, the portico ofthought! Ah, but AEmilianus [the accuser of Apuleius] never openshis mouth but for slander and calumny, --tooth-powder would indeed beunbecoming to him! Or, if he use any, it will not be my good Arabiantooth powder, but charcoal and cinders. Ay, his teeth should be as foulas his language! And yet even the crocodile likes to have his teethcleaned; insects get into them, and, horrible reptile though he be, he opens his jaws inoffensively to a faithful dentistical bird, whovolunteers his beak for a toothpick. '"

My father was now warm in the subject he had started, and soaredmiles away from Riccabocca and "My Novel. " "And observe, " heexclaimed, --"observe with what gravity this eminent Platonist pleadsguilty to the charge of having a mirror. 'Why, what, ' he exclaims, 'moreworthy of the regards of a human creature than his own image' nihilrespectabilius homini quam formam suam! Is not that one of our childrenthe most dear to us who is called 'the picture of his father'? But takewhat pains you will with a picture, it can never be so like you asthe face in your mirror! Think it discreditable to look with properattention on one's self in the glass! Did not Socrates recommend suchattention to his disciples, --did he not make a great moral agent ofthe speculum? The handsome, in admiring their beauty therein, wereadmonished that handsome is who handsome does; and the more the uglystared at themselves, the more they became naturally anxious to hide thedisgrace of their features in the loveliness of their merits. Was notDemosthenes always at his speculum? Did he not rehearse his causesbefore it as before a master in the art? He learned his eloquence fromPlato, his dialectics from Eubulides; but as for his delivery--there, hecame to the mirror!

"Therefore, " concluded Mr. Caxton, returning unexpectedly to thesubject, --"therefore, it is no reason to suppose that Dr. Riccaboccais averse to cleanliness and decent care of the person because he is aphilosopher; and, all things considered, he never showed himself more aphilosopher than when he left off his spectacles and looked his best. "

"Well, " said my mother, kindly, "I only hope it may turn out happily. But I should have been better pleased if Pisistratus had not made Dr. Riccabocca so reluctant a wooer. "

"Very true, " said the captain; "the Italian does not shine as a lover. Throw a little more fire into him, Pisistratus, --something gallant andchivalrous. "

"Fire! gallantry! chivalry!" cried my father, who had taken Riccaboccaunder his special protection; "why, don't you see that the manis described as a philosopher?--and I should like to know when aphilosopher ever plunged into matrimony without considerable misgivingsand cold shivers! Indeed, it seems that--perhaps before he was aphilosopher--Riccabocca had tried the experiment, and knew what itwas. Why, even that plain-speaking, sensible, practical man, MetellusNumidicus, who was not even a philosopher, but only a Roman censor, thus expressed himself in an exhortation to the people to perpetratematrimony: 'If, O Quirites, we could do without wives, we should alldispense with that subject of care _ea molestia careremus;_ but sincenature has so managed it that we cannot live with women comfortably, norwithout them at all, let us rather provide for the human race than ourown temporary felicity. '"

Here the ladies set up such a cry of indignation, that both Roland andmyself endeavoured to appease their wrath by hasty assurances that weutterly repudiated the damnable doctrine of Metellus Numidicus. 

My father, wholly unmoved, as soon as a sullen silence was established, recommenced. "Do not think, ladies, " said he, "that you were withoutadvocates at that day: there were many Romans gallant enough to blamethe censor for a mode of expressing himself which they held to beequally impolite and injudicious. 'Surely, ' said they, with someplausibility, if Numidicus wished men to marry, he need not havereferred so peremptorily to the disquietudes of the connection, and thushave made them more inclined to turn away from matrimony than give thema relish for it. ' But against these critics one honest man (whose nameof Titus Castricius should not be forgotten by posterity) maintainedthat Metellus Numidicus could not have spoken more properly; 'Forremark, ' said he, 'that Metellus was a censor, not a rhetorician. Itbecomes rhetoricians to adorn and disguise and make the best of things;but Metellus, sanctus vir, --a holy and blameless man, grave and sincereto wit, and addressing the Roman people in the solemn capacity ofCensor, --was bound to speak the plain truth, especially as he wastreating of a subject on which the observation of every day, and theexperience of every life, could not leave the least doubt upon the mindof his audience. ' Still, Riccabocca, having decided to marry, has nodoubt prepared himself to bear all the concomitant evils--as becomes aprofessed sage; and I own I admire the art with which Pisistratus hasdrawn the kind of woman most likely to suit a philosopher--"

Pisistratus bows, and looks round complacently; but recoils from twovery peevish and discontented faces feminine. 

MR. CAXTON (completing his sentence). --"Not only as regards mildnessof temper and other household qualifications, but as regards thevery person of the object of his choice. For you evidently remember, Pisistratus, the reply of Bias, when asked his opinion on marriage:[Long sentence in Greek]"

Pisistratus tries to look as if he had the opinion of Bias by heart, andnods acquiescingly. 

MR. CAXTON. --"That is, my dears, 'The woman you would marry is eitherhandsome or ugly: if handsome, she is koine, --namely, you don't haveher to yourself; if ugly, she is poine, --that is, a fury. ' But, as itis observed in Aulus Gellius (whence I borrow this citation), there is awide interval between handsome and ugly. And thus Ennius, in his tragedyof 'Menalippus, ' uses an admirable expression to designate women of theproper degree of matrimonial comeliness, such as a philosopher wouldselect. He calls this degree stata forma, --a rational, mediocre sort ofbeauty, which is not liable to be either koine or poine. And Favorinus, who was a remarkably sensible man, and came from Provence--the maleinhabitants of which district have always valued themselves on theirknowledge of love and ladies--calls this said stata forma the beauty ofwives, --the uxorial beauty. Ennius says that women of a stata forma arealmost always safe and modest. Now, Jemima, you observe, is described aspossessing this stata forma; and it is the nicety of your observation inthis respect, which I like the most in the whole of your description ofa philosopher's matrimonial courtship, Pisistratus (excepting only thestroke of the spectacles), for it shows that you had properly consideredthe opinion of Bias, and mastered all the counter logic suggested inBook v. , chapter xi. , of Aulus Gellius. "

"For all that, " said Blanche, half archly, half demurely, with a smilein the eye and a pout of the lip, "I don't remember that Pisistratus, inthe days when he wished to be most complimentary, ever assured me that Ihad a stata forma, --a rational, mediocre sort of beauty. "

"And I think, " observed my uncle, "that when he comes to his realheroine, whoever she may be, he will not trouble his head much abouteither Bias or Aulus Gellius. "

CHAPTER II. 

Matrimony is certainly a great change in life. One is astonished not tofind a notable alteration in one's friend, even if he or she have beenonly wedded a week. In the instance of Dr. And Mrs. Riccabocca thechange was peculiarly visible. To speak first of the lady, as inchivalry bound, Mrs. Riccabocca had entirely renounced that melancholywhich had characterized Miss Jemima; she became even sprightly and gay, and looked all the better and prettier for the alteration. She did notscruple to confess honestly to Mrs. Dale that she was now of opinionthat the world was very far from approaching its end. But, in themeanwhile, she did not neglect the duty which the belief she hadabandoned serves to inculcate, --"She set her house in order. " The coldand penurious elegance that had characterized the Casino disappearedlike enchantment, --that is, the elegance remained, but the cold andpenury fled before the smile of woman. Like Puss-in-Boots, afterthe nuptials of his master, Jackeymo only now caught minnows andsticklebacks for his own amusement. Jackeymo looked much plumper, andso did Riccabocca. In a word, the fair Jemima became an excellent wife. Riccabocca secretly thought her extravagant, but, like a wise man, declined to look at the house bills, and ate his joint in unreproachfulsilence. 

Indeed there was so much unaffected kindness in the nature of Mrs. Riccabocca--beneath the quiet of her manner there beat so geniallythe heart of the Hazeldeans--that she fairly justified the favourableanticipations of Mrs. Dale. And though the doctor did not noisilyboast of his felicity, nor, as some new married folks do, thrust itinsultingly under the nimis unctis naribus, --the turned-up noses ofyour surly old married folks, --nor force it gaudily and glaringly onthe envious eyes of the single, you might still see that he was a morecheerful and light-hearted man than before. His smile was lessironical, his politeness less distant. He did not study Machiavelli sointensely, --and he did not return to the spectacles; which last was anexcellent sign. Moreover, the humanizing influence of the tidy Englishwife might be seen in the improvement of his outward or artificial man. His clothes seemed to fit him better; indeed, the clothes were new. Mrs. Dale no longer remarked that the buttons were off the wristbands, whichwas a great satisfaction to her. But the sage still remained faithful tothe pipe, the cloak, and the red silk umbrella. Mrs. Riccabocca had (toher credit be it spoken) used all becoming and wife-like arts againstthese three remnants of the old bachelor, Adam, but in vain. "Animamia, " [Soul of mine]--said the doctor, tenderly, "I hold the cloak, theumbrella, and the pipe as the sole relics that remain to me of my nativecountry. Respect and spare them. "

Mrs. Riccabocca was touched, and had the good sense to perceive thatman, let him be ever so much married, retains certain signs of hisancient independence, --certain tokens of his old identity, which a wife, the most despotic, will do well to concede. She conceded the cloak, she submitted to the umbrella, she overcame her abhorrence of the pipe. After all, considering the natural villany of our sex, she confessed toherself that she might have been worse off. But through all the calmand cheerfulness of Riccabocca, a nervous perturbation was sufficientlyperceptible; it commenced after the second week of marriage; it went onincreasing, till one bright sunny afternoon, as he was standing on histerrace, gazing down upon the road, at which Jackeymo was placed, lo, astage-coach stopped! The doctor made a bound, and put both hands to hisheart as if he had been shot; he then leaped over the balustrade, andhis wife from her window beheld him flying down the hill, with his longhair streaming in the wind, till the trees hid him from her sight. 

"Ah, " thought she, with a natural pang of conjugal jealousy, "henceforthI am only second in his home. He has gone to welcome his child!" And atthat reflection Mrs. Riccabocca shed tears. 

But so naturally amiable was she, that she hastened to curb her emotion, and efface as well as she could the trace of a stepmother's grief. Whenthis was done, and a silent, self-rebuking prayer murmured over, thegood woman descended the stairs with alacrity, and summoning up her bestsmiles, emerged on the terrace. 

She was repaid; for scarcely had she come into the open air, when twolittle arms were thrown around her, and the sweetest voice that evercame from a child's lips sighed out in broken English, "Good mamma, loveme a little. "

"Love you? with my whole heart!" cried the stepmother, with all amother's honest passion. And she clasped the child to her breast. 

"God bless you, my wife!" said Riccabocca, in a husky tone. 

"Please take this too, " added Jackeymo, in Italian, as well as his sobswould let him, and he broke off a great bough full of blossoms from hisfavourite orange-tree, and thrust it into his mistress's hand. She hadnot the slightest notion what he meant by it!

CHAPTER III. 

Violante was indeed a bewitching child, --a child to whom I defy Mrs. Caudle herself (immortal Mrs. Caudle!) to have been a harsh stepmother. 

Look at her now, as released from those kindly arms, she stands, stillclinging with one hand to her new mamma, and holding out the other toRiccabocca, with those large dark eyes swimming in happy tears. What alovely smile! what an ingenuous, candid brow! She looks delicate, sheevidently requires care, she wants the mother. And rare is the womanwho would not love her the better for that! Still, what an innocent, infantine bloom in those clear, smooth cheeks! and in that slight frame, what exquisite natural grace!

"And this, I suppose, is your nurse, darling?" said Mrs. Riccabocca, observing a dark, foreign-looking woman, dressed very strangely, without cap or bonnet, but a great silver arrow stuck in her hair, and afiligree chain or necklace resting upon her kerchief. 

"Ah, good Annetta, " said Violante, in Italian. "Papa, she says she is togo back; but she is not to go back, is she?"

Riccabocca, who had scarcely before noticed the woman, started at thatquestion, exchanged a rapid glance with Jackeymo, and then, mutteringsome inaudible excuse, approached the nurse, and, beckoning her tofollow him, went away into the grounds. He did not return for more thanan hour, nor did the woman then accompany him home. He said briefly tohis wife that the nurse was obliged to return at once to Italy, and thatshe would stay in the village to catch the mail; that indeed she wouldbe of no use in their establishment, as she could not speak a wordof English; that he was sadly afraid Violante would pine for her. AndViolante did pine at first. But still, to a child it is so great a thingto find a parent, to be at home, that, tender and grateful as Violantewas, she could not be inconsolable while her father was there tocomfort. 

For the first few days, Riccabocca scarcely permitted any one to be withhis daughter but himself. He would not even leave her alone withhis Jemima. They walked out together, --sat together for hours in thebelvidere. Then by degrees he began to resign her more and more toJemima's care and tuition, especially in English, of which language atpresent she spoke only a few sentences (previously, perhaps, learned byheart) so as to be clearly intelligible. 

CHAPTER IV. 

There was one person in the establishment of Dr. Riccabocca who wassatisfied neither with the marriage of his master nor the arrival ofViolante, --and that was our friend Lenny Fairfield. Previous to theall-absorbing duties of courtship, the young peasant had secured a verylarge share of Riccabocca's attention. The sage had felt interest in thegrowth of this rude intelligence struggling up to light. But what withthe wooing and what with the wedding, Lenny Fairfield had sunk verymuch out of his artificial position as pupil into his natural stationof under-gardener. And on the arrival of Violante, he saw, with naturalbitterness, that he was clean forgotten, not only by Riccabocca, butalmost by Jackeymo. It was true that the master still lent him books, and the servant still gave him lectures on horticulture. But Riccaboccahad no time nor inclination now to amuse himself with enlightening thattumult of conjecture which the books created. And if Jackeymo had beencovetous of those mines of gold buried beneath the acres now fairlytaken from the squire (and good-naturedly added rent-free, as an aid toJemima's dower), before the advent of the young lady whose future dowrythe produce was to swell, now that she was actually under the eyes ofthe faithful servant, such a stimulus was given to his industry that hecould think of nothing else but the land, and the revolution he designedto effect in its natural English crops. The garden, save only theorangetrees, was abandoned entirely to Lenny, and additional labourerswere called in for the field work. Jackeymo had discovered that one partof the soil was suited to lavender, that another would grow camomile. Hehad in his heart apportioned a beautiful field of rich loam to flax;but against the growth of flax the squire set his face obstinately. That most lucrative, perhaps, of all crops when soil and skill suit, wasformerly attempted in England much more commonly than it is now, sinceyou will find few old leases do not contain a clause prohibitory offlax as an impoverishment of the land. And though Jackeymo learnedlyendeavoured to prove to the squire that the flax itself containedparticles which, if returned to the soil, repaid all that the crop tookaway, Mr. Hazeldean had his old-fashioned prejudices on the matter, which were insuperable. "My forefathers, " quoth he, "did not put thatclause in their leases without good cause; and as the Casino lands areentailed on Frank, I have no right to gratify your foreign whims at hisexpense. "

To make up for the loss of the flax, Jackeymo resolved to convert a verynice bit of pasture into orchard ground, which he calculated would bringin L10 net per acre by the time Miss Violante was marriageable. At thisthe squire pished a little; but as it was quite clear that the landwould be all the more valuable hereafter for the fruit-trees, heconsented to permit the "grass-land" to be thus partially broken up. 

All these changes left poor Lenny Fairfield very much to himself, --ata time when the new and strange devices which the initiation intobook knowledge creates made it most desirable that he should have theconstant guidance of a superior mind. 

One evening after his work, as Lenny was returning to his mother'scottage, very sullen and very moody, he suddenly came in contact withSprott the tinker. 

CHAPTER V. 

The tinker was seated under a hedge, hammering away at an old kettle, with a little fire burning in front of him, and the donkey hard by, indulging in a placid doze. Mr. Sprott looked up as Lenny passed, noddedkindly, and said, --

"Good evenin', Lenny: glad to hear you be so 'spectably sitivated withMounseer. "

"Ay, " answered Lenny, with a leaven of rancour in his recollections, "you're not ashamed to speak to me now that I am not in disgrace. Butit was in disgrace, when it wasn't my fault, that the real gentleman wasmost kind to me. "

"Ar-r, Lenny, " said the tinker, with a prolonged rattle in that saidAr-r, which was not without great significance. "But you sees the realgentleman, who han't got his bread to get, can hafford to 'spise hisc'racter in the world. A poor tinker must be timbersome and nice in his'sociations. But sit down here a bit, Lenny; I've summat to say to ye!"

"To me?"

"To ye. Give the neddy a shove out i' the vay, and sit down, I say. "

Lenny rather reluctantly, and somewhat superciliously, accepted thisinvitation. 

"I hears, " said the tinker, in a voice made rather indistinct by acouple of nails, which he had inserted between his teeth, --"I hears ashow you be unkimmon fond of reading. I ha' sum nice cheap books in mybag yonder, --sum as low as a penny. "

"I should like to see them, " said Lenny, his eyes sparkling. 

The tinker rose, opened one of the panniers on the ass's back, took outa bag, which he placed before Lenny, and told him to suit himself. Theyoung peasant desired no better. He spread all the contents of thebag on the sward, and a motley collection of food for the mind wasthere, --food and poison, serpentes avibus good and evil. Here Milton'sParadise Lost, there "The Age of Reason;" here Methodist Tracts, there"True Principles of Socialism, "--Treatises on Useful Knowledge by soundlearning actuated by pure benevolence, Appeals to Operatives by theshallowest reasoners, instigated by the same ambition that had movedEratosthenes to the conflagration of a temple; works of fictionadmirable as "Robinson Crusoe, " or innocent as "The Old English Baron, "beside coarse translations of such garbage as had rotted away the youthof France under Louis Quinze. This miscellany was an epitome, in short, of the mixed World of Books, of that vast city of the Press, with itspalaces and hovels, its aqueducts and sewers, which opens all aliketo the naked eye and the curious mind of him to whom you say, in thetinker's careless phrase, "Suit yourself. "

But it is not the first impulse of a nature healthful and still pureto settle in the hovel and lose itself amidst the sewers; and LennyFairfield turned innocently over the bad books, and selecting two orthree of the best, brought them to the tinker, and asked the price. 

"Why, " said Mr. Sprott, putting on his spectacles, "you has taken thewerry dearest: them 'ere be much cheaper, and more hinterestin'. "

"But I don't fancy them, " answered Lenny; "I don't understand what theyare about, and this seems to tell one how the steam-engine is made, andhas nice plates; and this is 'Robinson Crusoe, ' which Parson Dale oncesaid he would give me--I'd rather buy it out of my own money. "

"Well, please yourself, " quoth the tinker; "you shall have the books forfour bob, and you can pay me next month. "

"Four bobs, four shillings? it is a great sum, " said Lenny; "but I willlay by, as you are kind enough to trust me: good-evening, Mr. Sprott. "

"Stay a bit, " said the tinker; "I'll just throw you these two littletracts into the bargain; they be only a shilling a dozen, so 't isbut tuppence, --and ven you has read those, vy, you'll be a regularcustomer. "

The tinker tossed to Lenny Nos. 1 and 2 of "Appeals to Operatives, " andthe peasant took them up gratefully. 

The young knowledge-seeker went his way across the green fields, andunder the still autumn foliage of the hedgerows. He looked first at onebook, then at another; he did not know on which to settle. 

The tinker rose, and made a fire with leaves and furze and sticks, somedry and some green. 

Lenny has now opened No. 1 of the tracts: they are the shortest to read, and don't require so much effort of the mind as the explanation of thesteam-engine. 

The tinker has set on his grimy glue-pot, and the glue simmers. 

CHAPTER VI. 

As Violante became more familiar with her new home, and those aroundher became more familiar with Violante, she was remarked for a certainstateliness of manner and bearing, which, had it been less evidentlynatural and inborn, would have seemed misplaced in the daughter ofa forlorn exile, and would have been rare at so early an age amongchildren of the loftiest pretensions. It was with the air of a littleprincess that she presented her tiny hand to a friendly pressure, orsubmitted her calm clear cheek to a presuming kiss. Yet withal she wasso graceful, and her very stateliness was so pretty and captivating, that she was not the less loved for all her grand airs. And, indeed, shedeserved to be loved; for though she was certainly prouder than Mr. Dalecould approve of, her pride was devoid of egotism, --and that is a prideby no means common. She had an intuitive forethought for others: youcould see that she was capable of that grand woman-heroism, abnegationof self; and though she was an original child, and often grave andmusing, with a tinge of melancholy, sweet, but deep in her character, still she was not above the happy genial merriment of childhood, --onlyher silver laugh was more attuned, and her gestures more composed, thanthose of children habituated to many play-fellows usually are. Mrs. Hazeldean liked her best when she was grave, and said "she would becomea very sensible woman. " Mrs. Dale liked her best when she was gay, andsaid "she was born to make many a heart ache;" for which Mrs. Dale wasproperly reproved by the parson. Mrs. Hazeldean gave her a little set ofgarden tools; Mrs. Dale a picture-book and a beautiful doll. For a longtime the book and the doll had the preference. But Mrs. Hazeldean havingobserved to Riccabocca that the poor child looked pale, and ought to bea good deal in the open air, the wise father ingeniously pretendedto Violante that Mrs. Riccabocca had taken a great fancy to thepicture-book, and that he should be very glad to have the doll, uponwhich Violante hastened to give them both away, and was never sohappy as when Mamma (as she called Mrs. Riccabocca) was admiring thepicture-book, and Riccabocca with austere gravity dandled the doll. Then Riccabocca assured her that she could be of great use to him inthe garden; and Violante instantly put into movement her spade, hoe, andwheelbarrow. 

This last occupation brought her into immediate contact with Mr. LeonardFairfield; and that personage one morning, to his great horror, foundMiss Violante had nearly exterminated a whole celery-bed, which she hadignorantly conceived to be a crop of weeds. 

Lenny was extremely angry. He snatched away the hoe, and said angrily, "You must not do that, Miss. I'll tell your papa if you--"

Violante drew herself up, and never having been so spoken to before, at least since her arrival in England, there was something comic in thesurprise of her large eyes, as well as something tragic in the dignityof her offended mien. "It is very naughty of you, Miss, " continuedLeonard, in a milder tone, for he was both softened by the eyes and awedby the mien, "and I trust you will not do it again. "

"Non capisco, " murmured Violante, and the dark eyes filled with tears. At that moment up came Jackeymo: and Violante, pointing to Leonard, said, with an effort not to betray her emotion, "Il fanciullo e moltogrossolano. "--["He is a very rude boy. "]

Jackeymo turned to Leonard with the look of an enraged tiger. "How youdare, scum of de earth that you are, " cried he, "how you dare make crythe signorina?" And his English not supplying familiar vituperativessufficiently, he poured out upon Lenny such a profusion of Italianabuse, that the boy turned red and white, in a breath, with rage andperplexity. 

Violante took instant compassion upon the victim she had made, and withtrue feminine caprice now began to scold Jackeymo for his anger, and, finally approaching Leonard, laid her hand on his arm, and said with akindness at once childlike and queenly, and in the prettiest imaginablemixture of imperfect English and soft Italian, to which I cannot pretendto do justice, and shall therefore translate: "Don't mind him. I daresay it was all my fault, only I did not understand you: are not thesethings weeds?"

"No, my darling signorina, " said Jackeymo in Italian, looking ruefullyat the celery-bed, "they are not weeds, and they sell very well at thistime of the year. But still, if it amuses you to pluck them up, I shouldlike to see who's to prevent it. "

Lenny walked away. He had been called "the scum of the earth, "--by aforeigner too! He had again been ill-treated for doing what he conceivedhis duty. He was again feeling the distinction between rich and poor, and he now fancied that that distinction involved deadly warfare, forhe had read from beginning to end those two damnable tracts whichthe tinker had presented to him. But in the midst of all the angrydisturbance of his mind, he felt the soft touch of the infant's hand, the soothing influence of her conciliating words, and he was halfashamed that he had spoken so roughly to a child. 

Still, not trusting himself to speak, he walked away, and sat down at adistance: "I don't see, " thought he, "why there should be rich and poor, master and servant. " Lenny, be it remembered, had not heard the Parson'sPolitical Sermon. 

An hour after, having composed himself, Lenny returned to his work. Jackeymo was no longer in the garden: he had gone to the fields; butRiccabocca was standing by the celerybed, and holding the red silkumbrella over Violante as she sat on the ground, looking up at herfather with those eyes already so full of intelligence and love andsoul. 

"Lenny, " said Riccabocca, "my young lady has been telling me that shehas been very naughty, and Giacomo very unjust to you. Forgive themboth. "

Lenny's sullenness melted in an instant: the reminiscences of tractsNos. 1 and 2, --

 "Like the baseless fabric of a vision, Left not a wreck behind. "

He raised eyes swimming with all his native goodness towards the wiseman, and dropped them gratefully on the infant peace-maker. Then heturned away his head and fairly wept. The parson was right: "O ye poor, have charity for the rich; O ye rich, respect the poor. "

CHAPTER VII. 

Now from that day the humble Lenny and the regal Violante became greatfriends. With what pride he taught her to distinguish between celery andweeds, --and how proud too was she when she learned that she was useful!There is not a greater pleasure you can give children, especially femalechildren, than to make them feel they are already of value in the world, and serviceable as well as protected. Weeks and months rolled away, andLenny still read, not only the books lent him by the doctor, but thosehe bought of Mr. Sprott. As for the bombs and shells against religionwhich the tinker carried in his bag, Lenny was not induced to blowhimself up with them. He had been reared from his cradle in simple loveand reverence for the Divine Father, and the tender Saviour, whose lifebeyond all records of human goodness, whose death beyond all epics ofmortal heroism, no being whose infancy has been taught to supplicatethe Merciful and adore the Holy, yea, even though his later life may beentangled amidst the thorns of some desolate pyrrhonism, can ever hearreviled and scoffed without a shock to the conscience and a revolt ofthe heart. As the deer recoils by instinct from the tiger, as the verylook of the scorpion deters you from handling it, though you never sawa scorpion before, so the very first line in some ribald profanity onwhich the tinker put his black finger made Lenny's blood run cold. Safe, too, was the peasant boy from any temptation in works of a gross andlicentious nature, not only because of the happy ignorance of his rurallife, but because of a more enduring safeguard, --genius! Genius, that, manly, robust, healthful as it be, is long before it lose itsinstinctive Dorian modesty; shamefaced, because so susceptible toglory, --genius, that loves indeed to dream, but on the violet bank, notthe dunghill. Wherefore, even in the error of the senses, it seeks toescape from the sensual into worlds of fancy, subtle and refined. Butapart from the passions, true genius is the most practical of all humangifts. Like the Apollo, whom the Greek worshipped as its type, evenArcady is its exile, not its home. Soon weary of the dalliance of Tempe, it ascends to its mission, --the Archer of the silver bow, the guide ofthe car of light. Speaking more plainly, genius is the enthusiasm forself-improvement; it ceases or sleeps the moment it desists from seekingsome object which it believes of value, and by that object it insensiblyconnects its self-improvement with the positive advance of the world. At present Lenny's genius had no bias that was not to the Positiveand Useful. It took the direction natural to its sphere, and the wantstherein, --namely, to the arts which we call mechanical. He wanted toknow about steam-engines and Artesian wells; and to know about them itwas necessary to know something of mechanics and hydrostatics; so hebought popular elementary works on those mystic sciences, and set allthe powers of his mind at work on experiments. 

Noble and generous spirits are ye, who, with small care for fame, andlittle reward from pelf, have opened to the intellects of the poor theportals of wisdom! I honour and revere ye; only do not think ye havedone all that is needful. Consider, I pray ye, whether so good a choicefrom the tinker's bag would have been made by a boy whom religionhad not scared from the Pestilent, and genius had not led to theself-improving. And Lenny did not wholly escape from the mephiticportions of the motley elements from which his awakening mind drew itsnurture. Think not it was all pure oxygen that the panting lip drew in. No; there were still those inflammatory tracts. Political I do not liketo call them, for politics means the art of government, and the tracts Ispeak of assailed all government which mankind has hitherto recognized. Sad rubbish, perhaps, were such tracts to you, O sound thinker, in youreasy-chair! or to you, practised statesman, at your post on the TreasuryBench; to you, calm dignitary of a learned Church; or to you, my lordjudge, who may often have sent from your bar to the dire Orcusof Norfolk's Isle the ghosts of men whom that rubbish, fallingsimultaneously on the bumps of acquisitiveness and combativeness, hathuntimely slain! Sad rubbish to you! But seems it such rubbish to thepoor man, to whom it promises a paradise on the easy terms of upsettinga world? For, ye see, those "Appeals to Operatives" represent thatsame world-upsetting as the simplest thing imaginable, --a sort oftwo-and-two-make-four proposition. The poor have only got to settheir strong hands to the axle, and heave-a-boy! and hurrah forthe topsy-turvy! Then just to put a little wholesome rage into theheave-a-hoy! it is so facile to accompany the eloquence of "Appeals"with a kind of stir-the-bile-up statistics, --"Abuses of thearistocracy, " "Jobs of the Priesthood, " "Expenses of the Army kept upfor Peers' younger sons, " "Wars contracted for the villanous purpose ofraising the rents of the landowners, "--all arithmetically dished up, and seasoned with tales of every gentleman who has committed a misdeed, every clergyman who has dishonoured his cloth; as if such instances werefair specimens of average gentlemen and ministers of religion! All this, passionately advanced (and, observe, never answered, for that literatureadmits no controversialists, and the writer has it all his own way), may be rubbish; but it is out of such rubbish that operatives buildbarricades for attack, and legislators prisons for defence. 

Our poor friend Lenny drew plenty of this stuff from the tinker'sbag. He thought it very clever and very eloquent; and he supposed thestatistics were as true as mathematical demonstrations. 

A famous knowledge-diffuser is looking over my shoulder, and tells me, "Increase education, and cheapen good books, and all this rubbish willdisappear!" Sir, I don't believe a word of it. If you printed Ricardoand Adam Smith at a farthing a volume, I still believe that they wouldbe as little read by the operatives as they are nowadays by a very largeproportion of highly-cultivated men. I still believe that, while thepress works, attacks on the rich and propositions for heave-a-hoys willalways form a popular portion of the Literature of Labour. There's LennyFairfield reading a treatise on hydraulics, and constructing a model fora fountain into the bargain; but that does not prevent his acquiescencein any proposition for getting rid of a National Debt, which hecertainly never agreed to pay, and which he is told makes sugar and teaso shamefully dear. No. I tell you what does a little counteract thoseeloquent incentives to break his own head against the strong walls ofthe Social System, --it is, that he has two eyes in that head whichare not always employed in reading. And having been told in print thatmasters are tyrants, parsons hypocrites or drones in the hive, andlandowners vampires and bloodsuckers, he looks out into the little worldaround him, and, first, he is compelled to acknowledge that his masteris not a tyrant (perhaps because he is a foreigner and a philosopher, and, for what I and Lenny know, a republican). But then Parson Dale, though High Church to the marrow, is neither hypocrite nor drone. Hehas a very good living, it is true, --much better than he ought to have, according to the "political" opinions of those tracts! but Lenny isobliged to confess that if Parson Dale were a penny the poorer, he woulddo a pennyworth's less good; and comparing one parish with another, suchas Rood Hall and Hazeldean, he is dimly aware that there is no greaterCIVILIZER than a parson tolerably well off. Then, too, Squire Hazeldean, though as arrant a Tory as ever stood upon shoe-leather, is certainlynot a vampire nor blood sucker. He does not feed on the public; agreat many of the public feed upon him: and, therefore, his practicalexperience a little staggers and perplexes Lenny Fairfield as tothe gospel accuracy of his theoretical dogmas. Masters, parsons, andlandowners! having, at the risk of all popularity, just given a coup depatte to certain sages extremely the fashion at present, I am not goingto let you off without an admonitory flea in the ear. Don't suppose thatany mere scribbling and typework will suffice to answer the scribblingand typework set at work to demolish you, --write down that rubbish youcan't; live it down you may. If you are rich, like Squire Hazeldean, dogood with your money; if you are poor, like Signor Riccabocca, do goodwith your kindness. 

See! there is Lenny now receiving his week's wages; and though Lennyknows that he can get higher wages in the very next parish, his blueeyes are sparkling with gratitude, not at the chink of the money, but atthe poor exile's friendly talk on things apart from all service; whileViolante is descending the steps from the terrace, charged by hermother-in-law with a little basket of sago, and such-like delicacies, for Mrs. Fairfield, who has been ailing the last few days. 

Lenny will see the tinker as he goes home, and he will buy a mostDemosthenean "Appeal, "--a tract of tracts, upon the propriety of Strikesand the Avarice of Masters. But, somehow or other, I think a few wordsfrom Signor Riccabocca, that did not cost the signor a farthing, and thesight of his mother's smile at the contents of the basket, which costvery little, will serve to neutralize the effects of that "Appeal" muchmore efficaciously than the best article a Brougham or a Mill couldwrite on the subject. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Spring had come again; and one beautiful May day, Leonard Fairfield satbeside the little fountain which he had now actually constructed in thegarden. The butterflies were hovering over the belt of flowers whichhe had placed around his fountain, and the birds were singing overhead. Leonard Fairfield was resting from his day's work, to enjoy hisabstemious dinner, beside the cool play of the sparkling waters, and, with the yet keener appetite of knowledge, he devoured his book as hemunched his crusts. 

A penny tract is the shoeing-horn of literature! it draws on a greatmany books, and some too tight to be very useful in walking. The pennytract quotes a celebrated writer--you long to read him; it props astartling assertion by a grave authority--you long to refer to it. During the nights of the past winter, Leonard's intelligence hadmade vast progress; he had taught himself more than the elements ofmechanics, and put to practice the principles he had acquired not onlyin the hydraulical achievement of the fountain, nor in the stillmore notable application of science, commenced on the stream in whichJackeymo had fished for minnows, and which Lenny had diverted to thepurpose of irrigating two fields, but in various ingenious contrivancesfor the facilitation or abridgment of labour, which had excited greatwonder and praise in the neighbourhood. On the other hand, those rabidlittle tracts, which dealt so summarily with the destinies of thehuman race, even when his growing reason and the perusal of worksmore classical or more logical had led him to perceive that they wereilliterate, and to suspect that they jumped from premises to conclusionswith a celerity very different from the careful ratiocination ofmechanical science, had still, in the citations and references wherewiththey abounded, lured him on to philosophers more specious and moreperilous. Out of the tinker's bag he had drawn a translation ofCondorcet's "Progress of Man" and another of Rousseau's "SocialContract. " Works so eloquent had induced him to select from the tractsin the tinker's miscellany those which abounded most in professions ofphilanthropy, and predictions of some coming Golden Age, to which oldSaturn's was a joke, --tracts so mild and mother-like in their language, that it required a much more practical experience than Lenny's toperceive that you would have to pass a river of blood before you hadthe slightest chance of setting foot on the flowery banks on which theyinvited you to repose; tracts which rouged poor Christianity on thecheeks, clapped a crown of innocent daffodillies on her head, andset her to dancing a pas de zephyr in the pastoral ballet in whichSaint-Simon pipes to the flock he shears; or having first laid it downas a preliminary axiom that--

 "The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, -- Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, "

substituted in place thereof M. Fourier's symmetrical phalanstere, orMr. Owen's architectural parallelogram. It was with some such tractthat Lenny was seasoning his crusts and his radishes, when Riccabocca, bending his long dark face over the student's shoulder, said abruptly, --

"Diavolo, my friend! what on earth have you got there? Just let me lookat it, will you?"

Leonard rose respectfully, and coloured deeply as he surrendered thetract to Riccabocca. 

The wise man read the first page attentively, the second more cursorily, and only ran his eye over the rest. He had gone through too vast arange of problems political, not to have passed over that venerablePons Asinorum of Socialism, on which Fouriers and Saint-Simons sitstraddling, and cry aloud that they have arrived at the last boundary ofknowledge!

"All this is as old as the hills, " quoth Riccabocca, irreverently; "butthe hills stand still, and this--there it goes!" and the sage pointed toa cloud emitted from his pipe. "Did you ever read Sir David Brewster onOptical Delusions? No! Well, I'll lend it to you. You will find thereina story of a lady who always saw a black cat on her hearth-rug. Theblack cat existed only in her fancy, but the hallucination was naturaland reasonable, --eh, what do you think?"

"Why, sir, " said Leonard, not catching the Italian's meaning, "I don'texactly see that it was natural and reasonable. "

"Foolish boy, yes! because black cats are things possible and known. But who ever saw upon earth a community of men such as sit on thehearth-rugs of Messrs. Owen and Fourier? If the lady's hallucination wasnot reasonable, what is his who believes in such visions as these?"

Leonard bit his lip. 

"My dear boy, " cried Riccabocca, kindly, "the only thing sure andtangible to which these writers would lead you lies at the first step, and that is what is commonly called a Revolution. Now, I know what thatis. I have gone, not indeed through a revolution, but an attempt atone. "

Leonard raised his eyes towards his master with a look of profoundrespect and great curiosity. 

"Yes, " added Riccabocca, and the face on which the boy gazed exchangedits usual grotesque and sardonic expression for one animated, noble, andheroic. "Yes, not a revolution for chimeras, but for that cause whichthe coldest allow to be good, and which, when successful, all timeapproves as divine, --the redemption of our native soil from the ruleof the foreigner! I have shared in such an attempt. And, " continued theItalian, mournfully, "recalling now all the evil passions it arouses, all the ties it dissolves, all the blood that it commands to flow, allthe healthful industry it arrests, all the madmen that it arms, all thevictims that it dupes, I question whether one man really honest, pure, and humane, who has once gone through such an ordeal, would ever hazardit again, unless he was assured that the victory was certain, --ay, andthe object for which he fights not to be wrested from his hands amidstthe uproar of the elements that the battle has released. "

The Italian paused, shaded his brow with his hand, and remained longsilent. Then, gradually resuming his ordinary tone, he continued, --

"Revolutions that have no definite objects made clear by the positiveexperience of history; revolutions, in a word, that aim less atsubstituting one law or one dynasty for another, than at changing thewhole scheme of society, have been little attempted by real statesmen. Even Lycurgus is proved to be a myth who never existed. Such organicchanges are but in the day-dreams of philosophers who lived apart fromthe actual world, and whose opinions (though generally they were verybenevolent, good sort of men, and wrote in an elegant poetical style)one would no more take on a plain matter of life, than one would lookupon Virgil's Eclogues as a faithful picture of the ordinary pains andpleasures of the peasants who tend our sheep. Read them as you wouldread poets, and they are delightful. But attempt to shape the worldaccording to the poetry, and fit yourself for a madhouse. The fartheroff the age is from the realization of such projects, the more thesepoor philosophers have indulged them. Thus, it was amidst the saddestcorruption of court manners that it became the fashion in Paris to sitfor one's picture with a crook in one's hand, as Alexis or Daphne. Justas liberty was fast dying out of Greece, and the successors of Alexanderwere founding their monarchies, and Rome was growing up to crush in itsiron grasp all States save its own, Plato withdraws his eyes from theworld, to open them in his dreamy "Atlantis. " Just in the grimmestperiod of English history, with the axe hanging over his head, SirThomas More gives you his "Utopia. " Just when the world is to be thetheatre of a new Sesostris, the sages of France tell you that the age istoo enlightened for war, that man is henceforth to be governed by purereason, and live in a paradise. Very pretty reading all this to a manlike me, Lenny, who can admire and smile at it. But to you, to the manwho has to work for his living, to the man who thinks it would be somuch more pleasant to live at his ease in a phalanstere than to workeight or ten hours a day; to the man of talent and action and industry, whose future is invested in that tranquillity and order of a Statein which talent and action and industry are a certain capital, --why, Messrs. Coutts, the great bankers, had better encourage a theory toupset the system of banking! Whatever disturbs society, yea, even by acauseless panic, much more by an actual struggle, falls first upon themarket of labour, and thence affects prejudicially every departmentof intelligence. In such times the arts are arrested; literature isneglected; people are too busy to read anything save appeals to theirpassions. And capital, shaken in its sense of security, no longerventures boldly through the land, calling forth all the energies of toiland enterprise, and extending to every workman his reward. Now, Lenny, take this piece of advice. You are young, clever, and aspiring: menrarely succeed in changing the world; but a man seldom fails of successif he lets the world alone, and resolves to make the best of it. Youare in the midst of the great crisis of your life; it is the strugglebetween the new desires knowledge excites, and that sense of povertywhich those desires convert either into hope and emulation, or into envyand despair. I grant that it is an up-hill work that lies before you;but don't you think it is always easier to climb a mountain than it isto level it? These books call on you to level the mountain; and thatmountain is the property of other people, subdivided amongst a greatmany proprietors, and protected by law. At the first stroke of thepickaxe, it is ten to one but what you are taken up for a trespass. Butthe path up the mountain is a right of way uncontested. You may be safeat the summit, before (even if the owners are fools enough to let you)you could have levelled a yard. Cospetto!" quoth the doctor, "it is morethan two thousand years ago since poor Plato began to level it, and themountain is as high as ever!"

Thus saying, Riccabocca came to the end of his pipe, and stalkingthoughtfully away, he left Leonard Fairfield trying to extract lightfrom the smoke. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Shortly after this discourse of Riccabocca's, an incident occurred toLeonard that served to carry his mind into new directions. One evening, when his mother was out, he was at work on a new mechanical contrivance, and had the misfortune to break one of the instruments which heemployed. Now it will be remembered that his father had been thesquire's head carpenter: the widow had carefully hoarded the toolsof his craft, which had belonged to her poor Mark; and though sheoccasionally lent them to Leonard, she would not give them up to hisservice. Amongst these Leonard knew that he should find the one that hewanted; and being much interested in his contrivance, he could not waittill his mother's return. The tools, with other little relies of thelost, were kept in a large trunk in Mrs. Fairfield's sleepingroom;the trunk was not locked, and Leonard went to it with out ceremony orscruple. In rummaging for the instrument his eye fell upon a bundle ofmanuscripts; and he suddenly recollected that when he was a mere child, and before he much knew the difference between verse and prose, hismother had pointed to these manuscripts, and said, "One day or other, when you can read nicely, I'll let you look at these, Lenny. My poorMark wrote such verses--ah, he was a schollard!" Leonard, reasonablyenough, thought that the time had now arrived when he was worthy theprivilege of reading the paternal effusions, and he took forth themanuscripts with a keen but melancholy interest. He recognized hisfather's handwriting, which he had often seen before in account-booksand memoranda, and read eagerly some trifling poems, which did not showmuch genius, nor much mastery of language and rhythm, --such poems, inshort, as a self-educated man, with poetic taste and feeling rather thanpoetic inspiration or artistic culture, might compose with credit, butnot for fame. But suddenly, as he turned over these "OccasionalPieces, " Leonard came to others in a different handwriting, --a woman'shandwriting, small and fine and exquisitely formed. He had scarcely readsix lines of these last, before his attention was irresistibly chained. They were of a different order of merit from poor Mark's; they bore theunmistakable stamp of genius. Like the poetry of women in general, theywere devoted to personal feeling, --they were not the mirror of a world, but reflections of a solitary heart. Yet this is the kind of poetry mostpleasing to the young. And the verses in question had another attractionfor Leonard: they seemed to express some struggle akin to his own, --somecomplaint against the actual condition of the writer's life, some sweetmelodious murmurs at fortune. For the rest, they were characterized by avein of sentiment so elevated, that, if written by a man, it would haverun into exaggeration; written by a woman, the romance was carried offby so many genuine revelations of sincere, deep, pathetic feeling, thatit was always natural, though true to a nature for which you would notaugur happiness. 

Leonard was still absorbed in the perusal of these poems when Mrs. Fairfield entered the room. 

"What have you been about, Lenny, --searching in my box?"

"I came to look for my father's bag of tools, Mother, and I found thesepapers, which you said I might read some day. "

"I does n't wonder you did not hear me when I came in, " said the widow, sighing. "I used to sit still for the hour together, when my poor Markread his poems to me. There was such a pretty one about the 'Peasant'sFireside, ' Lenny, --have you got hold of that?"

"Yes, dear mother; and I remarked the allusion to you: it brought tearsto my eyes. But these verses are not my father's; whose are they? Theyseem in a woman's handwriting. "

Mrs. Fairfield looked, changed colour, grew faint and seated herself. 

"Poor, poor Nora!" said she, falteringly. "I did not know as they werethere; Mark kep' 'em; they got among his--"

LEONARD. --"Who was Nora?"

MRS. FAIRFIELD. --"Who?--child--who? Nora was--was my own--own sister. "

LEONARD (in great amaze, contrasting his ideal of the writer of thesemusical lines, in that graceful hand, with his homely uneducated mother, who could neither read nor write). --"Your sister! is it possible! Myaunt, then. How comes it you never spoke of her before? Oh, you shouldbe so proud of her, Mother!"

MRS. FAIRFIELD (clasping her hands). --"We were proud of her, all ofus, --father, mother, all! She was so beautiful and so good, and notproud she! though she looked like the first lady in the land. Oh, Nora, Nora!"

LEONARD (after a pause). --"But she must have been highly educated?"

MRS. FAIRFIELD. --"'Deed she was!"

LEONARD. --"How was that?"

MRS. FAIRFIELD (rocking herself to and fro in her chair). --"Oh, my Ladywas her godmother, --Lady Lansmere I mean, --and took a fancy to her whenshe was that high, and had her to stay at the Park, and wait on herLadyship; and then she put her to school, and Nora was so clever thatnothing would do but she must go to London as a governess. But don'ttalk of it, boy! don't talk of it!"

LEONARD. --"Why not, Mother? What has become of her; where is she?"

MRS. FAIRFIELD (bursting into a paroxysm of tears). --"In her grave, --inher cold grave! Dead, dead!"

Leonard was inexpressibly grieved and shocked. It is the attribute ofthe poet to seem always living, always a friend. Leonard felt as if someone very dear had been suddenly torn from his heart. He tried to consolehis mother; but her emotion was contagious, and he wept with her. 

"And how long has she been dead?" he asked at last, in mournful accents. 

"Many's the long year, many; but, " added Mrs. Fairfield, rising, andputting her tremulous hand on Leonard's shoulder, "you'll just nevertalk to me about her; I can't bear it, it breaks my heart. I can bearbetter to talk of Mark; come downstairs, --come. "

"May I not keep these verses, Mother? Do let me. "

"Well, well, those bits o' paper be all she left behind her, --yes, keepthem, but put back Mark's. Are they all here, --sure?" And the widow, though she could not read her husband's verses, looked jealously at themanuscripts written in his irregular, large scrawl, and, smoothing themcarefully, replaced them in the trunk, and resettled over them somesprigs of lavender, which Leonard had unwittingly disturbed. 

"But, " said Leonard, as his eye again rested on the beautifulhandwriting of his lost aunt, --"but you called her Nora--I see she signsherself L. "

"Leonora was her name. I said she was my Lady's god-child. We call herNora for short--"

"Leonora--and I am Leonard--is that how I came by the name?"

"Yes, yes; do hold your tongue, boy, " sobbed poor Mrs. Fairfield;and she could not be soothed nor coaxed into continuing or renewing asubject which was evidently associated with insupportable pain. 

CHAPTER X. 

It is difficult to exaggerate the effect that this discovery producedon Leonard's train of thought. Some one belonging to his own humble racehad, then, preceded him in his struggling flight towards the loftierregions of Intelligence and Desire. It was like the mariner amidstunknown seas, who finds carved upon some desert isle a familiarhousehold name. 

And this creature of genius and of sorrow-whose existence he had onlylearned by her song, and whose death created, in the simple heart ofher sister, so passionate a grief, after the lapse of so manyyears--supplied to the romance awaking in his young heart the idealwhich it unconsciously sought. He was pleased to hear that she had beenbeautiful and good. He paused from his books to muse on her, and pictureher image to his fancy. That there was some mystery in her fate wasevident to him; and while that conviction deepened his interest, themystery itself by degrees took a charm which he was not anxious todispel. He resigned himself to Mrs. Fairfield's obstinate silence. Hewas contented to rank the dead amongst those holy and ineffable imageswhich we do not seek to unveil. Youth and Fancy have many secret hoardsof idea which they do not desire to impart, even to those most in theirconfidence. I doubt the depth of feeling in any man who has not certainrecesses in his soul into which none may enter. 

Hitherto, as I have said, the talents of Leonard Fairfield had beenmore turned to things positive than to the ideal, --to science andinvestigation of fact than to poetry, and that airier truth in whichpoetry has its element. He had read our greater poets, indeed, butwithout thought of imitating; and rather from the general curiosityto inspect all celebrated monuments of the human mind than from thatespecial predilection for verse which is too common in childhood andyouth to be any sure sign of a poet. But now these melodies, unknown toall the world beside, rang in his ear, mingled with his thoughts, --set, as it were, his whole life to music. He read poetry with a differentsentiment, --it seemed to him that he had discovered its secret. And soreading, the passion seized him, and "the numbers came. "

To many minds, at the commencement of our grave and earnest pilgrimage, I am Vandal enough to think that the indulgence of poetic taste andrevery does great and lasting harm; that it serves to enervate thecharacter, give false ideas of life, impart the semblance of drudgeryto the noble toils and duties of the active man. All poetry would not dothis, --not, for instance, the Classical, in its diviner masters; not thepoetry of Homer, of Virgil, of Sophocles; not, perhaps, even that ofthe indolent Horace. But the poetry which youth usually loves andappreciates the best--the poetry of mere sentiment--does so in mindsalready over-predisposed to the sentimental, and which require bracingto grow into healthful manhood. 

On the other hand, even this latter kind of poetry, which is peculiarlymodern, does suit many minds of another mould, --minds which our modernlife, with its hard positive forms, tends to produce. And as in certainclimates plants and herbs, peculiarly adapted as antidotes to thosediseases most prevalent in the atmosphere, are profusely sown, as itwere, by the benignant providence of Nature, so it may be that thesofter and more romantic species of poetry, which comes forth inharsh, money-making, unromantic times, is intended as curatives andcounter-poisons. The world is so much with us, nowadays, that we needhave something that prates to us, albeit even in too fine a euphuism, ofthe moon and stars. 

Certes, to Leonard Fairfield, at that period of his intellectual life, the softness of our Helicon descended as healing dews. In his turbulentand unsettled ambition, in his vague grapple with the giant forms ofpolitical truths, in his bias towards the application of science toimmediate practical purposes, this lovely vision of the Muse came in thewhite robe of the Peacemaker; and with upraised hand pointing to sereneskies, she opened to him fair glimpses of the Beautiful, which is givento Peasant as to Prince, --showed to him that on the surface of earththere is something nobler than fortune, that he who can view the worldas a poet is always at soul a king; while to practical purpose itself, that larger and more profound invention, which poetry stimulates, supplied the grand design and the subtle view, --leading him beyond themere ingenuity of the mechanic, and habituating him to regard the inertforce of the matter at his command with the ambition of the Discoverer. But, above all, the discontent that was within him finding a vent, notin deliberate war upon this actual world, but through the purifyingchannels of song, in the vent itself it evaporated, it was lost. Byaccustoming ourselves to survey all things with the spirit that retainsand reproduces them only in their lovelier or grander aspects, a vastphilosophy of toleration for what we before gazed on with scorn orhate insensibly grows upon us. Leonard looked into his heart after theEnchantress had breathed upon it; and through the mists of the fleetingand tender melancholy which betrayed where she had been, he beheld a newsun of delight and joy dawning over the landscape of human life. 

Thus, though she was dead and gone from his actual knowledge, thismysterious kinswoman--"a voice, and nothing more"--had spoken to him, soothed, elevated, cheered, attuned each discord into harmony; and ifnow permitted from some serener sphere to behold the life that her soulthus strangely influenced, verily with yet holier joy the saving andlovely spirit might have glided onward in the Eternal Progress. 

We call the large majority of human lives obscure. Presumptuous that weare! How know we what lives a single thought retained from the dust ofnameless graves may have lighted to renown?

CHAPTER XI. 

It was about a year after Leonard's discovery of the family manuscriptsthat Parson Dale borrowed the quietest pad-mare in the squire's stables, and set out on an equestrian excursion. He said that he was bound onbusiness connected with his old parishioners of Lansmere; for, as it hasbeen incidentally implied in a previous chapter, he had been connectedwith that borough town (and, I may here add, in the capacity of curate)before he had been inducted into the living of Hazeldean. 

It was so rarely that the parson stirred from home, that this journeyto a town more than twenty miles off was regarded as a most daringadventure, both at the Hall and at the Parsonage. Mrs. Dale could notsleep the whole previous night with thinking of it; and though she hadnaturally one of her worst nervous headaches on the eventful morn, she yet suffered no hands less thoughtful than her own to pack up thesaddle-bags which the parson had borrowed along with the pad. Nay, sodistrustful was she of the possibility of the good man's exerting theslightest common-sense in her absence, that she kept him close ather side while she was engaged in that same operation ofpacking-up, --showing him the exact spot in which the clean shirt wasput; and how nicely the old slippers were packed up in one of hisown sermons. She implored him not to mistake the sandwiches for hisshaving-soap, and made him observe how carefully she had providedagainst such confusion, by placing them as far apart from each other asthe nature of saddle-bags will admit. The poor parson--who was reallyby no means an absent man, but as little likely to shave himself withsandwiches and lunch upon soap as the most commonplace mortal maybe--listened with conjugal patience, and thought that man never had sucha wife before; nor was it without tears in his own eyes that he torehimself from the farewell embrace of his weeping Carry. 

I confess, however, that it was with some apprehension that he sethis foot in the stirrup, and trusted his person to the mercies ofan unfamiliar animal. For, whatever might be Mr. Dale's minoraccomplishments as man and parson, horsemanship was not his forte. Indeed, I doubt if he had taken the reins in his hand more than twicesince he had been married. 

The squire's surly old groom, Mat, was in attendance with the pad; and, to the parson's gentle inquiry whether Mat was quite sure that the padwas quite safe, replied laconically, "Oi, oi; give her her head. "

"Give her her head!" repeated Mr. Dale, rather amazed, for he had notthe slightest intention of taking away that part of the beast's frame, so essential to its vital economy, --"give her her head!"

"Oi, oi; and don't jerk her up like that, or she'll fall a doincing onher hind-legs. "

The parson instantly slackened the reins; and Mrs. Dale--who had tarriedbehind to control her tears--now running to the door for "more lastwords, " he waved his hand with courageous amenity, and ambled forth intothe lane. 

Our equestrian was absorbed at first in studying the idiosyncrasies ofthe pad-mare, and trying thereby to arrive at some notion of her generalcharacter: guessing, for instance, why she raised one ear and laid downthe other; why she kept bearing so close to the left that she brushedhis leg against the hedge; and why, when she arrived at a littleside-gate in the fields, which led towards the home-farm, she came to afull stop, and fell to rubbing her nose against the rail, --an occupationfrom which the parson, finding all civil remonstrances in vain, atlength diverted her by a timorous application of the whip. 

This crisis on the road fairly passed, the pad seemed to comprehend thatshe had a journey before her, and giving a petulant whisk of her tail, quickened her amble into a short trot, which soon brought the parsoninto the high road, and nearly opposite the Casino. 

Here, sitting on the gate which led to his abode, and shaded by hisumbrella, he beheld Dr. Riccabocca. 

The Italian lifted his eyes from the book he was reading, and staredhard at the parson; and he--not venturing to withdraw his wholeattention from the pad (who, indeed, set up both her ears at theapparition of Riccabocca, and evinced symptoms of that surprise andsuperstitious repugnance at unknown objects which goes by the name of"shying")--looked askance at Riccabocca. 

"Don't stir, please, " said the parson, "or I fear you'll alarm thecreature; it seems a nervous, timid thing;--soho, gently, gently. "

And he fell to patting the mare with great unction. 

The pad, thus encouraged, overcame her first natural astonishment at thesight of Riccabocca and the red umbrella; and having before been at theCasino on sundry occasions, and sagaciously preferring places within therange of her experience to bourns neither cognate nor conjecturable, shemoved gravely up towards the gate on which the Italian sat; and, after eying him a moment, --as much as to say, "I wish you would getoff, "--came to a deadlock. 

"Well, " said Riccabocca, "since your horse seems more disposed to bepolite to me than yourself, Mr. Dale, I take the opportunity of yourpresent involuntary pause to congratulate you on your elevation in life, and to breathe a friendly prayer that pride may not have a fall!"

"Tut, " said the parson, affecting an easy air, though stillcontemplating the pad, who appeared to have fallen into a quiet doze, "it is true that I have not ridden much of late years, and the squire'shorses are very high-fed and spirited; but there is no more harm in themthan their master when one once knows their ways. "

 "'Chi va piano va sano, E chi va sano va lontano, '"

said Riccabocca, pointing to the saddle-bags. "You go slowly, thereforesafely; and he who goes safely may go far. You seem prepared for ajourney?"

"I am, " said the parson; "and on a matter that concerns you a little. "

"Me!" exclaimed Riccabocca, --"concerns me!"

"Yes, so far as the chance of depriving you of a servant whom you likeand esteem affects you. "

"Oh, " said Riccabocca, "I understand: you have hinted to me very oftenthat I or Knowledge, or both together, have unfitted Leonard Fairfieldfor service. "

"I did not say that exactly; I said that you have fitted him forsomething higher than service. But do not repeat this to him. And Icannot yet say more to you, for I am very doubtful as to the successof my mission; and it will not do to unsettle poor Leonard until we aresure that we can improve his condition. "

"Of that you can never be sure, " quoth the wise man, shaking his head;"and I can't say that I am unselfish enough not to bear you a grudge forseeking to decoy away from me an invaluable servant, --faithful, steady, intelligent, and" (added Riccabocca, warming as he approached theclimacteric adjective) "exceedingly cheap! Nevertheless go, and Heavenspeed you. I am not an Alexander, to stand between man and the sun. "

"You are a noble, great-hearted creature, Signor Riccabocca, in spite ofyour cold-blooded proverbs and villanous books. " The parson, as he saidthis, brought down the whiphand with so indiscreet an enthusiasm on thepad's shoulder, that the poor beast, startled out of her innocent doze, made a bolt forward, which nearly precipitated Riccabocca from his seaton the stile, and then turning round--as the parson tugged desperatelyat the rein--caught the bit between her teeth, and set off at a canter. The parson lost both his stirrups; and when he regained them (as thepad slackened her pace), and had time to breathe and look about him, Riccabocca and the Casino were both out of sight. 

"Certainly, " quoth Parson Dale, as he resettled himself with greatcomplacency, and a conscious triumph that he was still on the pad'sback, --"certainly it is true 'that the noblest conquest ever made byman was that of the horse:' a fine creature it is, --a very finecreature, --and uncommonly difficult to sit on, especially withoutstirrups. " Firmly in his stirrups the parson planted his feet; and theheart within him was very proud. 

CHAPTER XII. 

The borough town of Lansmere was situated in the county adjoiningthat which contained the village of Hazeldean. Late at noon the parsoncrossed the little stream which divided the two shires, and came to aninn, which was placed at an angle, where the great main road branchedoff into two directions, the one leading towards Lansmere, the othergoing more direct to London. At this inn the pad stopped, and put downboth ears with the air of a pad who has made up her mind to bait. Andthe parson himself, feeling very warm and somewhat sore, said to thepad, benignly, "It is just, --thou shalt have corn and water!"

Dismounting, therefore, and finding himself very stiff as soon as hereached terra firma, the parson consigned the pad to the hostler, andwalked into the sanded parlour of the inn, to repose himself on a veryhard Windsor chair. 

He had been alone rather more than half-an-hour, reading a countynewspaper which smelled much of tobacco, and trying to keep off theflies that gathered round him in swarms, as if they had never beforeseen a parson, and were anxious to ascertain how the flesh of himtasted, --when a stagecoach stopped at the inn. A traveller got out withhis carpetbag in his hand, and was shown into the sanded parlour. 

The parson rose politely, and made a bow. 

The traveller touched his hat, without taking it off, looked at Mr. Dale from top to toe, then walked to the window, and whistled a lively, impatient tune, then strode towards the fireplace and rang the bell;then stared again at the parson; and that gentleman having courteouslylaid down the newspaper, the traveller seized it, threw himself into achair, flung one of his legs over the table, tossed the other up on themantelpiece, and began reading the paper, while he tilted the chair onits hind-legs with so daring a disregard to the ordinary position ofchairs and their occupants, that the shuddering parson expected everymoment to see him come down on the back of his skull. 

Moved, therefore, to compassion, Mr. Dale said mildly, --"Those chairsare very treacherous, sir. I'm afraid you'll be down. "

"Eh, " said the traveller, looking up much astonished. "Eh, down?--oh, you're satirical, sir. "

"Satirical, sir? upon my word, no!" exclaimed the parson, earnestly. 

"I think every freeborn man has a right to sit as he pleases in hisown house, " resumed the traveller, with warmth; "and an inn is his ownhouse, I guess, so long as he pays his score. Betty, my dear. "

For the chambermaid had now replied to the bell. "I han't Betty, sir; doyou want she?"

"No, Sally; cold brandy and water--and a biscuit. "

"I han't Sally, either, " muttered the chambermaid; but the traveller, turning round, showed so smart a neckcloth and so comely a face, thatshe smiled, coloured, and went her way. 

The traveller now rose, and flung down the paper. He took out apenknife, and began paring his nails. Suddenly desisting from thiselegant occupation, his eye caught sight of the parson's shovel-hat, which lay on a chair in the corner. 

"You're a clergyman, I reckon, sir, " said the traveller, with a slightsneer. 

Again Mr. Dale bowed, --bowed in part deprecatingly, in part withdignity. It was a bow that said, "No offence, sir, but I am a clergyman, and I'm not ashamed of it. "

"Going far?" asked the traveller. 

PARSON. --"Not very. "

TRAVELLER. --"In a chaise or fly? If so, and we are going the same way, halves. "

PARSON. --"Halves?"

TRAVELLER. --"Yes, I'll pay half the damage, pikes inclusive. "

PARSON. --"You are very good, sir. But" (spoken with pride) "I am onhorseback. "

TRAVELLER. --"On horseback! Well, I should not have guessed that! Youdon't look like it. Where did you say you were going?"

"I did not say where I was going, sir, " said the parson, dryly, for hewas much offended at that vague and ungrammatical remark applicable tohis horsemanship, that "he did not look like it. "

"Close!" said the traveller, laughing; "an old traveller, I reckon. "

The parson made no reply, but he took up his shovel-hat, and, with a bowmore majestic than the previous one, walked out to see if his pad hadfinished her corn. 

The animal had indeed finished all the corn afforded to her, which wasnot much, and in a few minutes more Mr. Dale resumed his journey. He hadperformed about three miles, when the sound of wheels behind him madehim turn his head; and he perceived a chaise driven very fast, while outof the windows thereof dangled strangely a pair of human legs. The padbegan to curvet as the post-horses rattled behind, and the parson hadonly an indistinct vision of a human face supplanting those human legs. The traveller peered out at him as he whirled by, --saw Mr. Dale tossedup and down on the saddle, and cried out, "How's the leather?"

"Leather!" soliloquized the parson, as the pad recomposed herself, "whatdoes he mean by that? Leather! a very vulgar man. But I got rid of himcleverly. "

Mr. Dale arrived without further adventure at Lansmere. He put up atthe principal inn, refreshed himself by a general ablution, and sat downwith good appetite to his beefsteak and pint of port. 

The parson was a better judge of the physiognomy of man than that of thehorse; and after a satisfactory glance at the civil smirking landlord, who removed the cover and set on the wine, he ventured on an attempt atconversation. "Is my Lord at the Park?"

LANDLORD (still more civilly than before). --"No, sir, his Lordship andmy Lady have gone to town to meet Lord L'Estrange!"

"Lord L'Estrange! He is in England, then?"

"Why, so I heard, " replied the landlord, "but we never see him here now. I remember him a very pretty young man. Every one was fond of him andproud of him. But what pranks be did play when he was a lad! We hopedhe would come in for our boro' some of these days, but he has taken toforen parts, --more 's the pity. I am a reg'lar Blue, sir, as I ought tobe. The Blue candidate always does me the honour to come to the LansmereArms. 'T is only the low party puts up with the Boar, " added thelandlord, with a look of ineffable disgust. "I hope you like the wine, sir?"

"Very good, and seems old. "

"Bottled these eighteen years, sir. I had in the cask for the greatelection of Dashmore and Egerton. I have little left of it, and I nevergive it but to old friends like, --for, I think, Sir, though you be grownstout, and look more grand, I may say that I've had the pleasure ofseeing you before. "

"That's true, I dare say, though I fear I was never a very goodcustomer. "

"Ah, it is Mr. Dale, then! I thought so when you came into the hall. Ihope your lady is quite well, and the squire too; fine pleasant-spokengentleman; no fault of his if Mr. Egerton went wrong. Well, we havenever seen him--I mean Mr. Egerton--since that time. I don't wonder hestays away; but my Lord's son, who was brought up here, it an't nat'rallike that he should turn his back on us!"

Mr. Dale made no reply, and the landlord was about to retire, when theparson, pouring out another glass of the port, said, "There must begreat changes in the parish. Is Mr. Morgan, the medical man, stillhere?"

"No, indeed! he took out his 'ploma after you left, and became a realdoctor; and a pretty practice he had too, when he took, all of asudden, to some new-fangled way of physicking, --I think they calls ithomy-something. "

"Homoeopathy?"

"That's it; something against all reason: and so he lost his practicehere and went up to Lunnun. I've not heard of him since. "

"Do the Avenels still reside in their old house?"

"Oh, yes!--and are pretty well off, I hear say. John is always poorly, though he still goes now and then to the Odd Fellows, and takes hisglass; but his wife comes and fetches him away before he can do himselfany harm. "

"Mrs. Avenel is the same as ever?"

"She holds her head higher, I think, " said the landlord, smiling. "Shewas always--not exactly proud like, but what I calls Bumptious. "

"I never heard that word before, " said the parson, laying down hisknife and fork. "Bumptious indeed, though I believe it is not in thedictionary, has crept into familiar parlance, especially amongst youngfolks at school and college. "

"Bumptious is bumptious, and gumptious is Bumptious, " said the landlord, delighted to puzzle a parson. "Now the town beadle is bumptious, andMrs. Avenel is Bumptious. "

"She is a very respectable woman, " said Mr. Dale, somewhat rebukingly. 

"In course, sir, all gumptious folks are; they value themselves on theirrespectability, and looks down on their neighbours. "

PARSON (still philologically occupied). --"Gumptious--gumptious. I thinkI remember the substantive at school, --not that my master taught it tome. 'Gumption'--it means cleverness. "

LANDLORD (doggedly). --"There's gumption and Bumptious! Gumption isknowing; but when I say that sum 'un is gumptious, I mean--though that'smore vulgar like--sum 'un who does not think small beer of hisself. Youtake me, sir?"

"I think I do, " said the parson, half smiling. "I believe the Avenelshave only two of their children alive still, --their daughter who marriedMark Fairfield, and a son who went off to America?"

"Ah, but he made his fortune there and has come back. "

"Indeed! I'm very glad to hear it. He has settled at Lansmere?"

"No, Sir. I hear as he's bought a property a long way off. But he comesto see his parents pretty often--so John tells me--but I can't saythat I ever see him. I fancy Dick does n't like to be seen by folks whoremember him playing in the kennel. "

"Not unnatural, " said the parson, indulgently; "but he visits hisparents; he is a good son at all events, then?"

"I've nothing to say against him. Dick was a wild chap before he tookhimself off. I never thought he would make his fortune; but the Avenelsare a clever set. Do you remember poor Nora--the Rose of Lansmere, asthey called her? Ah, no, I think she went up to Lunnun afore your time, sir. "

"Humph!" said the parson, dryly. "Well, I think you may take away now. It will be dark soon, and I'll just stroll out and look about me. "

"There's a nice tart coming, sir. "

"Thank you, I've dined. "

The parson put on his hat and sallied forth into the streets. He eyedthe houses on either hand with that melancholy and wistful interestwith which, in middle life, men revisit scenes familiar to them inyouth, --surprised to find either so little change or so much, andrecalling, by fits and snatches, old associations and past emotions. The long High Street which he threaded now began to change its bustlingcharacter, and slide, as it were gradually, into the high road of asuburb. On the left, the houses gave way to the moss-grown pales ofLansmere Park; to the right, though houses still remained, they wereseparated from each other by gardens, and took the pleasing appearanceof villas, --such villas as retired tradesmen or their widows, old maids, and half-pay officers select for the evening of their days. 

Mr. Dale looked at these villas with the deliberate attention of a manawakening his power of memory, and at last stopped before one, almostthe last on the road, and which faced the broad patch of sward that laybefore the lodge of Lansmere Park. An old pollard-oak stood near it, andfrom the oak there came a low discordant sound; it was the hungry cry ofyoung ravens, awaiting the belated return of the parent bird! Mr. Daleput his hand to his brow, paused a moment, and then, with a hurriedstep, passed through the little garden, and knocked at the door. A lightwas burning in the parlour, and Mr. Dale's eye caught through the windowa vague outline of three forms. There was an evident bustle within atthe sound of the knock. One of the forms rose and disappeared. A veryprim, neat, middle-aged maid-servant now appeared at the threshold, andausterely inquired the visitor's business. 

"I want to see Mr. Or Mrs. Avenel. Say that I have come many miles tosee them; and take in this card. "

The maid-servant took the card, and half closed the door. At least threeminutes elapsed before she reappeared. 

"Missis says it's late, sir; but walk in. "

The parson accepted the not very gracious invitation, stepped across thelittle hall, and entered the parlour. 

Old John Avenel, a mild-looking man, who seemed slightly paralytic, rose slowly from his armchair. Mrs. Avenel, in an awfully stiff, clean, Calvinistical cap, and a gray dress, every fold of which bespokerespectability and staid repute, stood erect on the floor, and fixing onthe parson a cold and cautious eye, said, --

"You do the like of us great honour, Mr. Dale; take a chair. You callupon business?"

"Of which I apprised Mr. Avenel by letter. "

"My husband is very poorly. "

"A poor creature!" said John, feebly, and as if in compassion ofhimself. "I can't get about as I used to do. But it ben't near electiontime, be it, sir?"

"No, John, " said Mrs. Avenel, placing her husband's arm within her own. "You must lie down a bit, while I talk to the gentleman. "

"I'm a real good Blue, " said poor John; "but I ain't quite the man Iwas;" and leaning heavily on his wife, he left the room, turning roundat the threshold, and saying, with great urbanity, "Anything to oblige, sir!"

Mr. Dale was much touched. He had remembered John Avenel the comeliest, the most active, and the most cheerful man in Lansmere; great at gleeclub and cricket (though then somewhat stricken in years), greater investries; reputed greatest in elections. 

"Last scene of all, " murmured the parson; "and oh, well, turning fromthe poet, may we cry with the disbelieving philosopher, 'Poor, poorhumanity!'"

In a few minutes Mrs. Avenel returned. She took a chair at some distancefrom the parson's, and resting one hand on the elbow of the chair, whilewith the other she stiffly smoothed the stiff gown, she said, --

"Now, sir. "

That "Now, sir, " had in its sound something sinister and warlike. Thisthe shrewd parson recognized with his usual tact. He edged his chairnearer to Mrs. Avenel, and placing his hand on hers, --

"Yes, now then, and as friend to friend. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

Mr. Dale had been more than a quarter of an hour conversing with Mrs. Avenel, and had seemingly made little progress in the object of hisdiplomatic mission, for now, slowly drawing on his gloves, he said, --

"I grieve to think, Mrs. Avenel, that you should have so hardenedyour heart--yes, you must pardon me, --it is my vocation to speak sterntruths. You cannot say that I have not kept faith with you, but I mustnow invite you to remember that I specially reserved to myself theright of exercising a discretion to act as I judged best for the child'sinterest on any future occasion; and it was upon this understanding thatyou gave me the promise, which you would now evade, of providing for himwhen he came to manhood. "

"I say I will provide for him. I say that you may 'prentice him in anydistant town, and by and by we will stock a shop for him. What wouldyou have more, sir, from folks like us, who have kept shop ourselves? Itain't reasonable what you ask, sir. "

"My dear friend, " said the parson, "what I ask of you at present is butto see him, to receive him kindly, to listen to his conversation, to judge for yourselves. We can have but a common object, --that yourgrandson should succeed in life, and do you credit. Now, I doubt verymuch whether we can effect this by making him a small shopkeeper. "

"And has Jane Fairfield, who married a common carpenter, brought him upto despise small shopkeepers?" exclaimed Mrs. Avenel, angrily. 

"Heaven forbid! Some of the first men in England have been the sons ofsmall shopkeepers. But is it a crime in them, or in their parents, if their talents have lifted them into such rank or renown as thehaughtiest duke might envy? England were not England if a man must restwhere his father began. "

"Good!" said, or rather grunted, an approving voice, but neither Mrs. Avenel nor the parson heard it. 

"All very fine, " said Mrs. Avenel, bluntly. "But to send a boy like thatto the University--where's the money to come from?"

"My dear Mrs. Avenel, " said the parson, coaxingly, "the cost need notbe great at a small college at Cambridge; and if you will pay half theexpense, I will pay the other half. I have no children of my own, andcan afford it. "

"That's very handsome in you, sir, " said Mrs. Avenel, somewhat touched, yet still not graciously. "But the money is not the only point. "

"Once at Cambridge, " continued Mr. Dale, speaking rapidly, "atCambridge, where the studies are mathematical, --that is, of a nature forwhich he has shown so great an aptitude, --and I have no doubt he willdistinguish himself; if he does, he will obtain, on leaving, what iscalled a fellowship, --that is, a collegiate dignity accompanied by anincome on which he could maintain himself until he made his way in life. Come, Mrs. Avenel, you are well off; you have no relations nearer to youin want of your aid. Your son, I hear, has been very fortunate. "

"Sir, " said--Mrs. Avenel, interrupting the parson, "it is not becausemy son Richard is an honour to us, and is a good son, and has made hisfortin, that we are to rob him of what we have to leave, and give itto a boy whom we know nothing about, and who, in spite of what you say, can't bring upon us any credit at all. "

"Why? I don't see that. "

"Why!" exclaimed Mrs. Avenel, fiercely, --"why! you, know why. No, Idon't want him to rise in life: I don't want folks to be speiring andasking about him. I think it is a very wicked thing to have put finenotions in his head, and I am sure my daughter Fairfield could not havedone it herself. And now, to ask me to rob Richard, and bring out agreat boy--who's been a gardener or ploughman, or suchlike--to disgracea gentleman who keeps his carriage, as my son Richard does--I would haveyou to know, sir. No! I won't do it, and there's an end of the matter. "

During the last two or three minutes, and just before that approving"good" had responded to the parson's popular sentiment, a doorcommunicating with an inner room had been gently opened, and stood ajar;but this incident neither party had even noticed. But now the door wasthrown boldly open, and the traveller whom the parson had met at the innwalked up to Mr. Dale, and said, "No! that's not the end of the matter. You say the boy's a 'cute, clever lad?"

"Richard, have you been listening?" exclaimed Mrs. Avenel. 

"Well, I guess, yes, --the last few minutes. "

"And what have you heard?"

"Why, that this reverend gentleman thinks so highly of my sisterFairfield's boy that he offers to pay half of his keep at college. Sir, I'm very much obliged to you, and there's my hand if you'll take it. "

The parson jumped up, overjoyed, and, with a triumphant glance towardsMrs. Avenel, shook hands heartily with Mr. Richard. 

"Now, " said the latter, "just put on your hat, sir, and take astroll with me, and we'll discuss the thing businesslike. Women don'tunderstand business: never talk to women on business. "

With these words, Mr. Richard drew out a cigar-case, selected a cigar, which he applied to the candle, and walked into the hall. 

Mrs. Avenel caught hold of the parson. "Sir, you'll be on your guardwith Richard. Remember your promise. "

"He does not know all, then?"

"He? No! And you see he did not overhear more than what he says. I'msure you're a gentleman, and won't go against your word. "

"My word was conditional; but I will promise you never to break thesilence without more reason than I think there is here for it. Indeed, Mr. Richard Avenel seems to save all necessity for that. "

"Are you coming, sir?" cried Richard, as he opened the street-door. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

The parson joined Mr. Richard Avenel on the road. It was a fine night, and the moon clear and shining. 

"So, then, " said Mr. Richard, thoughtfully, "poor Jane, who was alwaysthe drudge of the family, has contrived to bring up her son well; andthe boy is really what you say, eh, --could make a figure at college?"

"I am sure of it, " said the parson, hooking himself on to the arm whichMr. Avenel proffered. 

"I should like to see him, " said Richard. "Has he any manner? Is hegenteel, or a mere country lout?"

"Indeed, he speaks with so much propriety, and has so much modestdignity about him, that there's many a rich gentleman who would be proudof such a son. "

"It is odd, " observed Richard, "what a difference there is in families. There's Jane, now, who can't read nor write, and was just fit to be aworkman's wife, had not a thought above her station; and when I think ofmy poor sister Nora--you would not believe it, sir, but she was themost elegant creature in the world, --yes, even as a child (she was buta child when I went off to America). And often, as I was getting on inlife, often I used to say to myself, 'My little Nora shall be a ladyafter all. ' Poor thing--but she died young. " Richard's voice grew husky. 

The parson kindly pressed the arm on which he leaned, and said, after apause, --

"Nothing refines us like education, sir. I believe your sister Nora hadreceived much instruction, and had the talents to profit by it: it isthe same with your nephew. "

"I'll see him, " said Richard, stamping his foot firmly on the ground, "and if I like him, I'll be as good as a father to him. Look you, Mr. --what's your name, sir?"

"Dale. "

"Mr. Dale, look you, I'm a single man. Perhaps I may marry some day;perhaps I sha' n't. I'm not going to throw myself away. If I can geta lady of quality, why--but that's neither here nor there; meanwhile Ishould be glad of a nephew whom I need not be ashamed of. You see, sir, I am a new man, the builder of my own fortunes; and though I have pickedup a little education--I don't well know how, --as I scramble on still, now I come back to the old country, I'm well aware that I 'm notexactly a match for those d---d aristocrats; don't show so well in adrawing-room as I could wish. I could be a parliament man if I liked, but I might make a goose of myself; so, all things considered, if I canget a sort of junior partner to do the polite work, and show offthe goods, I think the house of Avenel & Co. Might become a prettyconsiderable honour to the Britishers. You understand me, sir?"

"Oh, very well, " answered Mr. Dale, smiling, though rather gravely. 

"Now, " continued the New Man, "I'm not ashamed to have risen in life bymy own merits; and I don't disguise what I've been. And, when I'm in myown grand house, I'm fond of saying, 'I landed at New York with L10 inmy purse, and here I am!' But it would not do to have the old folks withme. People take you with all your faults if you're rich; but they won'tswallow your family into the bargain. So if I don't have at my housemy own father and mother, whom I love dearly, and should like to seesitting at table, with my servants behind their chairs, I could stillless have sister Jane. I recollect her very well, but she can't have gotgenteeler as she's grown older. Therefore I beg you'll not set her oncoming after me! it would not do by any manner of means. Don't say aword about me to her. But send the boy down here to his grandfather, andI'll see him quietly, you understand. "

"Yes, but it will be hard to separate her from the boy. "

"Stuff! all boys are separated from their parents when they go into theworld. So that's settled. Now, just tell me. I know the old folks alwayssnubbed Jane, --that is, Mother did. My poor dear father never snubbedany of us. Perhaps Mother has not behaved altogether well to Jane. Butwe must not blame her for that; you see this is how it happened. Therewere a good many of us, while Father and Mother kept shop in the HighStreet, so we were all to be provided for anyhow; and Jane, being veryuseful and handy at work, got a place when she was a little girl, andhad no time for learning. Afterwards my father made a lucky hit, ingetting my Lord Lansmere's custom after an election, in which he dida great deal for the Blues (for he was a famous electioneerer, my poorfather). My Lady stood godmother to Nora; and then all my brothers, andtwo of my sisters, died off, and Father retired from business; and whenhe took Jane from service, she was so common-like that Mother could nothelp contrasting her with Nora. You see Jane was their child when theywere poor little shop-people, with their heads scarce above water;and Nora was their child when they were well off, and had retired fromtrade, and lived genteel: so that makes a great difference. And Motherdid not quite look on her as on her own child. But it was Jane's ownfault: for Mother would have made it up with her if she had married theson of our neighbour the great linen-draper, as she might have done;but she would take Mark Fairfield, a common carpenter. Parents like bestthose of their children who succeed best in life. Natural. Why, they didnot care for me till I came back the man I am. But to return to Jane:I'm afraid they've neglected her. How is she off?"

"She earns her livelihood, and is poor, but contented. "

"Ah, just be good enough to give her this" (and Richard took a bank-noteof L50 from his pocket-book). 

"You can say the old folks sent it to her; or that it is a present fromDick, without telling her he has come back from America. "

"My dear sir, " said the parson, "I am more and more thankful to havemade your acquaintance. This is a very liberal gift of yours; but yourbest plan will be to send it through your mother. For, though I don'twant to betray any confidence you place in me, I should not know what toanswer if Mrs. Fairfield began to question me about her brother. I neverhad but one secret to keep, and I hope I shall never have another. Asecret is very like a lie!"

"You had a secret then?" said Richard, as he took back the bank-note. Hehad learned, perhaps in America, to be a very inquisitive man. He addedpoint-blank, "Pray, what was it?"

"Why, what it would not be if I told you, " said the parson, with aforced laugh, --"a secret!"

"Well, I guess we're in a land of liberty. Do as you like. Now, I daresay you think me a very odd fellow to come out of my shell to you inthis off-hand way; but I liked the look of you, even when we were at theinn together. And just now I was uncommonly pleased to find that, though you are a parson, you don't want to keep a man's nose down toa shopboard, if he has anything in him. You're not one of thearistocrats--"

"Indeed, " said the parson, with imprudent warmth, "it is not thecharacter of the aristocracy of this country to keep people down. Theymake way amongst themselves for any man, whatever his birth, who has thetalent and energy to aspire to their level. That's the especial boast ofthe British constitution, sir!"

"Oh, you think so, do you?" said Mr. Richard, looking sourly at theparson. "I dare say those are the opinions in which you have broughtup the lad. Just keep him yourself and let the aristocracy provide forhim!"

The parson's generous and patriotic warmth evaporated at once, at thissudden inlet of cold air into the conversation. He perceived that he hadmade a terrible blunder; and as it was not his business at that momentto vindicate the British constitution, but to serve Leonard Fairfield, he abandoned the cause of the aristocracy with the most poltroonand scandalous abruptness. Catching at the arm which Mr. Avenel hadwithdrawn from him, he exclaimed, --

"Indeed, sir, you are mistaken; I have never attempted to influence yournephew's political opinions. On the contrary, if, at his age, he can besaid to have formed any opinions, I am greatly afraid--that is, I thinkhis opinions are by no means sound--that is, constitutional. I mean, I mean--" And the poor parson, anxious to select a word that would notoffend his listener, stopped short in lamentable confusion of idea. 

Mr. Avenel enjoyed his distress for a moment, with a saturnine smile, and then said, --

"Well, I calculate he's a Radical. Natural enough, if he has not got asixpence to lose--all come right by and by. I'm not a Radical, --at leastnot a Destructive--much too clever a man for that, I hope. But I wishto see things very different from what they are. Don't fancy that I wantthe common people, who've got nothing, to pretend to dictate to theirbetters, because I hate to see a parcel of fellows who are called lordsand squires trying to rule the roast. I think, sir, that it is men likeme who ought to be at the top of the tree! and that's the long and theshort of it. What do you say?"

"I've not the least objection, " said the crestfallen parson, basely. But, to do him justice, I must add that he did not the least know whathe was saying!

CHAPTER XV. 

Unconscious of the change in his fate which the diplomacy of the parsonsought to effect, Leonard Fairfield was enjoying the first virginsweetness of fame; for the principal town in his neighbourhood hadfollowed the then growing fashion of the age, and set up a Mechanics'Institute, and some worthy persons interested in the formation of thatprovincial Athenaeum had offered a prize for the best Essay on theDiffusion of Knowledge, --a very trite subject, on which persons seem tothink they can never say too much, and on which there is, nevertheless, a great deal yet to be said. This prize Leonard Fairfield had recentlywon. His Essay had been publicly complimented by a full meeting of theInstitute; it had been printed at the expense of the Society, and hadbeen rewarded by a silver medal, --delineative of Apollo crowning Merit(poor Merit had not a rag to his back; but Merit, left only to the careof Apollo, never is too good a customer to the tailor!) And the CountyGazette had declared that Britain had produced another prodigy in theperson of Dr. Riccabocca's self-educated gardener. 

Attention was now directed to Leonard's mechanical contrivances. Thesquire, ever eagerly bent on improvements, had brought an engineerto inspect the lad's system of irrigation, and the engineer hadbeen greatly struck by the simple means by which a very considerabletechnical difficulty had been overcome. The neighbouring farmers nowcalled Leonard "Mr. Fairfield, " and invited him on equal terms to theirhouses. Mr. Stirn had met him on the high road, touched his hat, andhoped that "he bore no malice. " All this, I say, was the first sweetnessof fame; and if Leonard Fairfield comes to be a great man, he willnever find such sweets in the after fruit. It was this success which haddetermined the parson on the step which he had just taken, and which hehad long before anxiously meditated. For, during the last year or so, he had renewed his old intimacy with the widow and the boy; and hehad noticed, with great hope and great fear, the rapid growth ofan intellect, which now stood out from the lowly circumstances thatsurrounded it in bold and unharmonizing relief. 

It was the evening after his return home that the parson strolled up tothe Casino. He put Leonard Fairfield's Prize Essay in his pocket; for hefelt that he could not let the young man go forth into the world withouta preparatory lecture, and he intended to scourge poor Merit with thevery laurel wreath which it had received from Apollo. But in this hewanted Riccabocca's assistance; or rather he feared that, if he did notget the philosopher on his side, the philosopher might undo all the workof the parson. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A sweet sound came through the orange boughs, and floated to the earsof the parson, as he wound slowly up the gentle ascent, --so sweet, so silvery, he paused in delight--unaware, wretched man! that he wasthereby conniving at Papistical errors. Soft it came and sweet; softerand sweeter, --"Ave Maria!" Violante was chanting the evening hymn to theVirgin Mother. The parson at last distinguished the sense of the words, and shook his head with the pious shake of an orthodox Protestant. He broke from the spell resolutely, and walked on with a sturdystep. Gaining the terrace, he found the little family seated under anawning, --Mrs. Riccabocca knitting; the signor with his arms folded onhis breast: the book he had been reading a few moments before had fallenon the ground, and his dark eyes were soft and dreamy. Violante hadfinished her hymn, and seated herself on the ground between the two, pillowing her head on her stepmother's lap, but with her hand resting onher father's knee, and her gaze fixed fondly on his face. 

"Good-evening, " said Mr. Dale. Violante stole up to him, and, pullinghim so as to bring his ear nearer to her lip, whispered, "Talk to Papa, do, --and cheerfully; he is sad. "

She escaped from him as she said this, and appeared to busy herself withwatering the flowers arranged on stands round the awning. But she kepther swimming lustrous eyes wistfully on her father. 

"How fares it with you, my dear friend?" said the parson, kindly, as herested his hand on the Italian's shoulder. "You must not let him get outof spirits, Mrs. Riccabocca. "

"I am very ungrateful to her if I ever am so, " said the poor Italian, with all his natural gallantry. Many a good wife, who thinks it is areproach to her if her husband is ever "out of spirits, " might haveturned peevishly from that speech, more elegant than sincere, and sohave made bad worse; but Mrs. Riccabocca took her husband's profferedhand affectionately, and said with great naivete, --

"You see I am so stupid, Mr. Dale; I never knew I was so stupid till Imarried. But I am very glad you are come. You can get on some learnedsubject together, and then he will not miss so much his--"

"His what?" asked Riccabocca, inquisitively. 

"His country. Do you think that I cannot sometimes read your thoughts?"

"Very often. But you did not read them just then. The tongue toucheswhere the tooth aches, but the best dentist cannot guess at the toothunless one open one's mouth. --Basta! Can we offer you some wine of ourown making, Mr. Dale?--it is pure. "

"I 'd rather have some tea, " quoth the parson, hastily. Mrs. Riccabocca, too pleased to be in her natural element of domestic use, hurried intothe house to prepare our national beverage. And the parson, sliding intoher chair, said, --

"But you are dejected then? Fie! If there's a virtue in the world atwhich we should always aim, it is cheerfulness. "

"I don't dispute it, " said Riccabocca, with a heavy sigh. "But though itis said by some Greek, who, I think, is quoted by your favourite Seneca, that a wise man carries his country with him at the soles of his feet, he can't carry also the sunshine over his head. "

"I tell you what it is, " said the parson, bluntly; "you would havea much keener sense of happiness if you had much less esteem forphilosophy. "

"Cospetto!" said the doctor, rousing himself. "Just explain, will you?"

"Does not the search after wisdom induce desires not satisfied in thissmall circle to which your life is confined? It is not so much yourcountry for which you yearn, as it is for space to your intellect, employment for your thoughts, career for your aspirations. "

"You have guessed at the tooth which aches, " said Riccabocca, withadmiration. 

"Easy to do that, " answered the parson. "Our wisdom teeth come last andgive us the most pain; and if you would just starve the mind a little, and nourish the heart more, you would be less of a philosopher and moreof a--" The parson had the word "Christian" at the tip of his tongue;he suppressed a word that, so spoken, would have been exceedinglyirritating, and substituted, with elegant antithesis, "and more of ahappy man!"

"I do all I can with my heart, " quoth the doctor. 

"Not you! For a man with such a heart as yours should never feel thewant of the sunshine. My friend, we live in an age of over mentalcultivation. We neglect too much the simple healthful outer life, inwhich there is so much positive joy. In turning to the world within us, we grow blind to this beautiful world without; in studying ourselvesas men, we almost forget to look up to heaven, and warm to the smile ofGod. "

The philosopher mechanically shrugged his shoulders, as he always didwhen another man moralized, --especially if the moralizer were a priest;but there was no irony in his smile, as he answered thoughtfully, --

"There is some truth in what you say. I own that we live too much as ifwe were all brain. Knowledge has its penalties and pains, as well as itsprizes. "

"That is just what I want you to say to Leonard. "

"How have you settled the object of your journey?"

"I will tell you as we walk down to him after tea. At present, I amrather too much occupied with you. "

"Me? The tree is formed--try only to bend the young twig!"

"Trees are trees, and twigs twigs, " said the parson, dogmatically; "butman is always growing till he falls into the grave. I think I have heardyou say that you once had a narrow escape of a prison?"

"Very narrow. "

"Just suppose that you were now in that prison, and that a fairyconjured up the prospect of this quiet home in a safe land; that yousaw the orange-trees in flower, felt the evening breeze on your cheek;beheld your child gay or sad, as you smiled or knit your brow; thatwithin this phantom home was a woman, not, indeed, all your youngromance might have dreamed of, but faithful and true, every beat of herheart all your own, --would you not cry from the depth of your dungeon, 'O fairy! such a change were a paradise!' Ungrateful man! you wantinterchange for your mind, and your heart should suffice for all!"

Riccabocca was touched and silent. 

"Come hither, my child, " said Mr. Dale, turning round to Violante, whostood still among the flowers, out of hearing, but with watchful eyes. "Come hither, " he said, opening his arms. 

Violante bounded forward, and nestled to the good man's heart. 

"Tell me, Violante, when you are alone in the fields or the garden, andhave left your father looking pleased and serene, so that you haveno care for him at your heart, --tell me, Violante, though you are allalone, with the flowers below, and the birds singing overhead, do youfeel that life itself is happiness or sorrow?"

"Happiness!" answered Violante, half shutting her eyes, and in ameasured voice. 

"Can you explain what kind of happiness it is?"

"Oh, no, impossible! and it is never the same. Sometimes it is sostill--so still, and sometimes so joyous, that I long for wings to flyup to God, and thank Him!"

"O friend, " said the parson, "this is the true sympathy between life andnature, and thus we should feel ever, did we take more care to preservethe health and innocence of a child. We are told that we must become aschildren to enter into the kingdom of Heaven; methinks we should alsobecome as children to know what delight there is in our heritage ofearth!"

CHAPTER XVII. 

The maid-servant (for Jackeymo was in the fields) brought the tableunder the awning, and with the English luxury of tea, there were otherdrinks as cheap and as grateful on summer evenings, --drinkswhich Jackeymo had retained and taught from the customs of theSouth, --unebriate liquors, pressed from cooling fruits, sweetened withhoney, and deliciously iced: ice should cost nothing in a country inwhich one is frozen up half the year! And Jackeymo, too, had added toour good, solid, heavy English bread preparations of wheat much lighter, and more propitious to digestion, --with those crisp grissins, which seemto enjoy being eaten, they make so pleasant a noise between one's teeth. 

The parson esteemed it a little treat to drink tea with the Riccaboccas. There was something of elegance and grace in that homely meal at thepoor exile's table, which pleased the eye as well as taste. And the veryutensils, plain Wedgwood though they were, had a classical simplicity, which made Mrs. Hazeldean's old India delf, and Mrs. Dale's bestWorcester china, look tawdry and barbarous in comparison. For it wasFlaxman who gave designs to Wedgwood, and the most truly refined of allour manufactures in porcelain (if we do not look to the mere material)is in the reach of the most thrifty. 

The little banquet was at first rather a silent one; but Riccaboccathrew off his gloom, and became gay and animated. Then poor Mrs. Riccabocca smiled, and pressed the grissins; and Violante, forgettingall her stateliness, laughed and played tricks on the parson, stealingaway his cup of warm tea when his head was turned, and substitutingiced cherry-juice. Then the parson got up and ran after Violante, makingangry faces, and Violante dodged beautifully, till the parson, fairly tired out, was too glad to cry "Peace, " and come back to thecherry-juice. Thus time rolled on, till they heard afar the stroke ofthe distant church-clock, and Mr. Dale started up and cried, "But weshall be too late for Leonard. Come, naughty little girl, get yourfather his hat. "

"And umbrella!" said Riccabocca, looking up at the cloudless, moonlitsky. 

"Umbrella against the stars?" asked the parson, laughing. "The starsare no friends of mine, " said Riccabocca, "and one never knows what mayhappen!"

The philosopher and the parson walked on amicably. 

"You have done me good, " said Riccabocca, "but I hope I am not alwaysso unreasonably melancholic as you seem to suspect. The evenings willsometimes appear long, and dull too, to a man whose thoughts on the pastare almost his sole companions. "

"Sole companions?--your child?"

"She is so young. "

"Your wife?"

"She is so--" the bland Italian appeared to check some disparagingadjective, and mildly added, "so good, I allow; but you must own thatshe and I cannot have much in common. "

"I own nothing of the sort. You have your house and your interests, yourhappiness and your lives, in common. We men are so exacting, we expectto find ideal nymphs and goddesses when we condescend to marry a mortal;and if we did, our chickens would be boiled to rags, and our mutton comeup as cold as a stone. "

"Per Bacco, you are an oracle, " said Riccabocca, laughing. "But I amnot so sceptical as you are. I honour the fair sex too much. There area great many women who realize the ideal of men, to be found in--thepoets!"

"There's my dear Mrs. Dale, " resumed the parson, not heeding thesarcastic compliment to the sex, but sinking his voice into a whisper, and looking round cautiously, --"there's my dear Mrs. Dale, the bestwoman in the world, --an angel I would say, if the word were not profane;BUT--"

"What's the BUT?" asked the doctor, demurely. 

"BUT I too might say that 'she and I have not much in common, ' if I wereonly to compare mind to mind, and when my poor Carry says something lessprofound than Madame de Stael might have said, smile on her in contemptfrom the elevation of logic and Latin. Yet when I remember all thelittle sorrows and joys that we have shared together, and feel howsolitary I should have been without her--oh, then, I am instantly awarethat there is between us in common something infinitely closer andbetter than if the same course of study had given us the same equalityof ideas; and I was forced to brace myself for a combat of intellect, asI am when I fall in with a tiresome sage like yourself. I don't pretendto say that Mrs. Riccabocca is a Mrs. Dale, " added the parson, withlofty candour, --"there is but one Mrs. Dale in the world; but still, youhave drawn a prize in the wheel matrimonial! Think of Socrates, and yethe was content even with his--Xantippe!"

Dr. Riccabocca called to mind Mrs. Dale's "little tempers, " and inlyrejoiced that no second Mrs. Dale had existed to fall to his own lot. His placid Jemima gained by the contrast. Nevertheless he had the illgrace to reply, "Socrates was a man beyond all imitation!--Yet I believethat even he spent very few of his evenings at home. But revenons a nosmoutons, we are nearly at Mrs. Fairfield's cottage, and you have not yettold me what you have settled as to Leonard. "

The parson halted, took Riccabocca by the button, and informed him, invery few words, that Leonard was to go to Lansmere to see some relationsthere, who had the fortune, if they had the will, to give full career tohis abilities. 

"The great thing, in the mean while, " said the parson, "would be toenlighten him a little as to what he calls--enlightenment. "

"Ah!" said Riccabocca, diverted, and rubbing his hands, "I shall listenwith interest to what you say on that subject. "

"And must aid me: for the first step in this modern march ofenlightenment is to leave the poor parson behind; and if one calls out'Hold! and look at the sign-post, ' the traveller hurries on the faster, saying to himself, 'Pooh, pooh!--that is only the cry of the parson!'But my gentleman, when he doubts me, will listen to you, --you're aphilosopher!"

"We philosophers are of some use now and then, even to parsons!"

"If you were not so conceited a set of deluded poor creatures already, I would say 'Yes, '" replied the parson, generously; and, taking hold ofRiccabocca's umbrella, he applied the brass handle thereof, by way of aknocker, to the cottage door. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Certainly it is a glorious fever, --that desire To Know! And there arefew sights in the moral world more sublime than that which many a garretmight afford, if Asmodeus would bare the roofs to our survey, --namely, abrave, patient, earnest human being toiling his own arduous way, athwartthe iron walls of penury, into the magnificent Infinite, which isluminous with starry souls. 

So there sits Leonard the Self-taught in the little cottage alone: for, though scarcely past the hour in which great folks dine, it is the hourin which small folks go to bed, and Mrs. Fairfield has retired to rest, while Leonard has settled to his books. 

He had placed his table under the lattice, and from time to time helooked up and enjoyed the stillness of the moon. Well for him that, inreparation for those hours stolen from night, the hardy physical labourcommenced with dawn. Students would not be the sad dyspeptics they are, if they worked as many hours in the open air as my scholar-peasant. Buteven in him you could see that the mind had begun a little to affect theframe. They who task the intellect must pay the penalty with the body. Ill, believe me, would this work-day world get on if all within it werehard-reading, studious animals, playing the deuce with the ganglionicapparatus. 

Leonard started as he heard the knock at the door; the parson'swell-known voice reassured him. In some surprise he admitted hisvisitors. 

"We are come to talk to you, Leonard, " said Mr. Dale; "but I fear weshall disturb Mrs. Fairfield. "

"Oh, no, sir! the door to the staircase is shut, and she sleepssoundly. "

"Why, this is a French book! Do you read French, Leonard?" askedRiccabocca. 

"I have not found French difficult, sir. Once over the grammar, and thelanguage is so clear; it seems the very language for reasoning. "

"True. Voltaire said justly, 'Whatever is obscure is not French, '"observed Riccabocca. 

"I wish I could say the same of English, " muttered the parson. 

"But what is this, --Latin too?--Virgil?"

"Yes, sir. But I find I make little way there without a master. I fear Imust give it up" (and Leonard sighed). 

The two gentlemen exchanged looks, and seated themselves. The youngpeasant remained standing modestly, and in his air and mien there wassomething that touched the heart while it pleased the eye. He was nolonger the timid boy who had shrunk from the frown of Mr. Stirn, nor that rude personation of simple physical strength, roused toundisciplined bravery, which had received its downfall on the villagegreen of Hazeldean. The power of thought was on his brow, --somewhatunquiet still, but mild and earnest. The features had attained thatrefinement which is often attributed to race, but comes, in truth, fromelegance of idea, whether caught from our parents or learned from books. In his rich brown hair, thrown carelessly from his temples, and curlingalmost to the shoulders; in his large blue eye, which was deepened tothe hue of the violet by the long dark lash; in that firmness of lip, which comes from the grapple with difficulties, there was considerablebeauty, but no longer the beauty of the mere peasant. And yet there wasstill about the whole countenance that expression of goodness and puritywhich a painter would give to his ideal of the peasant lover, --such asTasso would have placed in the "Aminta, " or Fletcher have admitted tothe side of the Faithful Shepherdess. 

"You must draw a chair here, and sit down between us, Leonard, " said theparson. 

"If any one, " said Riccabocca, "has a right to sit, it is the one who isto hear the sermon; and if any one ought to stand, it is the one who isabout to preach it. "

"Don't be frightened, Leonard, " said the parson, graciously; "it is onlya criticism, not a sermon;" and he pulled out Leonard's Prize Essay. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

PARSON. --"You take for your motto this aphorism, 'Knowledge isPower. '--BACON. "

RICCABOCCA. --"Bacon make such an aphorism! The last man in the world tohave said anything so pert and so shallow!"

LEONARD (astonished). --"Do you mean to say, sir, that that aphorism isnot in Lord Bacon? Why, I have seen it quoted as his in almost everynewspaper, and in almost every speech in favour of popular education. "

RICCABOCCA. --"Then that should be a warning to you never again to fallinto the error of the would-be scholar, --

 [This aphorism has been probably assigned to Lord Bacon upon the mere authority of the index to his works. It is the aphorism of the index-maker, certainly not of the great master of inductive philosophy. Bacon has, it is true, repeatedly dwelt on the power of knowledge, but with so many explanations and distinctions that nothing could be more unjust to his general meaning than the attempt to cramp into a sentence what it costs him a volume to define. Thus, if on one page he appears to confound knowledge with power, in another he sets them in the strongest antithesis to each other; as follows "Adeo signanter Deus opera potentix et sapientive discriminavit. " But it would be as unfair to Bacon to convert into an aphorism the sentence that discriminates between knowledge and power as it is to convert into an aphorism any sentence that confounds them. ]

namely, quote second-hand. Lord Bacon wrote a great book to show in whatknowledge is power, how that power should be defined, in what it mightbe mistaken. And, pray, do you think so sensible a man ever would havetaken the trouble to write a great book upon the subject, if he couldhave packed up all he had to say into the portable dogma, 'Knowledge ispower'? Pooh! no such aphorism is to be found in Bacon from the firstpage of his writings to the last. "

PARSON (candidly). --"Well, I supposed it was Lord Bacon's, and I am veryglad to hear that the aphorism has not the sanction of his authority. "

LEONARD (recovering his surprise). --"But why so?"

PARSON. --"Because it either says a great deal too much, or just--nothingat all. "

LEONARD. --"At least, sir, it seems to me undeniable. "

PARSON. --"Well, grant that it is undeniable. Does it prove much infavour of knowledge? Pray, is not ignorance power too?"

RICCABOCCA. --"And a power that has had much the best end of thequarter-staff. "

PARSON. --"All evil is power, and does its power make it anything thebetter?"

RICCABOCCA. --"Fanaticism is power, --and a power that has often sweptaway knowledge like a whirlwind. The Mussulman burns the library of aworld, and forces the Koran and the sword from the schools of Byzantiumto the colleges of Hindostan. "

PARSON (bearing on with a new column of illustration). --"Hunger ispower. The barbarians, starved out of their forests by their ownswarming population, swept into Italy and annihilated letters. TheRomans, however degraded, had more knowledge at least than the Gaul andthe Visigoth. "

RICCABOCCA (bringing up the reserve). --"And even in Greece, when Greekmet Greek, the Athenians--our masters in all knowledge--were beat by theSpartans, who held learning in contempt. "

PARSON. --"Wherefore you see, Leonard, that though knowledge be power, itis only one of the powers of the world; that there are others as strong, and often much stronger; and the assertion either means but a barrentruism, not worth so frequent a repetition, or it means something thatyou would find it very difficult to prove. "

LEONARD. --"One nation may be beaten by another that has more physicalstrength and more military discipline; which last, permit me to say, sir, is a species of knowledge--"

RICCABOCCA. --"Yes; but your knowledge-mongers at present call upon us todiscard military discipline, and the qualities that produce it, fromthe list of the useful arts. And in your own Essay, you insist uponknowledge as the great disbander of armies, and the foe of all militarydiscipline!"

PARSON. --"Let the young man proceed. Nations, you say, may be beaten byother nations less learned and civilized?"

LEONARD. --"But knowledge elevates a class. I invite the members of myown humble order to knowledge, because knowledge will lift them intopower. "

RICCABOCCA. --"What do you say to that, Mr. Dale?"

PARSON. --"In the first place, is it true that the class which has themost knowledge gets the most power? I suppose philosophers, like myfriend Dr. Riccabocca, think they have the most knowledge. And pray, in what age have philosophers governed the world? Are they not alwaysgrumbling that nobody attends to them?"

RICCABOCCA. --"Per Bacco, if people had attended to us, it would havebeen a droll sort of world by this time!"

PARSON. --"Very likely. But, as a general rule, those have the mostknowledge who give themselves up to it the most. Let us put out of thequestion philosophers (who are often but ingenious lunatics), andspeak only of erudite scholars, men of letters and practical science, professors, tutors, and fellows of colleges. I fancy any member ofparliament would tell us that there is no class of men which has lessactual influence on public affairs. These scholars have more knowledgethan manufacturers and shipowners, squires and farmers; but do you findthat they have more power over the Government and the votes of the Houseof Parliament?"

"They ought to have, " said Leonard. 

"Ought they?" said the parson; "we'll consider that later. Meanwhile, you must not escape from your own proposition, which is, that knowledgeis power, --not that it ought to be. Now, even granting your corollary, that the power of a class is therefore proportioned to its knowledge, pray, do you suppose that while your order, the operatives, areinstructing themselves, all the rest of the community are to be ata standstill? Diffuse knowledge as you may, you will never produceequality of knowledge. Those who have most leisure, application, andaptitude for learning will still know the most. Nay, by a very naturallaw, the more general the appetite for knowledge, the more the increasedcompetition will favour those most adapted to excel by circumstance andnature. At this day, there is a vast increase of knowledge spread overall society, compared with that in the Middle Ages; but is there not astill greater distinction between the highly educated gentleman and theintelligent mechanic, than there was then between the baron who couldnot sign his name and the churl at the plough; between the accomplishedstatesman, versed in all historical lore, and the voter whose politicsare formed by his newspaper, than there was between the legislator whopassed laws against witches and the burgher who defended his guild fromsome feudal aggression; between the enlightened scholar and the dunce ofto-day, than there was between the monkish alchemist and the blockheadof yesterday? Peasant, voter, and dunce of this century are no doubtwiser than the churl, burgher, and blockhead of the twelfth. But thegentleman, statesman, and scholar of the present age are at least quiteas favourable a contrast to the alchemist, witch-burner, and baron ofold. As the progress of enlightenment has done hitherto, so will it everdo. 

"Knowledge is like capital: the more there is in a country, the greaterthe disparities in wealth between one man and another. Therefore, if theworking class increase in knowledge, so do the other classes; and if theworking class rise peaceably and legitimately into power, it is notin proportion to their own knowledge alone, but rather according as itseems to the knowledge of the other orders of the community, that suchaugmentation of proportional power is just and safe and wise. "

Placed between the parson and the philosopher, Leonard felt that hisposition was not favourable to the display of his forces. Insensibly heedged his chair somewhat away, and said mournfully, --

"Then, according to you, the reign of knowledge would be no greatadvance in the aggregate freedom and welfare of man?"

PARSON. --"Let us define. By knowledge, do you mean intellectualcultivation; by the reign of knowledge, the ascendency of the mostcultivated minds?"

LEONARD (after a pause). --"Yes. "

RICCABOCCA. --"Oh, indiscreet young man! that is an unfortunateconcession of yours; for the ascendency of the most cultivated mindswould be a terrible oligarchy!"

PARSON. --"Perfectly true; and we now reply to your assertion that menwho, by profession, have most learning, ought to have more influencethan squires and merchants, farmers and mechanics. Observe, all theknowledge that we mortals can acquire is not knowledge positive andperfect, but knowledge comparative, and subject to the errors andpassions of humanity. And suppose that you could establish, as the soleregulators of affairs, those who had the most mental cultivation, do youthink they would not like that power well enough to take all means whichtheir superior intelligence could devise to keep it to themselves? Theexperiment was tried of old by the priests of Egypt; and in the empireof China, at this day, the aristocracy are elected from those who havemost distinguished themselves in learned colleges. If I may call myselfa member of that body, 'the people, ' I would rather be an Englishman, however much displeased with dull ministers and blundering parliaments, than I would be a Chinese under the rule of the picked sages of theCelestial Empire. Happily, therefore, my dear Leonard, nations aregoverned by many things besides what is commonly called knowledge; andthe greatest practical ministers, who, like Themistocles, have madesmall States great, and the most dominant races, who, like the Romans, have stretched their rule from a village half over the universe, havebeen distinguished by various qualities which a philosopher would sneerat, and a knowledge-monger would call 'sad prejudices' and 'lamentableerrors of reason. '"

LEONARD (bitterly). --"Sir, you make use of knowledge itself to argueagainst knowledge. "

PARSON. --"I make use of the little I know to prove the foolishnessof idolatry. I do not argue against knowledge; I argue againstknowledge-worship. For here, I see in your Essay, that you are notcontented with raising human knowledge into something like divineomnipotence, --you must also confound her with virtue. According to you, it is but to diffuse the intelligence of the few among the many, and allat which we preachers aim is accomplished. Nay, more; for, whereas wehumble preachers have never presumed to say, with the heathen Stoic, that even virtue is sure of happiness below (though it be the best roadto it), you tell us plainly that this knowledge of yours gives not onlythe virtue of a saint, but bestows the bliss of a god. Before the stepsof your idol, the evils of life disappear. To hear you, one has but 'toknow, ' in order to be exempt from the sins and sorrows of the ignorant. Has it ever been so? Grant that you diffuse amongst the many all theknowledge ever attained by the few. Have the wise few been so unerringand so happy? You supposed that your motto was accurately cited fromBacon. What was Bacon himself? The poet tells you

 "'The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind!'

"Can you hope to bestow upon the vast mass of your order the luminousintelligence of this 'Lord Chancellor of Nature'? Grant that you do so, and what guarantee have you for the virtue and the happiness which youassume as the concomitants of the gift? See Bacon himself: what blackingratitude! what miserable self-seeking! what truckling servility! whatabject and pitiful spirit! So far from intellectual knowledge, in itshighest form and type, insuring virtue and bliss, it is by no meansuncommon to find great mental cultivation combined with great moralcorruption. " (Aside to Riccabocca. --"Push on, will you?")

RICCASOCCA. --"A combination remarkable in eras as in individuals. Petronius shows us a state of morals at which a commonplace devil wouldblush, in the midst of a society more intellectually cultivated thancertainly was that which produced Regulus or the Horatii. And the mostlearned eras in modern Italy were precisely those which brought thevices into the most ghastly refinement. "

LEONARD (rising in great agitation, and clasping his hands). --"I cannotcontend with you, who produce against information so slender and crudeas mine the stores which have been locked from my reach; but I feel thatthere must be another side to this shield, --a shield that you will noteven allow to be silver. And, oh, if you thus speak of knowledge, whyhave you encouraged me to know?"

CHAPTER XX. 

"Ah, my son!" said the parson, "if I wished to prove the value ofreligion, would you think I served it much if I took as my motto, 'Religion is power'? Would not that be a base and sordid view of itsadvantages? And would you not say, He who regards religion as a powerintends to abuse it as a priestcraft?"

"Well put!" said Riccabocca. 

"Wait a moment--let me think! Ah, I see, Sir!" said Leonard. 

PARSON. --"If the cause be holy, do not weigh it in the scales of themarket; if its objects be peaceful, do not seek to arm it with theweapons of strife; if it is to be the cement of society, do not vaunt itas the triumph of class against class. "

LEONARD (ingenuously). --"You correct me nobly, sir. Knowledge is power, but not in the sense in which I have interpreted the saying. "

PARSON. --"Knowledge is one of the powers in the moral world, butone that, in its immediate result, is not always of the most worldlyadvantage to the possessor. It is one of the slowest, because one of themost durable, of agencies. It may take a thousand years for a thoughtto come into power; and the thinker who originated it might have died inrags or in chains. "

RICCABOCCA. --"Our Italian proverb saith that 'the teacher is like thecandle, which lights others in consuming itself. '"

PARSON. --"Therefore he who has the true ambition of knowledge shouldentertain it for the power of his idea, not for the power it maybestow on himself: it should be lodged in the conscience, and, like theconscience, look for no certain reward on this side the grave. And sinceknowledge is compatible with good and with evil, would not it be betterto say, 'Knowledge is a trust'?"

"You are right, sir, " said Leonard, cheerfully; "pray proceed. "

PARSON. --"You ask me why we encourage you to KNOW. First, because (asyou say yourself in your Essay) knowledge, irrespective of gain, is initself a delight, and ought to be something far more. Like liberty, likereligion, it may be abused; but I have no more right to say that thepoor shall be ignorant than I have to say that the rich only shall befree, and that the clergy alone shall learn the truths of redemption. You truly observe in your treatise that knowledge opens to us otherexcitements than those of the senses, and another life than that of themoment. The difference between us is this, --that you forget that thesame refinement which brings us new pleasures exposes us to new pains;the horny hand of the peasant feels not the nettles which sting the fineskin of the scholar. You forget also, that whatever widens the sphereof the desires opens to them also new temptations. Vanity, the desire ofapplause, pride, the sense of superiority, gnawing discontent where thatsuperiority is not recognized, morbid susceptibility, which comes withall new feelings, the underrating of simple pleasures apart from theintellectual, the chase of the imagination, often unduly stimulated, for things unattainable below, --all these are surely amongst the firsttemptations that beset the entrance into knowledge. " Leonard shaded hisface with his hand. 

"Hence, " continued the parson, benignantly, --"hence, so far fromconsidering that we do all that is needful to accomplish ourselves asmen, when we cultivate only the intellect, we should remember that wethereby continually increase the range of our desires, and therefore ofour temptations; and we should endeavour, simultaneously, to cultivateboth those affections of the heart which prove the ignorant to be God'schildren no less than the wise, and those moral qualities which havemade men great and good when reading and writing were scarcely known:to wit, --patience and fortitude under poverty and distress; humility andbeneficence amidst grandeur and wealth, and, in counteraction to thategotism which all superiority, mental or worldly, is apt to inspire, Justice, the father of all the more solid virtues, softened by Charity, which is their loving mother. Thus accompanied, knowledge indeed becomesthe magnificent crown of humanity, --not the imperious despot, but thechecked and tempered sovereign of the soul. "

The parson paused, and Leonard, coming near him, timidly took his hand, with a child's affectionate and grateful impulse. 

RICCAROCCA. --"And if, Leonard, you are not satisfied with our parson'sexcellent definitions, you have only to read what Lord Bacon himself hassaid upon the true ends of knowledge to comprehend at once how angry thepoor great man, whom Mr. Dale treats so harshly, would have been withthose who have stinted his elaborate distinctions and provident cautionsinto that coxcombical little aphorism, and then misconstrued allhe designed to prove in favour of the commandment, and authority oflearning. For, " added the sage, looking up as a man does when he istasking his memory, "I think it is thus that after saying the greatesterror of all is the mistaking or misplacing the end of knowledge, anddenouncing the various objects for which it is vulgarly sought, --I thinkit is thus that Lord Bacon proceeds: 'Knowledge is not a shop for profitor sale, but a rich storehouse for the glory of the Creator, and therelief of men's estate. '"

 ["But the greatest error of all the rest is the mistaking or misplacing of the last or farthest end of knowledge: for men have entered into a desire of learning and knowledge, sometimes upon a natural curiosity and inquisitive appetite; sometimes to entertain their minds with variety and delight; sometimes for ornament and reputation; and sometimes to enable them to victory of wit and contradiction; and most times for lucre and profession"--[that is, for most of those objects which are meant by the ordinary titers of the saying, "Knowledge is power"]--"and seldom sincerely to give a true account of these gifts of reason to the benefit and use of men, as if there were sought in knowledge a couch whereupon to rest a searching and restless spirit; or a terrace for a wandering and variable mind to walk up and down, with a fair prospect; or a tower of state for a proud mind to raise itself upon; or a fort or commanding ground for strife and contention; or a shop for profit or sale, --and not a rich storehouse for the glory of the Creator, and the relief of men's estate. "--Advancement of Learning, Book I. ]

PARSON (remorsefully). --"Are those Lord Bacon's words? I am very sorryI spoke so uncharitably of his life. I must examine it again. I may findexcuses for it now that I could not when I first formed my judgment. I was then a raw lad at Oxford. But I see, Leonard, there is stillsomething on your mind. "

LEONARD. --"It is true, sir: I would but ask whether it is not byknowledge that we arrive at the qualities and virtues you so welldescribe, but which you seem to consider as coming to us throughchannels apart from knowledge?"

PARSON. --"If you mean by the word 'knowledge' something very differentfrom what you express in your Essay--and which those contending formental instruction, irrespective of religion and ethics, appear also toconvey by the word--you are right; but, remember, we have already agreedthat by the word' knowledge' we mean culture purely intellectual. "

LEONARD. --"That is true, --we so understood it. "

PARSON. --"Thus, when this great Lord Bacon erred, you may say thathe erred from want of knowledge, --the knowledge which moralists andpreachers would convey. But Lord Bacon had read all that moralists andpreachers could say on such matters; and he certainly did not err fromwant of intellectual cultivation. Let me here, my child, invite youto observe, that He who knew most of our human hearts and our immortaldestinies did not insist on this intellectual culture as essential tothe virtues that form our well-being here, and conduce to our salvationhereafter. Had it been essential, the All-wise One would not haveselected humble fishermen for the teachers of His doctrine, instead ofculling His disciples from Roman portico or Athenian academe. And this, which distinguishes so remarkably the Gospel from the ethics of heathenphilosophy, wherein knowledge is declared to be necessary to virtue, is a proof how slight was the heathen sage's insight into the nature ofmankind, when compared with the Saviour's; for hard indeed would it beto men, whether high or low, rich or poor, if science and learning, orcontemplative philosophy, were the sole avenues to peace and redemption;since, in this state of ordeal requiring active duties, very few inany age, whether they be high or low, rich or poor, ever are or can bedevoted to pursuits merely mental. Christ does not represent Heaven as acollege for the learned. Therefore the rules of the Celestial Legislatorare rendered clear to the simplest understanding as to the deepest. "

RICCABOCCA. --"And that which Plato and Zeno, Pythagoras and Socratescould not do, was done by men whose ignorance would have been a by-wordin the schools of the Greek. The gods of the vulgar were dethroned; theface of the world was changed! This thought may make us allow, indeed, that there are agencies more powerful than mere knowledge, and ask, after all, what is the mission which knowledge should achieve?"

PARSON. --"The Sacred Book tells us even that; for after establishing thetruth that, for the multitude, knowledge is not essential to happinessand good, it accords still to knowledge its sublime part in therevelation prepared and announced. When an instrument of more thanordinary intelligence was required for a purpose divine; when theGospel, recorded by the simple, was to be explained by the acute, enforced by the energetic, carried home to the doubts of the Gentile, the Supreme Will joined to the zeal of the earlier apostles the learningand genius of Saint Paul, --not holier than the others, calling himselfthe least, yet labouring more abundantly than they all, making himselfall things unto all men, so that some might be saved. The ignorant maybe saved no less surely than the wise; but here comes the wise man whohelps to save. And how the fulness and animation of this grand Presence, of this indomitable Energy, seem to vivify the toil, and to speed thework! 'In journeyings often, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils of mine own countrymen, in perils by the heathen, in perils inthe city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perilsamongst false brethren. ' Behold, my son! does not Heaven here seem toreveal the true type of Knowledge, --a sleepless activity, a pervadingagency, a dauntless heroism, an all-supporting faith?--a power, a powerindeed; a power apart from the aggrandizement of self; a power thatbrings to him who owns and transmits it but 'weariness and painfulness;in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold andnakedness, '--but a power distinct from the mere circumstance of theman, rushing from him as rays from the sun; borne through the air, andclothing it with light, piercing under earth, and calling forth theharvest. Worship not knowledge, worship not the sun, O my child! Letthe sun but proclaim the Creator; let the knowledge but illumine theworship!"

The good man, overcome by his own earnestness, paused; his head droopedon the young student's breast, and all three were long silent. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Whatever ridicule may be thrown upon Mr. Dale's dissertations by the witof the enlightened, they had a considerable, and I think a beneficial, effect upon Leonard Fairfield, --an effect which may perhaps create lesssurprise, when the reader remembers that Leonard was unaccustomed toargument, and still retained many of the prejudices natural to hisrustic breeding. Nay, he actually thought it possible that, as bothRiccabocca and Mr. Dale were more than double his age, and had hadopportunities not only of reading twice as many books, but of gatheringup experience in wider ranges of life, --he actually, I say, thought itpossible that they might be better acquainted with the properties anddistinctions of knowledge than himself. At all events, the parson'swords were so far well-timed, that they produced in Leonard very muchof that state of mind which Mr. Dale desired to effect, beforecommunicating to him the startling intelligence that he was to visitrelations whom he had never seen, of whom he had heard but little, andthat it was at least possible that the result of that visit might be toopen to him greater facilities for instruction, and a higher degree inlife. 

Without some such preparation, I fear that Leonard would have gone forthinto the world with an exaggerated notion of his own acquirements, andwith a notion yet more exaggerated as to the kind of power that suchknowledge as he possessed would obtain for itself. As it was, whenMr. Dale broke to him the news of the experimental journey beforehim, cautioning him against being over sanguine, Leonard received theintelligence with a serious meekness, and thoughts that were noblysolemn. 

When the door closed on his visitors, he remained for some momentsmotionless, and in deep meditation; then he unclosed the door and stoleforth. The night was already far advanced, the heavens were luminouswith all the host of stars. "I think, " said the student, referring, inlater life, to that crisis in his destiny, --"I think it was then, as Istood alone, yet surrounded by worlds so numberless, that I first feltthe distinction between mind and soul. "

"Tell me, " said Riccabocca, as he parted company with Mr. Dale, "whetheryou would have given to Frank Hazeldean, on entering life, the samelecture on the limits and ends of knowledge which you have bestowed onLeonard Fairfield?"

"My friend, " quoth the parson, with a touch of human conceit, "I haveridden on horseback, and I know that some horses should be guided by thebridle, and some should be urged by the spur. "

"Cospetto!" said Riccabocca, "you contrive to put every experience ofyours to some use, --even your journey on Mr. Hazeldean's pad. And Inow see why, in this little world of a village, you have picked up sogeneral an acquaintance with life. "

"Did you ever read White's' Natural History of Selborne'?"

"No. "

"Do so, and you will find that you need not go far to learn the habitsof birds, and know the difference between a swallow and a swift. Learnthe difference in a village, and you know the difference whereverswallows and swifts skim the air. "

"Swallows and swifts!--true; but men--"

"Are with us all the year round, --which is more than we can say ofswallows and swifts. "

"Mr. Dale, " said Riccabocca, taking off his hat with great formality, "if ever again I find myself in a dilemma, I will come to you instead ofto Machiavelli. "

"Ah!" cried the parson, "if I could but have a calm hour's talk with youon the errors of the Papal relig--"

Riccabocca was off like a shot. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

The next day Mr. Dale had a long conversation with Mrs. Fairfield. Atfirst he found some difficulty in getting over her pride, and inducingher to accept overtures from parents who had so long slighted bothLeonard and herself. And it would have been in vain to have put beforethe good woman the worldly advantages which such overtures implied. Butwhen Mr. Dale said, almost sternly, "Your parents are old, your fatherinfirm; their least wish should be as binding to you as their command, "the widow bowed her head, and said, --

"God bless them, sir, I was very sinful 'Honour your father and mother. 'I'm no schollard, but I know the Commandments. Let Lenny go. But he'llsoon forget me, and mayhap he'll learn to be ashamed of me. "

"There I will trust him, " said the parson; and he contrived easily toreassure and soothe her. 

It was not till all this was settled that Mr. Dale drew forth anunsealed letter, which Mr. Richard Avenel, taking his hint, had given tohim, as from Leonard's grandparents, and said, "This is for you, and itcontains an inclosure of some value. "

"Will you read it, sir? As I said before, I'm no schollard. "

"But Leonard is, and he will read it to you. "

When Leonard returned home that evening, Mrs. Fairfield showed him theletter. It ran thus:--

 DEAR JANE, --Mr. Dale will tell you that we wish Leonard to come to us. We are glad to hear you are well. We forward, by Mr. Dale, a bank-note for L50, which comes from Richard, your brother. So no more at present from your affectionate parents, JOHN AND MARGARET AVENEL. 

The letter was in a stiff female scrawl, and Leonard observed that twoor three mistakes in spelling had been corrected, either in another penor in a different hand. 

"Dear brother Dick, how good in him!" cried the widow. "When I sawthere was money, I thought it must be him. How I should like to see Dickagain! But I s'pose he's still in Amerikay. Well, well, this will buyclothes for you. "

"No; you must keep it all, Mother, and put it in the Savings Bank. "

"I 'm not quite so silly as that, " cried Mrs. Fairfield, with contempt;and she put the L50 into a cracked teapot. 

"It must not stay there when I 'm gone. You may be robbed, Mother. "

"Dear me, dear me, that's true. What shall I do with it? What do I wantwith it, too? Dear me! I wish they hadn't sent it. I sha' n't sleep inpeace. You must e'en put it in your own pouch, and button it up tight, boy. "

Lenny smiled, and took the note; but he took it to Mr. Dale, and beggedhim to put it into the Savings Bank for his mother. 

The day following he went to take leave of his master, of Jackeymo, ofthe fountain, the garden. But after he had gone through the first ofthese adieus with Jackeymo--who, poor man, indulged in all the livelygesticulations of grief which make half the eloquence of his countrymen, and then, absolutely blubbering, hurried away--Leonard himself wasso affected that he could not proceed at once to the house, but stoodbeside the fountain, trying hard to keep back his tears. 

"You, Leonard--and you are going!" said a soft voice; and the tears fellfaster than ever, for he recognized the voice of Violante. 

"Do not cry, " continued the child, with a kind of tender gravity. "Youare going, but Papa says it would be selfish in us to grieve, for it isfor your good; and we should be glad. But I am selfish, Leonard, and Ido grieve. I shall miss you sadly. "

"You, young lady, --you miss me?"

"Yes; but I do not cry, Leonard, for I envy you, and I wish I were aboy: I wish I could do as you. "

The girl clasped her hands, and reared her slight form, with a kind ofpassionate dignity. 

"Do as me, and part from all those you love!"

"But to serve those you love. One day you will come back to yourmother's cottage, and say, 'I have conquered fortune. ' Oh that I couldgo forth and return, as you will! But my father has no country, and hisonly child is a useless girl. "

As Violante spoke, Leonard had dried his tears: her emotion distractedhim from his own. 

"Oh, " continued Violante, again raising her head loftily, "what it is tobe a man! A woman sighs, 'I wish, ' but a man should say, 'I will. '"

Occasionally before Leonard had noted fitful flashes of a nature grandand heroic in the Italian child, especially of late, --flashes the moreremarkable from the contrast to a form most exquisitely feminine, andto a sweetness of temper which made even her pride gentle. But now itseemed as if the child spoke with the command of a queen, --almost withthe inspiration of a Muse. A strange and new sense of courage enteredwithin him. 

"May I remember these words!" he murmured, half audibly. 

The girl turned and surveyed him with eyes brighter for their moisture. She then extended her hand to him, with a quick movement, and as he bentover it, with a grace taught to him by genuine emotion, she said, "Andif you do, then, girl and child as I am, I shall think I have aided abrave heart in the great strife for honour!"

She lingered a moment, smiled as if to herself, and then, gliding away, was lost amongst the trees. 

After a long pause, in which Leonard recovered slowly from the surpriseand agitation into which Violante had thrown his spirits--previouslyexcited as they were--he went, murmuring to himself, towards thehouse. But Riccabocca was from home. Leonard turned mechanically tothe terrace, and busied himself with the flowers; but the dark eyes ofViolante shone on his thoughts, and her voice rang in his ear. 

At length Riccabocca appeared on the road, attended by a labourer, whocarried something indistinct under his arm. The Italian beckoned toLeonard to follow him into the parlour, and after conversing with himkindly, and at some length, and packing up, as it were, a considerableprovision of wisdom in the portable shape of aphorisms and proverbs, thesage left him alone for a few moments. Riccabocca then returned with hiswife, and bearing a small knapsack:--

"It is not much we can do for you, Leonard, and money is the worstgift in the world for a keepsake; but my wife and I have put our headstogether to furnish you with a little outfit. Giacomo, who was in oursecret, assures us that the clothes will fit; and stole, I fancy, a coatof yours, to have the right measure. Put them on when you go to yourrelations: it is astonishing what a difference it makes in the ideaspeople form of us, according as our coats are cut one way or another. Ishould not be presentable in London thus; and nothing is more true thanthat a tailor is often the making of a man. "

"The shirts, too, are very good holland, " said Mrs. Riccabocca, about toopen the knapsack. 

"Never mind details, my dear, " cried the wise man; "shirts arecomprehended in the general principle of clothes. And, Leonard, as aremembrance somewhat more personal, accept this, which I have worn manya year when time was a thing of importance to me, and nobler fates thanmine hung on a moment. We missed the moment, or abused it; and here I ama waif on a foreign shore. Methinks I have done with Time. "

The exile, as he thus spoke, placed in Leonard's reluctant hands a watchthat would have delighted an antiquary, and shocked a dandy. It wasexceedingly thick, having an outer case of enamel and an inner one ofgold. The hands and the figures of the hours had originally been formedof brilliants; but the brilliants had long since vanished. Still, eventhus bereft, the watch was much more in character with the giver thanthe receiver, and was as little suited to Leonard as would have been thered silk umbrella. 

"It is old-fashioned, " said Mrs. Riccabocca; "but it goes better thanany clock in the county. I really think it will last to the end of theworld. "

"Carissima mia!" cried the doctor, "I thought I had convinced you thatthe world is by no means come to its last legs. "

"Oh, I did not mean anything, Alphonso, " said Mrs. Riccabocca, colouring. 

"And that is all we do mean when we talk about that of which we can knownothing, " said the doctor, less gallantly than usual, for he resentedthat epithet of "old-fashioned, " as applied to the watch. 

Leonard, we see, had been silent all this time; he could notspeak, --literally and truly, he could not speak. How he got out of hisembarrassment and how he got out of the room, he never explained to mysatisfaction. But a few minutes afterwards, he was seen hurrying downthe road very briskly. 

Riccabocca and his wife stood at the window gazing after him. 

"There is a depth in that boy's heart, " said the sage, "which mightfloat an argosy. "

"Poor dear boy! I think we have put everything into the knapsack that hecan possibly want, " said good Mrs. Riccabocca, musingly. 

THE DOCTOR (continuing his soliloquy). --"They are strong, but they arenot immediately apparent. "

MRS. RICCABOCCA (resuming hers). --"They are at the bottom of theknapsack. "

THE DOCTOR. --"They will stand long wear and tear. "

MRS. RICCABOCCA. --"A year, at least, with proper care at the wash. "

THE DOCTOR (startled). --"Care at the wash! What on earth are you talkingof, ma'am?"

MRS. RICCABOCCA (mildly). --"The shirts, to be sure, my love! And you?"

THE DOCTOR (with a heavy sigh). --"The feelings, ma'am!" Then, after apause, taking his wife's hand affectionately, "But you did quite rightto think of the shirts: Mr. Dale said very truly--"

MRS. RICCABOCCA. --"What?"

THE DOCTOR. --"That there was a great deal in common between us--evenwhen I think of feelings, and you but of--shirts!"

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Mr. And Mrs. Avenel sat within the parlour, Mr. Richard stood on thehearthrug, whistling "Yankee Doodle. " "The parson writes word thatthe lad will come to-day, " said Richard, suddenly; "let me see theletter, --ay, to-day. If he took the coach as far as -------, he mightwalk the rest of the way in two or three hours. He should be prettynearly here. I have a great mind to go and meet him: it will save hisasking questions, and hearing about me. I can clear the town by the backway, and get out at the high road. "

"You'll not know him from any one else, " said Mrs. Avenel. 

"Well, that is a good one! Not know an Avenel! We've all the same cut ofthe jib, --have we not, Father?"

Poor John laughed heartily, till the tears rolled down his cheeks. 

"We were always a well-favoured fam'ly, " said John, recomposing himself. "There was Luke, but he's gone; and Harry, but he's dead too; and Dick, but he's in Amerikay--no, he's here; and my darling Nora, but--"

"Hush!" interrupted Mrs. Avenel; "hush, John!"

The old man stared at her, and then put his tremulous hand to his brow. "And Nora's gone too!" said he, in a voice of profound woe. Both handsthen fell on his knees, and his head drooped on his breast. 

Mrs. Avenel rose, kissed her husband on the forehead, and walked away tothe window. Richard took up his hat and brushed the nap carefully withhis handkerchief; but his lips quivered. 

"I 'm going, " said he, abruptly. "Now mind, Mother, not a word aboutuncle Richard yet; we must first see how we like each other, and--[in awhisper] you'll try and get that into my poor father's head?"

"Ay, Richard, " said Mrs. Avenel, quietly. Richard put on his hat andwent out by the back way. He stole along the fields that skirted thetown, and had only once to cross the street before he got into the highroad. 

He walked on till he came to the first milestone. There he seatedhimself, lighted his cigar, and awaited his nephew. It was now nearlythe hour of sunset, and the road before him lay westward. Richard, fromtime to time, looked along the road, shading his eyes with his hand; andat length, just as the disk of the sun had half sunk down the horizon, a solitary figure came up the way. It emerged suddenly from the turnin the road; the reddening beams coloured all the atmosphere around it. Solitary and silent it came as from a Land of Light. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

"You have been walking far, young man?" said Richard Avenel. 

"No, sir, not very. That is Lansmere before me, is it not?"

"Yes, it is Lansmere; you stop there, I guess?"

Leonard made a sign in the affirmative, and walked on a few paces; then, seeing the stranger who had accosted him still by his side, he said, --

"If you know the town, sir, perhaps you will have the goodness to tellme whereabouts Mr. Avenel lives?"

"I can put you into a straight cut across the fields, that will bringyou just behind the house. "

"You are very kind, but it will take you out of your way. "

"No, it is in my way. So you are going to Mr. Avenel's?--a good oldgentleman. "

"I've always heard so; and Mrs. Avenel--"

"A particular superior woman, " said Richard. "Any one else to askafter?--I know the family well. "

"No, thank you, sir. "

"They have a son, I believe; but he's in America, is he not?"

"I believe he is, sir. "

"I see the parson has kept faith with me muttered Richard. "

"If you can tell me anything about HIM, " said Leonard, "I should be veryglad. "

"Why so, young man? Perhaps he is hanged by this time. "

"Hanged!"

"He was a sad dog, I am told. "

"Then you have been told very falsely, " said Leonard, colouring. 

"A sad wild dog; his parents were so glad when he cut and run, --wentoff to the States. They say he made money; but, if so, he neglected hisrelations shamefully. "

"Sir, " said Leonard, "you are wholly misinformed. He has been mostgenerous to a relation who had little claim on him: and I never heardhis name mentioned but with love and praise. "

Richard instantly fell to whistling "Yankee Doodle, " and walked onseveral paces without saying a word. He then made a slight apology forhis impertinence, hoped no offence, and, with his usual bold but astutestyle of talk, contrived to bring out something of his companion's mind. He was evidently struck with the clearness and propriety with whichLeonard expressed himself, raised his eyebrows in surprise more thanonce, and looked him full in the face with an attentive and pleasedsurvey. Leonard had put on the new clothes with which Riccabocca and hiswife had provided him. They were those appropriate to a young countrytradesman in good circumstances; but as Leonard did not think about theclothes, so he had unconsciously something of the ease of the gentleman. 

They now came into the fields. Leonard paused before a slip of groundsown with rye. 

"I should have thought grass-land would have answered better so near atown, " said he. 

"No doubt it would, " answered Richard; "but they are sadly behind-handin these parts. You see the great park yonder, on the other side of theroad? That would answer better for rye than grass; but then, what wouldbecome of my Lord's deer? The aristocracy eat us up, young man. "

"But the aristocracy did not sow this piece with rye, I suppose?" saidLeonard, smiling. 

"And what do you conclude from that?"

"Let every man look to his own ground, " said Leonard, with a clevernessof repartee caught from Dr. Riccabocca. 

"'Cute lad you are, " said Richard; "and we'll talk more of these mattersanother time. "

They now came within sight of Mr. Avenel's house. 

"You can get through the gap in the hedge, by the old pollard-oak, "said Richard; "and come round by the front of the house. Why, you're notafraid, are you?"

"I am a stranger. "

"Shall I introduce you? I told you that I knew the old couple. "

"Oh, no, sir! I would rather meet them alone. "

"Go; and--wait a bit-hark ye, young man, Mrs. Avenel is a cold-manneredwoman; but don't be abashed by that. " Leonard thanked the good-naturedstranger, crossed the field, passed the gap, and paused a momentunder the stinted shade of the old hollow-hearted oak. The ravens werereturning to their nests. At the sight of a human form under the treethey wheeled round and watched him afar. From the thick of the boughs, the young ravens sent their hoarse low cry. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

The young man entered the neat, prim, formal parlour. "You are welcome!"said Mrs. Avenel, in a firm voice. "The gentleman is heartily welcome, "cried poor John. 

"It is your grandson, Leonard Fairfield, " said Mrs. Avenel. But John, who had risen with knocking knees, gazed hard at Leonard, and then fellon his breast, sobbing aloud, "Nora's eyes!--he has a blink in his eyelike Nora's. "

Mrs. Avenel approached with a steady step, and drew away the old mantenderly. 

"He is a poor creature, " she whispered to Leonard; "you excite him. Comeaway, I will show you your room. " Leonard followed her up the stairs, and came into a room neatly and even prettily furnished. The carpet andcurtains were faded by the sun, and of old-fashioned pattern; there wasa look about the room as if it had been long disused. Mrs. Avenel sankdown on the first chair on entering. Leonard drew his arm round herwaist affectionately: "I fear that I have put you out sadly, mydear grandmother. " Mrs. Avenel glided hastily from his arm, and hercountenance worked much, every nerve in it twitching, as it were; then, placing her hand on his locks, she said with passion, "God bless you, mygrandson, " and left the room. 

Leonard dropped his knapsack on the floor, and looked around himwistfully. The room seemed as if it had once been occupied by a female. There was a work-box on the chest of drawers, and over it hangingshelves for books, suspended by ribbons that had once been blue, withsilk and fringe appended to each shelf, and knots and tassels here andthere, --the taste of a woman, or rather of a girl, who seeks to give agrace to the commonest things around her. With the mechanical habit ofa student, Leonard took down one or two of the volumes still left on theshelves. He found Spenser's "Faerie Queene, " Racine in French, Tassoin Italian; and on the fly-leaf of each volume, in the exquisitehandwriting familiar to his memory, the name "Leonora. " He kissed thebooks, and replaced them with a feeling akin both to tenderness and awe. 

He had not been alone in his room more than a quarter of an hour beforethe maid-servant knocked at his door and summoned him to tea. 

Poor John had recovered his spirits, and his wife sat by his side, holding his hand in hers. Poor John was even gay. He asked manyquestions about his daughter Jane, and did not wait for the answers. Then he spoke about the squire, whom he confounded with Audley Egerton, and talked of elections and the Blue party, and hoped Leonard wouldalways be a good Blue; and then he fell to his tea and toast, and saidno more. 

Mrs. Avenel spoke little, but she eyed Leonard askant, as it were, fromtime to time; and, after each glance, the nerves of the poor severe facetwitched again. 

A little after nine o'clock, Mrs. Avenel lighted a candle, and placingit in Leonard's hand, said, "You must be tired, --you know your own roomnow. Good-night. "

Leonard took the light, and, as was his wont with his mother, kissedMrs. Avenel on the cheek. Then he took John's hand and kissed him too. The old man was half asleep, and murmured dreamily, "That's Nora. "

Leonard had retired to his room about half an hour, when Richard Avenelentered the house softly, and joined his parents. 

"Well, Mother?" said he. 

"Well, Richard, you have seen him?"

"And like him. Do you know he has a great look of poor Nora?--more likeher than Jane. "

"Yes; he is handsomer than Jane ever was, but more like your father thanany one. John was so comely. You take to the boy, then?"

"Ay, that I do. Just tell him in the morning that he is to go with agentleman who will be his friend, and don't say more. The chaise shallbe at the door after breakfast. Let him get into it: I shall wait forhim out of the town. What's the room you gave him?"

"The room you would not take. "

"The room in which Nora slept? Oh, no! I could not have slept a winkthere. What a charm there was in that girl! how we all loved her! Butshe was too beautiful and good for us, --too good to live!"

"None of us are too good, " said Mrs. Avenel, with great austerity, "andI beg you will not talk in that way. Goodnight, --I must get your poorfather to bed. "

When Leonard opened his eyes the next morning, they rested on the faceof Mrs. Avenel, which was bending over his pillow. But it was longbefore he could recognize that countenance, so changed was itsexpression, --so tender, so mother-like. Nay, the face of his own motherhad never seemed to him so soft with a mother's passion. 

"Ah!" he murmured, half rising, and flinging his young arms round herneck. Mrs. Avenel, this time taken by surprise, warmly returned theembrace; she clasped him to her breast, she kissed him again and again. At length, with a quick start, she escaped, and walked up and down theroom, pressing her hands tightly together. When she halted, her face hadrecovered its usual severity and cold precision. 

"It is time for you to rise, Leonard, " said she. "You will leave usto-day. A gentleman has promised to take charge of you, and do for youmore than we can. A chaise will be at the door soon, --make haste. "

John was absent from the breakfast-table. His wife said that he neverrose till late, and must not be disturbed. 

The meal was scarcely over before a chaise and pair came to the door. 

"You must not keep the chaise waiting, --the gentleman is very punctual. "

"But he is not come. "

"No; he has walked on before, and will get in after you are out of thetown. "

"What is his name, and why should he care for me, Grandmother?"

"He will tell you himself. Be quick. "

"But you will bless me again, Grandmother? I love you already. "

"I do bless you, " said Mrs. Avenel, firmly. "Be honest and good, andbeware of the first false step. " She pressed his hand with a convulsivegrasp, and led him to the outer door. 

The postboy clanked his whip, the chaise rattled off. Leonard put hishead out of the window to catch a last glimpse of the old woman; but theboughs of the pollard-oak, and its gnarled decaying trunk, hid her fromhis eye, and look as he would, till the road turned, he saw but themelancholy tree. 

BOOK FIFTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

CONTAINING MR. CAXTON's UNAVAILING CAUTION NOT TO BE DULL. 

"I hope, Pisistratus, " said my father, "that you do not intend to bedull?"

"Heaven forbid, sir! What could make you ask such a question? Intend!No! if I am dull it is from innocence. "

"A very long discourse upon knowledge!" said my father; "very long! Ishould cut it out. "

I looked upon my father as a Byzantian sage might have looked on aVandal. "Cut it out!"

"Stops the action, sir!" said my father, dogmatically. 

"Action! But a novel is not a drama. "

"No; it is a great deal longer, --twenty times as long, I dare say, "replied Mr. Caxton, with a sigh. 

"Well, sir, well! I think my Discourse upon Knowledge has much to dowith the subject, is vitally essential to the subject; does not stop theaction, --only explains and elucidates the action. And I am astonished, sir, that you, a scholar, and a cultivator of knowledge--"

"There, there!" cried my father, deprecatingly. "I yield, I yield! Whatbetter could I expect when I set up for a critic? What author ever livedthat did not fly into a passion, even with his own father, if his fatherpresumed to say, 'Cut out'!"

MRS. CAXTON. --"My dear Austin, I am sure Pisistratus did not mean tooffend you, and I have no doubt he will take your--"

PISISTRATUS (hastily). --"Advice for the future, certainly. I willquicken the action, and--"

"Go on with the Novel, " whispered Roland, looking up from his eternalaccount-book. "We have lost L200 by our barley!"

Therewith I plunged my pen into the ink, and my thoughts into the "FairShadowland. "

CHAPTER II. 

"HALT, cried a voice; and not a little surprised was Leonard when thestranger who had accosted him the preceding evening got into the chaise. 

"Well, " said Richard, "I am not the sort of man you expected, eh? Taketime to recover yourself. " And with these words Richard drew forth abook from his pocket, threw himself back, and began to read. Leonardstole many a glance at the acute, hardy, handsome face of his companion, and gradually recognized a family likeness to poor John, in whom, despite age and infirmity, the traces of no common share of physicalbeauty were still evident. And, with that quick link in ideas whichmathematical aptitude bestows, the young student at once conjecturedthat he saw before him his uncle Richard. He had the discretion, however, to leave that gentleman free to choose his own time forintroducing himself, and silently revolved the new thoughts producedby the novelty of his situation. Mr. Richard read with notablequickness, --sometimes cutting the leaves of the book with his penknife, sometimes tearing them open with his forefinger, sometimes skippingwhole pages altogether. Thus he galloped to the end of the volume, flungit aside, lighted his cigar, and began to talk. He put many questions toLeonard relative to his rearing, and especially to the mode by which hehad acquired his education; and Leonard, confirmed in the idea that hewas replying to a kinsman, answered frankly. 

Richard did not think it strange that Leonard should have acquired somuch instruction with so little direct tuition. Richard Avenel himselfhad been tutor to himself. He had lived too long with our go-aheadbrethren who stride the world on the other side the Atlantic withthe seven-leagued boots of the Giant-killer, not to have caught theirglorious fever for reading. But it was for a reading wholly differentfrom that which was familiar to Leonard. The books he read must be new;to read old books would have seemed to him going back in the world. He fancied that new books necessarily contained new ideas, --a commonmistake, --and our lucky adventurer was the man of his day. 

Tired with talking, he at length chucked the book he had run through toLeonard, and taking out a pocket-book and pencil, amused himself withcalculations on some detail of his business, after which he fell into anabsorbed train of thought, part pecuniary, part ambitious. 

Leonard found the book interesting: it was one of the numerous works, half-statistic, half-declamatory, relating to the condition of theworking classes, which peculiarly distinguish our century, and ought tobind together rich and poor, by proving the grave attention which modernsociety bestows upon all that can affect the welfare of the last. 

"Dull stuff! theory! claptrap!" said Richard, rousing himself from hisrevery at last; "it can't interest you. "

"All books interest me, I think, " said Leonard, "and this especially;for it relates to the working class, and I am one of them. "

"You were yesterday, but you mayn't be to-morrow, " answered Richard, good-humouredly, and patting him on the shoulder. "You see, my lad, thatit is the middle class which ought to govern the country. What the booksays about the ignorance of country magistrates is very good; but theman writes pretty considerable trash when he wants to regulate thenumber of hours a free-born boy should work at a factory, --only tenhours a day--pooh! and so lose two hours to the nation! Labour iswealth; and if we could get men to work twenty-four hours a day, we should be just twice as rich. If the march of civilization is toproceed, " continued Richard, loftily, "men, and boys too, must not liea bed doing nothing, all night, sir. " Then, with a complacent tone, "Weshall get to the twenty-four hours at last; and, by gad, we must, or wesha'n't flog the Europeans as we do now. "

On arriving at the inn at which Richard had first made acquaintance withMr. Dale, the coach by which he had intended to perform the rest of thejourney was found to be full. Richard continued to perform the journeyin postchaises, not without some grumbling at the expense, and incessantorders to the post-boys to make the best of the way. "Slow country thisin spite of all its brag, " said he, --"very slow. Time is money--theyknow that in the States; for why? they are all men of business there. Always slow in a country where a parcel of lazy, idle lords and dukesand baronets seem to think 'time is pleasure. '"

Towards evening the chaise approached the confines of a very large town, and Richard began to grow fidgety. His easy, cavalier air was abandoned. He withdrew his legs from the window, out of which they had beenluxuriously dangling, pulled down his waistcoat, buckled more tightlyhis stock; it was clear that he was resuming the decorous dignity thatbelongs to state. He was like a monarch who, after travelling happy andincognito, returns to his capital. Leonard divined at once that theywere nearing their journey's end. 

Humble foot-passengers now looked at the chaise, and touched their hats. Richard returned the salutation with a nod, --a nod less gracious thancondescending. The chaise turned rapidly to the left, and stopped beforea small lodge, very new, very white, adorned with two Doric columnsin stucco, and flanked by a large pair of gates. "Hollo!" cried thepost-boy, and cracked his whip. 

Two children were playing before the lodge, and some clothes werehanging out to dry on the shrubs and pales round the neat littlebuilding. 

"Hang those brats! they are actually playing, " growled Dick. "As I live, the jade has been washing again! Stop, boy!" During this soliloquy, agood-looking young woman had rushed from the door, slapped the childrenas, catching sight of the chaise, they ran towards the house, opened thegates, and dropping a courtesy to the ground, seemed to wish that shecould drop into it altogether; so frightened and so trembling seemedshe to shrink from the wrathful face which the master now put out of thewindow. 

"Did I tell you, or did I not, " said Dick, "that I would not have thosehorrid, disreputable cubs of yours playing just before my lodge gates?"

"Please, sir--"

"Don't answer me. And did I tell you, or did I not, that the next time Isaw you making a drying-ground of my lilacs, you should go out, neck andcrop--"

"Oh, please, sir--"

"You leave my lodge next Saturday! drive on, boy. The ingratitude andinsolence of those common people are disgraceful to human nature, "muttered Richard, with an accent of the bitterest misanthropy. 

The chaise wheeled along the smoothest and freshest of gravel roads, andthrough fields of the finest land, in the highest state of cultivation. Rapid as was Leonard's survey, his rural eye detected the signs of amaster in the art agronomial. Hitherto he had considered the squire'smodel farm as the nearest approach to good husbandry he had seen; forJackeymo's finer skill was developed rather on the minute scale ofmarket-gardening than what can fairly be called husbandry. Butthe squire's farm was degraded by many old-fashioned notions, andconcessions to the whim of the eye, which would not be found in modelfarms nowadays, --large tangled hedgerows, which, though they constituteone of the beauties most picturesque in old England, make sad deductionsfrom produce; great trees, overshadowing the corn and harbouring thebirds; little patches of rough sward left to waste; and angles ofwoodland running into fields, exposing them to rabbits and blocking outthe sun. These and such like blots on a gentleman-farmer's agriculture, common-sense and Giacomo had made clear to the acute comprehension ofLeonard. No such faults were perceptible in Richard Avenel's domain. Thefields lay in broad divisions, the hedges were clipped and narrowedinto their proper destination of mere boundaries. Not a blade of wheatwithered under the cold shade of a tree; not a yard of land lay waste;not a weed was to be seen, not a thistle to waft its baleful seedthrough the air: some young plantations were placed, not where theartist would put them, but just where the farmer wanted a fence fromthe wind. Was there no beauty in this? Yes, there was beauty of itskind, --beauty at once recognizable to the initiated, beauty of useand profit, beauty that could bear a monstrous high rent. And Leonarduttered a cry of admiration which thrilled through the heart of RichardAvenel. 

"This IS farming!" said the villager. 

"Well, I guess it is, " answered Richard, all his ill-humour vanishing. "You should have seen the land when I bought it. But we new men, as theycall us (damn their impertinence!) are the new blood of this country. "

Richard Avenel never said anything more true. Long may the new bloodcirculate through the veins of the mighty giantess; but let the grandheart be the same as it has beat for proud ages. 

The chaise now passed through a pretty shrubbery, and the house cameinto gradual view, --a house with a portico, all the offices carefullythrust out of sight. 

The postboy dismounted and rang the bell. 

"I almost think they are going to keep me waiting, " said Mr. Richard, well-nigh in the very words of Louis XIV. But the fear was notrealized, --the door opened; a well-fed servant out of livery presentedhimself. There was no hearty welcoming smile on his face, but he openedthe chaise-door with demure and taciturn respect. 

"Where's George? Why does he not come to the door?" asked Richard;descending from the chaise slowly, and leaning on the servant'soutstretched arm with as much precaution as if he had had the gout. 

Fortunately, George here came into sight, settling himself hastily intohis livery coat. 

"See to the things, both of you, " said Richard, as he paid the postboy. 

Leonard stood on the gravel sweep, gazing at the square white house. 

"Handsome elevation--classical, I take it, eh?" said Richard, joininghim. "But you should see the offices. " He then, with familiar kindness, took Leonard by the arm, and drew him within. He showed him the hall, with a carved mahogany stand for hats; he showed him the drawing-room, and pointed out all its beauties; though it was summer, the drawing-roomlooked cold, as will look rooms newly furnished, with walls newlypapered, in houses newly built. The furniture was handsome, and suitedto the rank of a rich trader. There was no pretence about it, andtherefore no vulgarity, which is more than can be said for the housesof many an Honourable Mrs. Somebody in Mayfair, with rooms twelve feetsquare, ebokeful of buhl, that would have had its proper place inthe Tuileries. Then Richard showed him the library, with mahoganybook-cases, and plate glass, and the fashionable authors handsomelybound. Your new men are much better friends to living authors thanyour old families who live in the country, and at most subscribe toa book-club. Then Richard took him up-stairs, and led him throughthe bedrooms, --all very clean and comfortable, and with every modernconvenience; and pausing in a very pretty single gentleman's chamber, said, "This is your den. And now, can you guess who I am?"

"No one but my uncle Richard could be so kind, " answered Leonard. 

But the compliment did not flatter Richard. He was extremelydisconcerted and disappointed. He had hoped that he should be taken fora lord at least, forgetful of all that he had said in disparagement oflords. 

"Fish!" said he at last, biting his lip, "so you don't think that I looklike a gentleman? Come, now, speak honestly. "

Leonard, wonderingly, saw he had given pain, and with the good breedingwhich comes instinctively from good nature, replied, "I judge you byyour heart, sir, and your likeness to my grandfather, --otherwise Ishould never have presumed to fancy we could be relations. "

"Hum!" answered Richard. "You can just wash your hands, and then comedown to dinner; you will hear the gong in ten ininutes. There's thebell, --ring for what you want. " With that, he turned on his heel; anddescending the stairs, gave a look into the dining-room, and admired theplated salver on the sideboard, and the king's pattern spoons and silveron the table. Then he walked to the looking-glass over the mantelpiece;and, wishing to survey the whole effect of his form, mounted a chair. He was just getting into an attitude which he thought imposing, whenthe butler entered, and, being London bred, had the discretion to try toescape unseen; but Richard caught sight of him in the looking-glass, andcoloured up to the temples. 

"Jarvis, " said he, mildly, "Jarvis, put me in mind to have theseinexpressibles altered. "

CHAPTER III. 

A propos of the inexpressibles, Mr. Richard did not forget to providehis nephew with a much larger wardrobe than could have been thrust intoDr. Riccabocca's knapsack. There was a very good tailor in the town, andthe clothes were very well made. And, but for an air more ingenuous, and a cheek that, despite study and night vigils, retained much of thesunburned bloom of the rustic, Leonard Fairfield might now have almostpassed, without disparaging comment, by the bow-window at White's. Richard burst into an immoderate fit of laughter when he first saw thewatch which the poor Italian had bestowed upon Leonard; but to atonefor the laughter, he made him a present of a very pretty substitute, andbade him "lock up his turnip. " Leonard was more hurt by the jeer at hisold patron's gift than pleased by his uncle's. But Richard Avenel hadno conception of sentiment. It was not for many days that Leonard couldreconcile himself to his uncle's manner. Not that the peasant couldpretend to judge of its mere conventional defects; but there is an illbreeding to which, whatever our rank and nurture, we are almost equallysensitive, --the ill breeding that comes from want of consideration forothers. Now, the squire was as homely in his way as Richard Avenel, butthe squire's bluntness rarely hurt the feelings; and when it did so, thesquire perceived and hastened to repair his blunder. But Mr. Richard, whether kind or cross, was always wounding you in some little delicatefibre, --not from malice, but from the absence of any little delicatefibres of his own. He was really, in many respects, a most excellentman, and certainly a very valuable citizen--; but his merits wanted thefine tints and fluent curves that constitute beauty of character. He washonest, but sharp in his practice, and with a keen eye to his interests. He was just, but as a matter of business. He made no allowances, and didnot leave to his justice the large margin of tenderness and mercy. Hewas generous, but rather from an idea of what was due to himselfthan with much thought of the pleasure he gave to others; and he evenregarded generosity as a capital put out to interest. He expecteda great deal of gratitude in return, and, when he obliged a man, considered that he had bought a slave. Every needy voter knew where tocome, if he wanted relief or a loan; but woe to him if he had venturedto express hesitation when Mr. Avenel told him how he must vote. 

In this town Richard had settled after his return from America, in whichcountry he had enriched himself, --first, by spirit and industry, lastly, by bold speculation and good luck. He invested his fortune inbusiness, --became a partner in a large brewery, soon bought out hisassociates, and then took a principal share in a flourishing corn-mill. He prospered rapidly, --bought a property of some two or three hundredacres, built a house, and resolved to enjoy himself, and make a figure. He had now become the leading man of the town, and the boast to AudleyEgerton that he could return one of the members, perhaps both, was byno means an exaggerated estimate of his power. Nor was his proposition, according to his own views, so unprincipled as it appeared to thestatesman. He had taken a great dislike to both the sitting members, --adislike natural to a sensible man of moderate politics, who hadsomething to lose. For Mr. Slappe, the active member, who washead-over-ears in debt, was one of the furious democrats--rare beforethe Reform Bill, --and whose opinions were held dangerous even by themass of a Liberal constituency; while Mr. Sleekie, the gentleman memberwho laid by L5000 every year from his dividends in the Funds, was one ofthose men whom Richard justly pronounced to be "humbugs, "--men who curryfavour with the extreme party by voting for measures sure not tobe carried; while if there was the least probability of coming to adecision that would lower the money market. Mr. Sleekie was seized witha well-timed influenza. Those politicians are common enough now. Proposeto march to the Millennium, and they are your men. Ask them to march aquarter of a mile, and they fall to feeling their pockets, and tremblingfor fear of the footpads. They are never so joyful as when there is nochance of a victory. Did they beat the minister, they would be carriedout of the House in a fit. 

Richard Avenel--despising both these gentlemen, and not taking kindlyto the Whigs since the great Whig leaders were lords--had looked witha friendly eye to the government as it then existed, and especiallyto Audley Egerton, the enlightened representative of commerce. But ingiving Audley and his colleagues the benefit of his influence, throughconscience, he thought it all fair and right to have a quid pro quo, and, as he had so frankly confessed, it was his whim to rise up "SirRichard. " For this worthy citizen abused the aristocracy much on thesame principle as the fair Olivia depreciated Squire Thornhill, --he hada sneaking affection for what he abused. The society of Screwstown was, like most provincial capitals, composed of two classes, --the commercialand the exclusive. These last dwelt chiefly apart, around the ruins ofan old abbey; they affected its antiquity in their pedigrees, andhad much of its ruin in their finances. Widows of rural thanes in theneighbourhood, genteel spinsters, officers retired on half-pay, youngersons of rich squires, who had now become old bachelors, --in short, a very respectable, proud, aristocratic set, who thought more ofthemselves than do all the Gowers and Howards, Courtenays and Seymours, put together. It had early been the ambition of Richard Avenel tobe admitted into this sublime coterie; and, strange to say, he hadpartially succeeded. He was never more happy than when he was asked totheir card-parties, and never more unhappy than when he was actuallythere. Various circumstances combined to raise Mr. Avenel into thiselevated society. First, he was unmarried, still very handsome, and inthat society there was a large proportion of unwedded females. Secondly, he was the only rich trader in Screwstown who kept a good cook, andprofessed to give dinners, and the half-pay captains and colonelsswallowed the host for the sake of the venison. Thirdly, andprincipally, all these exclusives abhorred the two sitting members, and"idem nolle idem velle de republica, ea firma amicitia est;" that is, congeniality in politics pieces porcelain and crockery together betterthan the best diamond cement. The sturdy Richard Avenel, who valuedhimself on American independence, held these ladies and gentlemen inan awe that was truly Brahminical. Whether it was that, in England, all notions, even of liberty, are mixed up historically, traditionally, socially, with that fine and subtle element of aristocracy which, likethe press, is the air we breathe; or whether Richard imagined thathe really became magnetically imbued with the virtues of these silverpennies and gold seven-shilling pieces, distinct from the vulgar coinagein popular use, it is hard to say. But the truth must be told, --RichardAvenel was a notable tuft-hunter. He had a great longing to marry out ofthis society; but he had not yet seen any one sufficiently high-born andhigh-bred to satisfy his aspirations. In the meanwhile, he had convincedhimself that his way would be smooth could he offer to make his ultimatechoice "My Lady;" and he felt that it would be a proud hour in his lifewhen he could walk before stiff Colonel Pompley to the sound of "SirRichard. " Still, however disappointed at the ill-success of hisbluff diplomacy with Mr. Egerton, and however yet cherishing the mostvindictive resentment against that individual, he did not, as many wouldhave done, throw up his political convictions out of personal spite. He reserved his private grudge for some special occasion, and continuedstill to support the Administration, and to hate one of the ministers. 

But, duly to appreciate the value of Richard Avenel, and in justcounterpoise to all his foibles, one ought to have seen what he hadeffected for the town. Well might he boast of "new blood;" he had doneas much for the town as he had for his fields. His energy, his quickcomprehension of public utility, backed by his wealth and bold, bullying, imperious character, had sped the work of civilization as ifwith the celerity and force of a steam-engine. 

If the town were so well paved and so well lighted, if half-a-dozensqualid lanes had been transformed into a stately street, if half thetown no longer depended on tanks for their water, if the poor-rates werereduced one-third, praise to the brisk new blood which Richard Avenelhad infused into vestry and corporation. And his example itself was socontagious!

"There was not a plate-glass window in the town when I came into it, "said Richard Avenel; "and now look down the High Street!" He took thecredit to himself, and justly; for though his own business did notrequire windows of plate-glass, he had awakened the spirit of enterprisewhich adorns a whole city. 

Mr. Avenel did not present Leonard to his friends for more than afortnight. He allowed him to wear off his rust. He then gave a granddinner, at which his nephew was formally introduced, and, to his greatwrath and disappointment, never opened his lips. How could he, pooryouth, when Miss Clarina Mowbray only talked upon high life, tillproud Colonel Pompley went in state through the history of the Siege ofSeringapatam?

CHAPTER IV. 

While Leonard accustoms himself gradually to the splendours thatsurround him, and often turns with a sigh to the remembrance of hismother's cottage and the sparkling fount in the Italian's flowerygarden, we will make with thee, O reader, a rapid flight to themetropolis, and drop ourselves amidst the gay groups that loiter alongthe dusty ground or loll over the roadside palings of Hyde Park. Theseason is still at its height; but the short day of fashionable Londonlife, which commences two hours after noon, is in its decline. 

The crowd in Rotten Row begins to thin. Near the statue of Achilles, andapart from all other loungers, a gentleman, with one hand thrust intohis waistcoat, and the other resting on his cane, gazed listlessly onthe horsemen and carriages in the brilliant ring. He was still in theprime of life, at the age when man is usually the most social, --when theacquaintances of youth have ripened into friendships, and a personage ofsome rank and fortune has become a well-known feature in the mobileface of society. But though, when his contemporaries were boys scarceat college, this gentleman had blazed foremost amongst the princes offashion, and though he had all the qualities of nature and circumstancewhich either retain fashion to the last, or exchange its false celebrityfor a graver repute, he stood as a stranger in that throng of hiscountrymen. Beauties whirled by to the toilet, statesmen passed on tothe senate, dandies took flight to the clubs; and neither nods, norbecks, nor wreathed smiles said to the solitary spectator, "Followus, --thou art one of our set. " Now and then some middle-aged beau, nearing the post of the loiterer, turned round to look again; but thesecond glance seemed to dissipate the recognition of the first, and thebeau silently continued his way. 

"By the tomb of my fathers!" said the solitary to himself, "I know nowwhat a dead man might feel if he came to life again, and took a peep atthe living. "

Time passed on, --the evening shades descended fast. Our stranger inLondon had well-nigh the Park to himself. He seemed to breathe morefreely as he saw that the space was so clear. 

"There's oxygen in the atmosphere now, " said he, half aloud; "and I canwalk without breathing in the gaseous fumes of the multitude. Oh, thosechemists--what dolts they are! They tell us that crowds taint the air, but they never guess why! Pah, it is not the lungs that poison theelement, --it is the reek of bad hearts. When a periwigpated fellowbreathes on me, I swallow a mouthful of care. Allons! my friend Nero;now for a stroll. " He touched with his cane a large Newfoundland dog, who lay stretched near his feet, and dog and man went slow through thegrowing twilight, and over the brown dry turf. At length our solitarypaused, and threw himself on a bench under a tree. "Half-past eight!"said he, looking at his watch, "one may smoke one's cigar withoutshocking the world. "

He took out his cigar-case, struck a light, and in another momentreclined at length on the bench, seemed absorbed in regarding the smoke, that scarce coloured ere it vanished into air. 

"It is the most barefaced lie in the world, my Nero, " said he, addressing his dog, "this boasted liberty of man! Now, here am I, afree-born Englishman, a citizen of the world, caring--I often say tomyself--caring not a jot for Kaiser or Mob; and yet I no more dare smokethis cigar in the Park at half-past six, when all the world is abroad, than I dare pick my Lord Chancellor's pocket, or hit the Archbishopof Canterbury a thump on the nose. Yet no law in England forbids me mycigar, Nero! What is law at half-past eight was not crime at six anda half! Britannia says, 'Man, thou art free, and she lies like acommonplace woman. O Nero, Nero! you enviable dog! you serve but fromliking. No thought of the world costs you one wag of the tail. Your bigheart and true instinct suffice you for reason and law. You would wantnothing to your felicity, if in these moments of ennui you would butsmoke a cigar. Try it, Nero!--try it!" And, rising from his incumbentposture, he sought to force the end of the weed between the teeth of thedog. 

While thus gravely engaged, two figures had approached the place. The one was a man who seemed weak and sickly. His threadbare coat wasbuttoned to the chin, but hung large on his shrunken breast. The otherwas a girl, who might be from twelve to fourteen, on whose arm he leanedheavily. Her cheek was wan, and there was a patient, sad look on herface, which seemed so settled that you would think she could never haveknown the mirthfulness of childhood. 

"Pray rest here, Papa, " said the child, softly; and she pointed tothe bench, without taking heed of its pre-occupant, who now, indeed, confined to one corner of the seat, was almost hidden by the shadow ofthe tree. 

The man sat down, with a feeble sigh, and then, observing the stranger, raised his hat, and said, in that tone of voice which betrays the usagesof polished society, "Forgive me if I intrude on you, sir. "

The stranger looked up from his dog, and seeing that the girl wasstanding, rose at once, as if to make room for her on the bench. 

But still the girl did not heed him. She hung over her father, and wipedhis brow tenderly with a little kerchief which she took from her ownneck for the purpose. 

Nero, delighted to escape the cigar, had taken to some unwieldy curvetsand gambols, to vent the excitement into which he had been thrown; andnow returning, approached the bench with a low growl of surprise, andsniffed at the intruders of his master's privacy. 

"Come here, sir, " said the master. "You need not fear him, " he added, addressing himself to the girl. 

But the girl, without turning round to him, cried in a voice rather ofanguish than alarm, "He has fainted! Father! Father!"

The stranger kicked aside his dog, which was in the way, and loosenedthe poor man's stiff military stock. While thus charitably engaged, themoon broke out, and the light fell full on the pale, careworn face ofthe unconscious sufferer. 

"This face seems not unfamiliar to me, though sadly changed, " said thestranger to himself; and bending towards the girl, who had sunk on herknees, and was chafing her father's hand, he asked, "My child, what isyour father's name?"

The child continued her task, too absorbed to answer. 

The stranger put his hand on her shoulder, and repeated the question. 

"Digby, " answered the child, almost unconsciously; and as she spoke theman's senses began to return. In a few minutes more he had sufficientlyrecovered to falter forth his thanks to the stranger. But the last tookhis hand, and said, in a voice at once tremulous and soothing, "Is itpossible that I see once more an old brother in arms? Algernon Digby, Ido not forget you; but it seems England has forgotten. "

A hectic flush spread over the soldier's face, and he looked away fromthe speaker as he answered, --

"My name is Digby, it is true, sir; but I do not think we have metbefore. Come, Helen, I am well now, --we will go home. "

"Try and play with that great dog, my child, " said the stranger, --"Iwant to talk with your father. "

The child bowed her submissive head, and moved away; but she did notplay with the dog. 

"I must reintroduce myself formally, I see, " quoth the stranger. "Youwere in the same regiment with myself, and my name is L'Estrange. "

"My Lord, " said the soldier, rising, "forgive me that--"

"I don't think that it was the fashion to call me 'my lord' at themess-table. Come, what has happened to you?--on half-pay?"

Mr. Digby shook his head mournfully. 

"Digby, old fellow, can you lend me L100?" said Lord L'Estrange, clapping his ci-devant brother-officer on the shoulder, and in a tone ofvoice that seemed like a boy's, so impudent was it, and devil-me-Garish. "No! Well, that's lucky, for I can lend it to you. " Mr. Digby burst intotears. 

Lord L'Estrange did not seem to observe the emotion, but went oncarelessly, --

"Perhaps you don't know that, besides being heir to a father who is notonly very rich, but very liberal, I inherited, on coming of age, from amaternal relation, a fortune so large that it would bore me to deathif I were obliged to live up to it. But in the days of our oldacquaintance, I fear we were both sad extravagant fellows, and I daresay I borrowed of you pretty freely. "

"Me! Oh, Lord L'Estrange!"

"You have married since then, and reformed, I suppose. Tell me, oldfriend, all about it. "

Mr. Digby, who by this time had succeeded in restoring some calm to hisshattered nerves, now rose, and said in brief sentences, but clear, firmtones, --

"My Lord, it is idle to talk of me, --useless to help me. I am fastdying. But my child there, my only child" (he paused for an instant, andwent on rapidly). "I have relations in a distant county, if I could butget to them; I think they would, at least, provide for her. This hasbeen for weeks my hope, my dream, my prayer. I cannot afford the journeyexcept by your help. I have begged without shame for myself; shall I beashamed, then, to beg for her?"

"Digby, " said L'Estrange, with some grave alteration of manner, "talkneither of dying nor begging. You were nearer death when the ballswhistled round you at Waterloo. If soldier meets soldier and says'Friend, thy purse, ' it is not begging, but brotherhood. Ashamed! By thesoul of Belisarius! if I needed money, I would stand at a crossing withmy Waterloo medal over my breast, and say to each sleek citizen I hadhelped to save from the sword of the Frenchman, 'It is your shame if Istarve. ' Now, lean upon me; I see you should be at home: which way?"

The poor soldier pointed his hand towards Oxford Street, and reluctantlyaccepted the proffered arm. 

"And when you return from your relations, you will call on me?What--hesitate? Come, promise. "

"I will. "

"On your honour. "

"If I live, on my honour. "

"I am staying at present at Knightsbridge, with my father; but you willalways hear of my address at No. --, Grosvenor Square, Mr. Egerton's. Soyou have a long journey before you?"

"Very long. "

"Do not fatigue yourself, --travel slowly. Ho, you foolish child! I seeyou are jealous of me. Your father has another arm to spare you. "

Thus talking, and getting but short answers, Lord L'Estrange continuedto exhibit those whimsical peculiarities of character, which hadobtained for him the repute of heartlessness in the world. Perhaps thereader may think the world was not in the right; but if ever the worlddoes judge rightly of the character of a man who does not live forthe world nor talk of the world nor feel with the world, it will becenturies after the soul of Harley L'Estrange has done with this planet. 

CHAPTER V. 

Lord L'Estrange parted company with Mr. Digby at the entrance of OxfordStreet. The father and child there took a cabriolet. Mr. Digby directedthe driver to go down the Edgware Road. He refused to tell L'Estrangehis address, and this with such evident pain, from the sores of pride, that L'Estrange could not press the point. Reminding the soldier of hispromise to call, Harley thrust a pocket-book into his hand, and walkedoff hastily towards Grosvenor Square. 

He reached Audley Egerton's door just as that gentleman was getting outof his carriage; and the two friends entered the house together. 

"Does the nation take a nap to-night?" asked L'Estrange. "Poor oldlady! She hears so much of her affairs, that she may well boast of herconstitution: it must be of iron. "

"The House is still sitting, " answered Audley, seriously, and with smallheed of his friend's witticism. "But it is not a Government motion, andthe division will be late, so I came home; and if I had not found youhere, I should have gone into the Park to look for you. "

"Yes; one always knows where to find me at this hour, nine o'clockP. M. , cigar, Hyde Park. There is not a man in England so regular in hishabits. "

Here the friends reached a drawing-room in which the member ofparliament seldom sat, for his private apartments were all on theground-floor. 

"But it is the strangest whim of yours, Harley, " said he. 

"What?"

"To affect detestation of ground-floors. "

"Affect! O sophisticated man, of the earth, earthy! Affect!--nothingless natural to the human soul than a ground-floor. We are quite farenough from Heaven, mount as many stairs as we will, without grovellingby preference. "

"According to that symbolical view of the case, " said Audley, "youshould lodge in an attic. "

"So I would, but that I abhor new slippers. As for hairbrushes, I amindifferent. "

"What have slippers and hair-brushes to do with attics?"

"Try! Make your bed in an attic, and the next morning you will haveneither slippers nor hair-brushes!"

"What shall I have done with them?"

"Shied them at the cats!"

"What odd things you say, Harley!"

"Odd! By Apollo and his nine spinsters! there is no human being who hasso little imagination as a distinguished member of parliament. Answer methis, thou solemn Right Honourable, --Hast thou climbed to the heights ofaugust contemplation? Hast thou gazed on the stars with the rapt eyeof song? Hast thou dreamed of a love known to the angels, or sought toseize in the Infinite the mystery of life?"

"Not I indeed, my poor Harley. "

"Then no wonder, poor Audley, that you cannot conjecture why he whomakes his bed in an attic, disturbed by base catterwauls, shies hisslippers at cats. Bring a chair into the balcony. Nero spoiled my cigarto-night. I am going to smoke now. You never smoke. You can look on theshrubs in the square. "

Audley slightly shrugged his shoulders, but he followed his friend'scounsel and example, and brought his chair into the balcony. Nero cametoo, but at sight and smell of the cigar prudently retreated, and tookrefuge under the table. 

"Audley Egerton, I want something from Government. "

"I am delighted to hear it. "

"There was a cornet in my regiment, who would have done better not tohave come into it. We were, for the most part of us, puppies and fops. "

"You all fought well, however. "

"Puppies and fops do fight well. Vanity and valour generally gotogether. CAesar, who scratched his head with due care of his scantycurls, and even in dying thought of the folds in his toga; WalterRaleigh, who could not walk twenty yards because of the gems in hisshoes; Alcibiades, who lounged into the Agora with doves in his bosom, and an apple in his hand; Murat, bedizened in gold lace and furs; andDemetrius, the City-Taker, who made himself up like a French marquise, were all pretty good fellows at fighting. A slovenly hero like Cromwellis a paradox in nature, and a marvel in history. But to return to mycornet. We were rich; he was poor. When the pot of clay swims down thestream with the brass-pots, it is sure of a smash. Men said Digby wasstingy; I saw he was extravagant. But every one, I fear, would be ratherthought stingy than poor. Bref--I left the army, and saw him no moretill to-night. There was never shabby poor gentleman on the stage moreawfully shabby, more pathetically gentleman. But, look ye, this man hasfought for England. It was no child's play at Waterloo, let me tell you, Mr. Egerton; and, but for such men, you would be at best a sous prefet, and your parliament a Provincial Assembly. You must do something forDigby. What shall it be?"

"Why, really, my dear Harley, this man was no great friend of yours, eh?"

"If he were, he would not want the Government to help him, --he would notbe ashamed of taking money from me. "

"That is all very fine, Harley; but there are so many poor officers, and so little to give. It is the most difficult thing in the worldthat which you ask me. Indeed, I know nothing can be done: he has hishalf-pay?"

"I think not; or, if he has it, no doubt it all goes on his debts. That's nothing to us: the man and his child are starving. "

"But if it is his own fault, --if he has been imprudent?"

"Ah, well, well; where the devil is Nero?"

"I am so sorry I can't oblige you. If it were anything else--"

"There is something else. My valet--I can't turn him adrift-excellentfellow, but gets drunk now and then. Will you find him a place in theStamp Office?"

"With pleasure. "

"No, now I think of it, the man knows my ways: I must keep him. But myold wine-merchant--civil man, never dunned--is a bankrupt. I am undergreat obligations to him, and he has a very pretty daughter. Do youthink you could thrust him into some small place in the Colonies, ormake him a King's Messenger, or something of the sort?"

"If you very much wish it, no doubt I can. "

"My dear Audley, I am but feeling my way: the fact is, I want somethingfor myself. "

"Ah, that indeed gives me pleasure!" cried Egerton, with animation. 

"The mission to Florence will soon be vacant, --I know it privately. Theplace would quite suit me. Pleasant city; the best figs in Italy; verylittle to do. You could sound Lord on the subject. "

"I will answer beforehand. Lord--would be enchanted to secure to thepublic service a man so accomplished as yourself, and the son of a peerlike Lord Lansmere. "

Harley L'Estrange sprang to his feet, and flung his cigar in the face ofa stately policeman who was looking up at the balcony. 

"Infamous and bloodless official!" cried Harley L'Estrange; "so youcould provide for a pimple-nosed lackey, for a wine-merchant who hasbeen poisoning the king's subjects with white lead, --or sloe-juice, --foran idle sybarite, who would complain of a crumpled rose-leaf; andnothing, in all the vast patronage of England, for a broken-downsoldier, whose dauntless breast was her rampart?"

"Harley, " said the member of parliament, with his calm, sensible smile, "this would be a very good claptrap at a small theatre; but there isnothing in which parliament demands such rigid economy as the militarybranch of the public service; and no man for whom it is so hard toeffect what we must plainly call a job as a subaltern officer who hasdone nothing more than his duty, --and all military men do that. Still, as you take it so earnestly, I will use what interest I can at the WarOffice, and get him, perhaps, the mastership of a barrack. "

"You had better; for, if you do not, I swear I will turn Radical, andcome down to your own city to oppose you, with Hunt and Cobbett tocanvass for me. "

"I should be very glad to see you come into parliament, even as aRadical, and at my expense, " said Audley, with great kindness; "but theair is growing cold, and you are not accustomed to our climate. Nay, ifyou are too poetic for catarrhs and rheums, I'm not, --come in. "

CHAPTER VI. 

Lord L'Estrange threw himself on a sofa, and leaned his cheek on hishand thoughtfully. Audley Egerton sat near him, with his arms folded, and gazed on his friend's face with a soft expression of aspect, whichwas very unusual to the firm outline of his handsome features. The twomen were as dissimilar in person as the reader will have divined thatthey were in character. All about Egerton was so rigid, all aboutL'Estrange so easy. In every posture of Harley's there was theunconscious grace of a child. The very fashion of his garments showedhis abhorrence of restraint. His clothes were wide and loose; hisneckcloth, tied carelessly, left his throat half bare. You could seethat he had lived much in warm and southern lands, and contracted acontempt for conventionalities; there was as little in his dress asin his talk of the formal precision of the North. He was three or fouryears younger than Audley, but he looked at least twelve years younger. In fact, he was one of those men to whom old age seems impossible;voice, look, figure, had all the charm of youth: and perhaps it was fromthis gracious youthfulness--at all events, it was characteristic of thekind of love he inspired--that neither his parents, nor the fewfriends admitted into his intimacy, ever called him, in their habitualintercourse, by the name of his title. He was not L'Estrange with them, he was Harley; and by that familiar baptismal I will usually designatehim. He was not one of those men whom author or reader wish to view at adistance, and remember as "my Lord"--it was so rarely that he rememberedit himself. For the rest, it had been said of him by a shrewd wit, "Heis so natural that every one calls him affected. " Harley L'Estrange wasnot so critically handsome as Audley Egerton; to a commonplace observer, he was only rather good-looking than otherwise. But women said thathe had "a beautiful countenance, " and they were not wrong. He worehis hair, which was of a fair chestnut, long, and in loose curls;and instead of the Englishman's whiskers, indulged in the foreigner'smustache. His complexion was delicate, though not effeminate: it wasrather the delicacy of a student than of a woman. But in his cleargray eye there was a wonderful vigour of life. A skilful physiologist, looking only into that eye, would have recognized rare stamina ofconstitution, --a nature so rich that, while easily disturbed, it wouldrequire all the effects of time, or all the fell combinations of passionand grief, to exhaust it. Even now, though so thoughtful, and even sosad, the rays of that eye were as concentrated and steadfast as thelight of the diamond. 

"You were only, then, in jest, " said Audley, after a long silence, "when you spoke of this mission to Florence. You have still no idea ofentering into public life?"

"None. "

"I had hoped better things when I got your promise to pass one season inLondon; but, indeed, you have kept your promise to the ear to break itto the spirit. I could not presuppose that you would shun all society, and be as much of a hermit here as under the vines of Como. "

"I have sat in the Strangers' Gallery, and heard your great speakers;I have been in the pit of the opera, and seen your fine ladies; I havewalked your streets; I have lounged in your parks, and I say thatI can't fall in love with a faded dowager, because she fills up herwrinkles with rouge. "

"Of what dowager do you speak?" asked the matter-of-fact Audley. 

"She has a great many titles. Some people call her Fashion, you busymen, Politics: it is all one, --tricked out and artificial. I mean LondonLife. No, I can't fall in love with her, fawning old harridan!"

"I wish you could fall in love with something. "

"I wish I could, with all my heart. "

"But you are so blaze. "

"On the contrary, I am so fresh. Look out of the window--what do yousee?"

"Nothing!"

"Nothing?"

"Nothing but houses and dusty lilacs, my coachman dozing on his box, andtwo women in pattens crossing the kennel. "

"I see not those where I lie on the sofa. I see but the stars. And Ifeel for them as I did when I was a schoolboy at Eton. It is you whoare blaze, not I. Enough of this. You do not forget my commission withrespect to the exile who has married into your brother's family?"

"No; but here you set me a task more difficult than that of saddlingyour cornet on the War Office. "

"I know it is difficult, for the counter influence is vigilant andstrong; but, on the other hand, the enemy is so damnable a traitor thatone must have the Fates and the household gods on one's side. "

"Nevertheless, " said the practical Audley, bending over a book on thetable; "I think that the best plan would be to attempt a compromise withthe traitor. "

"To judge of others by myself, " answered Harley, with spirit, "itwere less bitter to put up with wrong than to palter with it forcompensation. And such wrong! Compromise with the open foe--that maybedone with honour; but with the perjured friend--that were to forgive theperjury!"

"You are too vindictive, " said Egerton; "there may be excuses for thefriend, which palliate even--"

"Hush! Audley, hush! or I shall think the world has indeed corruptedyou. Excuse for the friend who deceives, who betrays! No, such is thetrue outlaw of Humanity; and the Furies surround him even while hesleeps in the temple. "

The man of the world lifted his eyes slowly on the animated face of onestill natural enough for the passions. He then once more returned to hisbook, and said, after a pause, "It is time you should marry, Harley. "

"No, " answered L'Estrange, with a smile at this sudden turn in theconversation, "not time yet; for my chief objection to that change inlife is, that the women nowadays are too old for me, or I am too youngfor them. A few, indeed, are so infantine that one is ashamed to betheir toy; but most are so knowing that one is afraid to be their dupe. The first, if they condescend to love you, love you as the biggest dollthey have yet dandled, and for a doll's good qualities, --your prettyblue eyes and your exquisite millinery. The last, if they prudentlyaccept you, do so on algebraical principles; you are but the X or theY that represents a certain aggregate of goods matrimonial, --pedigree, title, rent-roll, diamonds, pin-money, opera-box. They cast you up withthe help of mamma, and you wake some morning to find that plus wifeminus affection equals--the Devil!"

"Nonsense, " said Audley, with his quiet, grave laugh. "I grant that itis often the misfortune of a man in your station to be married ratherfor what he has than for what he is; but you are tolerably penetrating, and not likely to be deceived in the character of the woman you court. "

"Of the woman I court?--No! But of the woman I marry, very likelyindeed! Woman is a changeable thing, as our Virgil informed us atschool; but her change par excellence is from the fairy you woo to thebrownie you wed. It is not that she has been a hypocrite, --it is thatshe is a transmigration. You marry a girl for her accomplishments. She paints charmingly, or plays like Saint Cecilia. Clap a ring on herfinger, and she never draws again, --except perhaps your caricature onthe back of a letter, --and never opens a piano after the honeymoon. You marry her for her sweet temper; and next year, her nerves are soshattered that you can't contradict her but you are whirled into a stormof hysterics. You marry her because she declares she hates ballsand likes quiet; and ten to one but what she becomes a patroness atAlmack's, or a lady-in-waiting. "

"Yet most men marry, and most men survive the operation. "

"If it were only necessary to live, that would be a consolatory andencouraging reflection. But to live with peace, to live with dignity, tolive with freedom, to live in harmony with your thoughts, your habits, your aspirations--and this in the perpetual companionship of a personto whom you have given the power to wound your peace, to assail yourdignity, to cripple your freedom, to jar on each thought and each habit, and bring you down to the meanest details of earth, when you invite her, poor soul, to soar to the spheres--that makes the To Be or Not To Be, which is the question. "

"If I were you, Harley, I would do as I have heard the author of'Sandford and Merton' did, --choose out a child and educate her yourself, after your own heart. "

"You have hit it, " answered Harley, seriously. "That has long been myidea, --a very vague one, I confess. But I fear I shall be an old manbefore I find even the child. "

"Ah!" he continued, yet more earnestly, while the whole character of hisvarying countenance changed again, --"ah, if indeed I could discover whatI seek, --one who, with the heart of a child, has the mind of a woman;one who beholds in nature the variety, the charm, the never feverish, ever healthful excitement that others vainly seek in the bastardsentimentalities of a life false with artificial forms; one who cancomprehend, as by intuition, the rich poetry with which creation isclothed, --poetry so clear to the child when enraptured with the flower, or when wondering at the star! If on me such exquisite companionshipwere bestowed--why, then--" He paused, sighed deeply, and, covering hisface with his hand, resumed, in faltering accents, --

"But once--but once only, did such vision of the Beautiful made Humanrise before me, --rise amidst 'golden exhalations of the dawn. ' Itbeggared my life in vanishing. You know only--you only--how--how--"

He bowed his head, and the tears forced themselves through his clenchedfingers. 

"So long ago!" said Audley, sharing his friend's emotion. "Years so longand so weary, yet still thus tenacious of a mere boyish memory!"

"Away with it, then!" cried Harley, springing to his feet, and witha laugh of strange merriment. "Your carriage still waits: set me homebefore you go to the House. "

Then laying his hand lightly on his friend's shoulder, he said, "Is itfor you, Audley Egerton, to speak sneeringly of boyish memories? Whatelse is it that binds us together? What else warms my heart when I meetyou? What else draws your thoughts from blue-books and beer-bills towaste them on a vagrant like me? Shake hands. Oh, friend of my boyhood!recollect the oars that we plied and the bats that we wielded in the oldtime, or the murmured talk on the moss-grown bank, as we sat together, building in the summer air castles mightier than Windsor. Ah, they arestrong ties, those boyish memories believe me! I remember, as if itwere yesterday, my translation of that lovely passage in Persius, beginning--let me see--ah!

 "'Quum primum pavido custos mihi purpura cernet, '--

that passage on friendship which gushes out so livingly from the sternheart of the satirist. And when old--complimented me on my verses, myeye sought yours. Verily, I now say as then, --

 "'Nescio quod, certe est quod me tibi temperet astrum. '"

 ["What was the star I know not, but certainly some star it was that attuned me unto thee. "]

Audley turned away his head as he returned the grasp of his friend'shand; and while Harley, with his light elastic footstep, descended thestairs, Egerton lingered behind, and there was no trace of the worldlyman upon his countenance when he took his place in the carriage by hiscompanion's side. 

Two hours afterwards, weary cries of "Question, question!" "Divide, divide!" sank into reluctant silence as Audley Egerton rose to concludethe debate, --the man of men to speak late at night, and to impatientbenches: a man who would be heard; whom a Bedlam broke loose would nothave roared down; with a voice clear and sound as a bell, and a form asfirmly set on the ground as a church-tower. And while, on the dullestof dull questions, Audley Egerton thus, not too lively himself, enforcedattention, where was Harley L'Estrange? Standing alone by the riverat Richmond, and murmuring low fantastic thoughts as he gazed on themoonlit tide. 

When Audley left him at home he had joined his parents, made them gaywith his careless gayety, seen the old-fashioned folks retire torest, and then--while they, perhaps, deemed him once more the hero ofball-rooms and the cynosure of clubs--he drove slowly through the softsummer night, amidst the perfumes of many a garden and many a gleamingchestnut grove, with no other aim before him than to reach the loveliestmargin of England's loveliest river, at the hour when the moon wasfullest and the song of the nightingale most sweet. And so eccentric ahumourist was this man, that I believe, as he there loitered, --no onenear to cry "How affected!" or "How romantic!"--he enjoyed himselfmore than if he had been exchanging the politest "how-d'ye-dos" in thehottest of London drawing-rooms, or betting his hundreds on the oddtrick, with Lord de R------ for his partner. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Leonard had been about six weeks with his uncle, and those weekswere well spent. Mr. Richard had taken him to his counting-house, andinitiated him into business and the mysteries of double entry; and inreturn for the young man's readiness and zeal in matters which theacute trader instinctively felt were not exactly to his tastes, Richardengaged the best master the town afforded to read with his nephew in theevening. This gentleman was the head usher of a large school, who hadhis hours to himself after eight o'clock, and was pleased to vary thedull routine of enforced lessons by instructions to a pupil who tookdelightedly even to the Latin grammar. Leonard made rapid strides, andlearned more in those six weeks than many a cleverish boy does in twiceas many months. These hours which Leonard devoted to study Richardusually spent from home, --sometimes at the houses of his grandacquaintances in the Abbey Gardens, sometimes in the Reading-Roomappropriated to those aristocrats. If he stayed at home, it was incompany with his head clerk, and for the purpose of checking hisaccount-books, or looking over the names of doubtful electors. 

Leonard had naturally wished to communicate his altered prospects to hisold friends, that they, in turn, might rejoice his mother with such goodtidings. But he had not been two days in the house before Richard hadstrictly forbidden all such correspondence. 

"Look you, " said he, "at present we are on an experiment, --we mustsee if we like each other. Suppose we don't, you will only have raisedexpectations in your mother which must end in bitter disappointment; andsuppose we do, it will be time enough to write when something definiteis settled. "

"But my mother will be so anxious--"

"Make your mind easy on that score. I will write regularly to Mr. Dale, and he can tell her that you are well and thriving. No more words, myman, --when I say a thing, I say it. " Then, observing that Leonard lookedblank and dissatisfied, Richard added, with a good-humoured smile, "Ihave my reasons for all this--you shall know them later. And I tell youwhat: if you do as I bid you, it is my intention to settle somethinghandsome on your mother; but if you don't, devil a penny she'll get fromme. "

With that Richard turned on his heel, and in a few moments his voice washeard loud in objurgation with some of his people. 

About the fourth week of Leonard's residence at Mr. Avenel's, his hostbegan to evince a certain change of manner. He was no longer quite socordial with Leonard, nor did he take the same interest in his progress. About the same period he was frequently caught by the London butlerbefore the looking-glass. He had always been a smart man in his dress, but he was now more particular. He would spoil three white cravats whenhe went out of an evening, before he could satisfy himself as to thetie. He also bought a 'Peerage, ' and it became his favourite study atodd quarters of an hour. All these symptoms proceeded from a cause, andthat cause was--woman. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

The first people at Screwstown were indisputably the Pompleys. ColonelPompley was grand, but Mrs. Pompley was grander. The colonel was statelyin right of his military rank and his services in India; Mrs. Pompleywas majestic in right of her connections. Indeed, Colonel Pompleyhimself would have been crushed under the weight of the dignitieswhich his lady heaped upon him, if he had not been enabled to prop hisposition with a "connection" of his own. He would never have heldhis own, nor been permitted to have an independent opinion on mattersaristocratic, but for the well-sounding name of his relations, "theDigbies. " Perhaps on the principle that obscurity increases the naturalsize of objects and is an element of the sublime, the colonel did nottoo accurately define his relations "the Digbies:" he let it be casuallyunderstood that they were the Digbies to be found in Debrett. But ifsome indiscreet Vulgarian (a favourite word with both the Pompleys)asked point-blank if he meant "my Lord Digby, " the colonel, with a loftyair, answered, "The elder branch, sir. " No one at Screwstown had everseen these Digbies: they lay amidst the Far, the Recondite, --even to thewife of Colonel Pompley's bosom. Now and then, when the colonel referredto the lapse of years, and the uncertainty of human affections, he wouldsay, "When young Digby and I were boys together, " and then add with asigh, "but we shall never meet again in this world. His family interestssecured him a valuable appointment in a distant part of the Britishdominions. " Mrs. Pompley was always rather cowed by the Digbies. Shecould not be sceptical as to this connection, for the colonel's motherwas certainly a Digby, and the colonel impaled the Digby arms. Enrevanche, as the French say, for these marital connections, Mrs. Pompleyhad her own favourite affinity, which she specially selected from allothers when she most desired to produce effect; nay, even upon ordinaryoccasions the name rose spontaneously to her lips, --the name of theHonourable Mrs. M'Catchley. Was the fashion of a gown or cap admired, her cousin, Mrs. M'Catchley, had just sent to her the pattern fromParis. Was it a question whether the Ministry would stand, Mrs. M'Catchley was in the secret, but Mrs. Pompley had been requested not tosay. Did it freeze, "My cousin, Mrs. M'Catchley, had written word thatthe icebergs at the Pole were supposed to be coming this way. " Did thesun glow with more than usual fervour, Mrs. M'Catchley had informed her"that it was Sir Henry Halford's decided opinion that it was on accountof the cholera. " The good people knew all that was doing at London, atcourt, in this world--nay, almost in the other--through the medium ofthe Honourable Mrs. M'Catchley. Mrs. M'Catchley was, moreover, the mostelegant of women, the wittiest creature, the dearest. King George theFourth had presumed to admire Mrs. M'Catehley; but Mrs. M'Catchley, though no prude, let him see that she was proof against the corruptionsof a throne. So long had the ears of Mrs. Pompley's friends been filledwith the renown of Mrs. M'Catchley, that at last Mrs. M'Catchley wassecretly supposed to be a myth, a creature of the elements, a poeticfiction of Mrs. Pompley's. Richard Avenel, however, though by no meansa credulous man, was an implicit believer in Mrs. M'Catchley. He hadlearned that she was a widow, and honourable by birth, and honourable bymarriage, living on her handsome jointure, and refusing offers every daythat she so lived. Somehow or other, whenever Richard Avenel thoughtof a wife, he thought of the Honourable Mrs. M'Catchley. Perhaps thatromantic attachment to the fair invisible preserved him heart-wholeamongst the temptations of Screwstown. Suddenly, to the astonishment ofthe Abbey Gardens, Mrs. M'Catchley proved her identity, and arrived atColonel Pompley's in a handsome travelling-carriage, attended by hermaid and footman. She had come to stay some weeks; a tea-party was givenin her honour. Mr. Avenel and his nephew were invited. Colonel Pompley, who kept his head clear in the midst of the greatest excitement, hada desire to get from the Corporation a lease of a piece of groundadjoining his garden, and he no sooner saw Richard Avenel enter than hecaught him by the button, and drew him into a quiet corner, in orderto secure his interest. Leonard, meanwhile, was borne on by the stream, till his progress was arrested by a sofa-table at which sat Mrs. M'Catchley herself, with Mrs. Pompley by her side. For on this greatoccasion the hostess had abandoned her proper post at the entrance, and, whether to show her respect to Mrs. M'Catchley, or to show Mrs. M'Catchley her well-bred contempt for the people of Screwstown, remainedin state by her friend, honouring only the elite of the town withintroductions to the illustrious visitor. 

Mrs. M'Catchley was a very fine woman, --a woman who justified Mrs. Pompley's pride in her. Her cheek-bones were rather high, it is true butthat proved the purity of her Caledonian descent; for the rest, she hada brilliant complexion, heightened by a soupcon of rouge, good eyes andteeth, a showy figure, and all the ladies of Screwstown pronounced herdress to be perfect. She might have arrived at that age at which oneintends to stop for the next ten years, but even a Frenchman would nothave called her passee, --that is, for a widow. For a spinster it wouldhave been different. 

Looking round her with a glass, which Mrs. Pompley was in the habit ofdeclaring that "Mrs. M'Catchley used like an angel, " this lady suddenlyperceived Leonard Fairfield; and his quiet, simple, thoughtful air andlook so contrasted with the stiff beaux to whom she had been presented, that, experienced in fashion as so fine a personage must be supposed tobe, she was nevertheless deceived into whispering to Mrs. Pompley, "That young man has really an air distingue; who is he?"

"Oh, " said Mrs. Pompley, in unaffected surprise, "that is the nephew ofthe rich Vulgarian I was telling you of this morning. "

"Ah! and you say that he is Mr. Arundel's heir?"

"Avenel--not Arundel--my sweet friend. "

"Avenel is not a bad name, " said Mrs. M'Catchley. "But is the unclereally so rich?"

"The colonel was trying this very day to guess what he is worth; but hesays it is impossible to guess it. "

"And the young man is his heir?"

"It is thought so; and reading for College, I hear. They say he isclever. "

"Present him, my love; I like clever people, " said Mrs. M'Catchley, falling back languidly. 

About ten minutes afterwards, Richard Avenel having effected his escapefrom the colonel, and his gaze being attracted towards the sofa-tableby the buzz of the admiring crowd, beheld his nephew in animatedconversation with the long cherished idol of his dreams. A fierce pangof jealousy shot through his breast. His nephew had never looked sohandsome and so intelligent; in fact, poor Leonard had never before beendrawn out by a woman of the world, who had learned how to make the mostof what little she knew. And as jealousy operates like a pair of bellowson incipient flames, so, at first sight of the smile which the fairwidow bestowed upon Leonard, the heart of Mr. Avenel felt in a blaze. 

He approached with a step less assured than usual, and, overhearingLeonard's talk, marvelled much at the boy's audacity. Mrs. M'Catchleyhad been speaking of Scotland and the Waverley Novels, about whichLeonard knew nothing. But he knew Burns, and on Burns he grew artlesslyeloquent. Burns the poet and peasant--Leonard might well be eloquenton him. Mrs. M'Catchley was amused and pleased with his freshness andnaivete, so unlike anything she had ever heard or seen, and she drewhim on and on till Leonard fell to quoting. And Richard heard, with lessrespect for the sentiment than might be supposed, that

 "Rank is but the guinea's stamp, The man's the gowd for a' that. "

"Well!" exclaimed Mr. Avenel. "Pretty piece of politeness to tell thatto a lady like the Honourable Mrs. M'Catch ley! You'll excuse him, ma'am. "

"Sir!" said Mrs. M'Catchley, startled, and lifting her glass. Leonard, rather confused, rose and offered his chair to Richard, who dropped intoit. The lady, without waiting for formal introduction, guessed that shesaw the rich uncle. "Such a sweet poet-Burns!" said she, dropping herglass. "And it is so refreshing to find so much youthful enthusiasm, "she added, pointing her fan towards Leonard, who was receding fast amongthe crowd. 

"Well, he is youthful, my nephew, --rather green!"

"Don't say green!" said Mrs. M'Catchley. Richard blushed scarlet. He wasafraid he had committed himself to some expression low and shocking. Thelady resumed, "Say unsophisticated. "

"A tarnation long word, " thought Richard; but he prudently bowed andheld his tongue. 

"Young men nowadays, " continued Mrs. M'Catchley, resettling herself onthe sofa, "affect to be so old. They don't dance, and they don't read, and they don't talk much! and a great many of them wear toupets beforethey are two-and-twenty!"

Richard mechanically passed his hand through his thick curls. But hewas still mute; he was still ruefully chewing the cud of the epithet"green. " What occult horrid meaning did the word convey to ears polite?Why should he not say "green"?

"A very fine young man your nephew, sir, " resumed Mrs. M' Catchley. 

Richard grunted. 

"And seems full of talent. Not yet at the University? Will he go toOxford or Cambridge?"

"I have not made up my mind yet if I shall send him to the University atall. "

"A young man of his expectations!" exclaimed Mrs. M'Catchley, artfully. 

"Expectations!" repeated Richard, firing up. "Has he been talking to youof his expectations?"

"No, indeed, sir. But the nephew of the rich Mr. Avenel! Ah, one hearsa great deal, you know, of rich people; it is the penalty of wealth, Mr. Avenel!"

Richard was very much flattered. His crest rose. 

"And they say, " continued Mrs. M'Catchley, dropping out her words veryslowly, as she adjusted her blonde scarf, "that Mr. Avenel has resolvednot to marry. "

"The devil they do, ma'am!" bolted out Richard, gruffly; and then, ashamed of his lapsus linguae, screwed up his lips firmly, and glared onthe company with an eye of indignant fire. 

Mrs. M'Catchley observed him over her fan. Richard turned abruptly, andshe withdrew her eyes modestly, and raised the fan. 

"She's a real beauty, " said Richard, between his teeth. The fanfluttered. 

Five minutes afterwards, the widow and the bachelor seemed so much attheir ease that Mrs. Pompley, who had been forced to leave her friend, in order to receive the dean's lady, could scarcely believe her eyeswhen she returned to the sofa. 

Now, it was from that evening that Mr. Richard Avenel exhibitedthe change of mood which I have described; and from that evening heabstained from taking Leonard with him to any of the parties in theAbbey Gardens. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Some days after this memorable soiree, Colonel Pompley sat alone in hisstudy (which opened pleasantly on an old-fashioned garden), absorbed inthe house bills. For Colonel Pompley did not leave that domestic careto his lady, --perhaps she was too grand for it. Colonel Pompley withhis own sonorous voice ordered the joints, and with his own heroic handsdispensed the stores. In justice to the colonel, I must add--atwhatever risk of offence to the fair sex--that there was not a house atScrewstown so well managed as the Pompleys'; none which so successfullyachieved the difficult art of uniting economy with show. I shoulddespair of conveying to you an idea of the extent to which ColonelPompley made his income go. It was but seven hundred a year; and manya family contrived to do less upon three thousand. To be sure, thePompleys had no children to sponge upon them. What they had they spentall on themselves. Neither, if the Pompleys never exceeded their income, did they pretend to live much within it. The two ends of the year met atChristmas, --just met, and no more. 

Colonel Pompley sat at his desk. He was in his well-brushed blue coat, buttoned across his breast, his gray trousers fitted tight to his limbs, and fastened under his boots with a link chain. He saved a great dealof money in straps. No one ever saw Colonel Pompley in dressing-gown andslippers. He and his house were alike in order--always fit to be seen

 "From morn to noon, from noon to dewy eve. "

The colonel was a short compact man, inclined to be stout, --with a veryred face, that seemed not only shaved, but rasped. He wore hishair cropped close, except just in front, where it formed what thehairdresser called a feather, but it seemed a feather of iron, so stiffand so strong was it. Firmness and precision were emphatically marked onthe colonel's countenance. There was a resolute strain on his features, as if he was always employed in making the two ends meet!

So he sat before his house-book, with his steel-pen in his hand, andmaking crosses here and notes of interrogation there. 

"Mrs. M'Catchley's maid, " said the colonel to himself, "must be put uponrations. The tea that she drinks! Good heavens!--tea again!"

There was a modest ring at the outer door. "Too early for a visitor!"thought the colonel. "Perhaps it is the water-rates. "

The neat man-servant--never seen beyond the offices, save in grandetenue, plushed and powdered-entered and bowed. "A gentleman, sir, wishesto see you. "

"A gentleman, " repeated the colonel, glancing towards the clock. "Areyou sure it is a gentleman?"

The man hesitated. "Why, sir, I ben't exactly sure; but he speaks like agentleman. He do say he comes from London to see you, sir. "

A long and interesting correspondence was then being held between thecolonel and one of his wife's trustees touching the investment ofMrs. Pompley's fortune. It might be the trustee, --nay, it must be. Thetrustee had talked of running down to see him. 

"Let him come in, " said the colonel, "and when I ring--sandwiches andsherry. "

"Beef, sir?"

"Ham. "

The colonel put aside his house-book, and wiped his pen. In anotherminute the door opened and the servant announced--

 "MR. DIGBY. "

The colonel's face fell, and he staggered back. 

The door closed, and Mr. Digby stood in the middle of the room, leaningon the great writing-table for support. The poor soldier looked sicklierand shabbier, and nearer the end of all things in life and fortune, than when Lord L'Estrange had thrust the pocket-book into his hands. But still the servant showed knowledge of the world in calling himgentleman; there was no other word to apply to him. 

"Sir, " began Colonel Pompley, recovering himself, and with greatsolemnity, "I did not expect this pleasure. "

The poor visitor stared round him dizzily, and sank into a chair, breathing hard. The colonel looked as a man only looks upon a poorrelation, and buttoned up first one trouser pocket and then the other. 

"I thought you were in Canada, " said the colonel, at last. Mr. Digbyhad now got breath to speak, and he said meekly, "The climate would havekilled my child, and it is two years since I returned. "

"You ought to have found a very good place in England to make it worthyour while to leave Canada. "

"She could not have lived through another winter in Canada, --the doctorsaid so. "

"Pooh, " quoth the colonel. 

Mr. Digby drew a long breath. "I would not come to you, Colonel Pompley, while you could think that I came as a beggar for myself. "

The colonel's brow relaxed. "A very honourable sentiment, Mr. Digby. "

"No: I have gone through a great deal; but you see, Colonel, " added thepoor relation, with a faint smile, "the campaign is well-nigh over, andpeace is at hand. "

The colonel seemed touched. 

"Don't talk so, Digby, --I don't like it. You are younger than Iam--nothing more disagreeable than these gloomy views of things. Youhave got enough to live upon, you say, --at least so I understand you. I am very glad to hear it; and, indeed, I could not assist you--so manyclaims on me. So it is all very well, Digby. "

"Oh, Colonel Pompley, " cried the soldier, clasping his hands, and withfeverish energy, "I am a suppliant, not for myself, but my child! I havebut one, --only one, a girl. She has been so good to me! She will costyou little. Take her when I die; promise her a shelter, a home. I ask nomore. You are my nearest relative. I have no other to look to. You haveno children of your own. She will be a blessing to you, as she has beenall upon earth to me!"

If Colonel Pompley's face was red in ordinary hours, no epithetsufficiently rubicund or sanguineous can express its colour at thisappeal. "The man's mad, " he said, at last, with a tone of astonishmentthat almost concealed his wrath, --"stark mad! I take his child!--lodgeand board a great, positive, hungry child! Why, sir, many and many atime have I said to Mrs. Pompley, ''T is a mercy we have no children. Wecould never live in this style if we had children, --never make bothends meet. ' Child--the most expensive, ravenous, ruinous thing in theworld--a child. "

"She has been accustomed to starve, " said Mr. Digby, plaintively. "Oh, Colonel, let me see your wife. Her heart I can touch, --she is a woman. "

Unlucky father! A more untoward, unseasonable request the Fates couldnot have put into his lips. 

Mrs. Pompley see the Digbies! Mrs. Pompley learn the condition of thecolonel's grand connections! The colonel would never have been his ownman again. At the bare idea, he felt as if he could have sunk into theearth with shame. In his alarm he made a stride to the door, with theintention of locking it. Good heavens, if Mrs. Pompley should come in!And the man, too, had been announced by name. Mrs. Pompley mighthave learned already that a Digby was with her husband, --she might beactually dressing to receive him worthily; there was not a moment tolose. 

The colonel exploded. "Sir, I wonder at your impudence. See Mrs. Pompley! Hush, sir, hush!--hold your tongue. I have disowned yourconnection. I will not have my wife--a woman, sir, of the firstfamily--disgraced by it. Yes; you need not fire up. John Pompley is nota man to be bullied in his own house. I say disgraced. Did not you runinto debt, and spend your fortune? Did not you marry a low creature, --avulgarian, a tradesman's daughter?--and your poor father such arespectable man, --a benefited clergyman! Did not you sell yourcommission? Heaven knows what became of the money! Did not you turn (Ishudder to say it) a common stage-player, sir? And then, when you wereon your last legs, did I not give you L200 out of my own purse to goto Canada? And now here you are again, --and ask me, with a coolnessthat--that takes away my breath--takes away-my breath, sir--toprovide for the child you have thought proper to have, --a childwhose connections on the mother's side are of the most abject anddiscreditable condition. Leave my house, leave it! good heavens, sir, not that way!--this. " And the colonel opened the glass-door that ledinto the garden. "I will let you out this way. If Mrs. Pompley shouldsee you!" And with that thought the colonel absolutely hooked his arminto his poor relation's, and hurried him into the garden. 

Mr. Digby said not a word, but he struggled ineffectually to escape fromthe colonel's arm; and his colour went and came, came and went, with aquickness that showed that in those shrunken veins there were still somedrops of a soldier's blood. 

But the colonel had now reached a little postern-door in thegarden-wall. He opened the latch, and thrust out his poor cousin. Thenlooking down the lane, which was long, straight, and narrow, and seeingit was quite solitary, his eye fell upon the forlorn man, and remorseshot through his heart. For a moment the hardest of all kinds ofavarice, that of the genteel, relaxed its gripe. For a moment themost intolerant of all forms of pride, that which is based upon falsepretences, hushed its voice, and the colonel hastily drew out his purse. "There, " said he, "that is all I can do for you. Do leave the town asquick as you can, and don't mention your name to any one. Your fatherwas such a respectable man, --beneficed clergyman!"

"And paid for your commission, Mr. Pompley. My name! I am not ashamed ofit. But do not fear I shall claim your relationship. No; I am ashamed ofyou!"

The poor cousin put aside the purse, still stretched towards him, witha scornful hand, and walked firmly down the lane. Colonel Pompley stoodirresolute. At that moment a window in his house was thrown open. Heheard the noise, turned round, and saw his wife looking out. 

Colonel Pompley sneaked back through the shrubbery, hiding himselfamongst the trees. 

CHAPTER X. 

"Ill-luck is a betise, " said the great Cardinal Richelieu; and in thelong run, I fear, his Eminence was right. If you could drop Dick Aveneland Mr. Digby in the middle of Oxford Street, --Dick in a fustian jacket, Digby in a suit of superfine; Dick with five shillings in his pocket, Digby with L1000, --and if, at the end of ten years, you looked up yourtwo men, Dick would be on his road to a fortune, Digby--what we haveseen him! Yet Digby had no vice; he did not drink nor gamble. What washe, then? Helpless. He had been an only son, --a spoiled child, broughtup as "a gentleman;" that is, as a man who was not expected to beable to turn his hand to anything. He entered, as we have seen, a veryexpensive regiment, wherein he found himself, at his father's death, with L4000 and the incapacity to say "No. " Not naturally extravagant, but without an idea of the value of money, --the easiest, gentlest, best-tempered man whom example ever led astray. This part of his careercomprised a very common history, --the poor man living on equal termswith the rich. Debt; recourse to usurers; bills signed sometimes forothers, renewed at twenty per cent; the L4000 melted like snow; patheticappeal to relations; relations have children of their own; small helpgiven grudgingly, eked out by much advice, and coupled withconditions. Amongst the conditions there was a very proper and prudentone, --exchange into a less expensive regiment. Exchange effected; peace;obscure country quarters; ennui, flute-playing, and idleness. Mr. Digbyhad no resources on a rainy day--except flute-playing; pretty girl ofinferior rank; all the officers after her; Digby smitten; pretty girlvery virtuous; Digby forms honourable intentions; excellent sentiments;imprudent marriage. Digby falls in life; colonel's lady will notassociate with Mrs. Digby; Digby cut by his whole kith and kin; manydisagreeable circumstances in regimental life; Digby sells out; lovein a cottage; execution in ditto. Digby had been much applauded as anamateur actor; thinks of the stage; genteel comedy, --a gentlemanlikeprofession. Tries in a provincial town, under another name; unhappilysucceeds; life of an actor; hand-to-mouth life; illness; chest affected;Digby's voice becomes hoarse and feeble; not aware of it; attributesfailing success to ignorant provincial public; appears in London; ishissed; returns to the provinces; sinks into very small parts; prison;despair; wife dies; appeal again to relations; a subscription madeto get rid of him; send him out of the country; place inCanada, --superintendent to an estate, L150 a year; pursued by ill-luck;never before fit for business, not fit now; honest as the day, but keepsslovenly accounts; child cannot bear the winter of Canada; Digby wrappedup in the child; return home; mysterious life for two years; childpatient, thoughtful, loving; has learned to work; manages for father;often supports him; constitution rapidly breaking; thought of what willbecome of his child, --worst disease of all. Poor Digby! never did abase, cruel, unkind thing in his life; and here he is, walking downthe lane from Colonel Pompley's house! Now, if Digby had but learned alittle of the world's cunning, I think he would have succeeded even withColonel Pompley. Had he spent the L100 received from Lord L'Estrangewith a view to effect; had he bestowed a fitting wardrobe on himself andhis pretty Helen; had he stopped at the last stage, taken thence a smartchaise and pair, and presented himself at Colonel Pompley's in a waythat would not have discredited the colonel's connection, and then, instead of praying for home and shelter, asked the colonel to becomeguardian to his child in case of his death, I have a strong notion thatthe colonel, in spite of his avarice, would have stretched both ends soas to take in Helen Digby. But our poor friend had no such arts. Indeed, of the L100 he had already very little left, for before leaving townhe had committed what Sheridan considered the extreme ofextravagance, --frittered away his money in paying his debts; and as fordressing up Helen and himself--if that thought had ever occurred to him, he would have rejected it as foolish. He would have thought that themore he showed his poverty, the more he would be pitied, --the worstmistake a poor cousin can commit. According to Theophrastus, thepartridge of Paphlagonia has two hearts: so have most men; it is thecommon mistake of the unlucky to knock at the wrong one. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Mr. Digby entered the room of the inn in which he had left Helen. She was seated by the window, and looking out wistfully on the narrowstreet, perhaps at the children at play. There had never been a playtimefor Helen Digby. 

She sprang forward as her father came in. His coming was her holiday. 

"We must go back to London, " said Mr. Digby, sinking helplessly on thechair. Then with his sort of sickly smile, --for he was bland even to hischild, --"Will you kindly inquire when the first coach leaves?"

All the active cares of their careful life devolved upon that quietchild. She kissed her father, placed before him a cough mixture whichhe had brought from London, and went out silently to make the necessaryinquiries, and prepare for the journey back. 

At eight o'clock the father and child were seated in the night-coach, with one other passenger, --a man muffled up to the chin. After the firstmile the man let down one of the windows. Though it was summer the airwas chill and raw. Digby shivered and coughed. 

Helen placed her hand on the window, and, leaning towards the passenger, whispered softly. 

"Eh!" said the passenger, "draw up the window? You have got your ownwindow; this is mine. Oxygen, young lady, " he added solemnly, "oxygen isthe breath of life. Cott, child!" he continued with suppressed choler, and a Welsh pronunciation, "Cott! let us breathe and live. "

Helen was frightened, and recoiled. 

Her father, who had not heard, or had not heeded, this colloquy, retreated into the corner, put up the collar of his coat, and coughedagain. 

"It is cold, my dear, " said he, languidly, to Helen. 

The passenger caught the word, and replied indignantly, but as ifsoliloquizing, --

"Cold-ugh! I do believe the English are the stuffiest people! Look attheir four-post beds--all the curtains drawn, shutters closed, boardbefore the chimney--not a house with a ventilator! Cold-ugh!"

The window next Mr. Digby did not fit well into its frame. "There is asad draught, " said the invalid. 

Helen instantly occupied herself in stopping up the chinks of the windowwith her handkerchief. Mr. Digby glanced ruefully at the other window. The look, which was very eloquent, aroused yet more the traveller'sspleen. 

"Pleasant!" said he. "Cott! I suppose you will ask me to go outsidenext! But people who travel in a coach should know the law of a coach. Idon't interfere with your window; you have no business to interfere withmine. "

"Sir, I did not speak, " said Mr. Digby, meekly. 

"But Miss here did. "

"Ah, sir!" said Helen, plaintively, "if you knew how Papa suffers!" Andher hand again moved towards the obnoxious window. 

"No, my dear; the gentleman is in his right, " said Mr. Digby; and, bowing with his wonted suavity, he added, "Excuse her, sir. She thinks agreat deal too much of me. "

The passenger said nothing, and Helen nestled closer to her father, andstrove to screen him from the air. 

The passenger moved uneasily. "Well, " said he, with a sort of snort, "air is air, and right is right: but here goes--" and he hastily drew upthe window. 

Helen turned her face full towards the passenger with a gratefulexpression, visible even in the dim light. 

"You are very kind, sir, " said poor Mr. Digby; "I am ashamed to--"his cough choked the rest of the sentence. The passenger, who was aplethoric, sanguineous man, felt as if he were stifling. But he took offhis wrappers, and resigned the oxygen like a hero. 

Presently he drew nearer to the sufferer, and laid hand on his wrist. 

"You are feverish, I fear. I am a medical man. St!--one--two. Cott! youshould not travel; you are not fit for it!"

Mr. Digby shook his head; he was too feeble to reply. 

The passenger thrust his hand into his coat-pocket, and drew out whatseemed a cigar-case, but what, in fact, was a leathern repertory, containing a variety of minute phials. 

From one of these phials he extracted two tiny globules. "There, " saidhe, "open your mouth, put those on the tip of your tongue. They willlower the pulse, check the fever. Be better presently, but should nottravel, want rest; you should be in bed. Aconite! Henbane! hum! Yourpapa is of fair complexion, --a timid character, I should say;--a horrorof work, perhaps. Eh, child?"

"Sir!" faltered Helen, astonished and alarmed. Was the man a conjuror?

"A case for phosphor!" cried the passenger: "that fool Browne would havesaid arsenic. Don't be persuaded to take arsenic!"

"Arsenic, sir!" echoed the mild Digby. "No: however unfortunate a manmay be, I think, sir, that suicide is--tempting, perhaps, but highlycriminal. "

"Suicide, " said the passenger, tranquilly, --"suicide is my hobby! Youhave no symptom of that kind, you say?"

"Good heavens! No, sir. "

"If ever you feel violently impelled to drown yourself, take pulsatilla;but if you feel a preference towards blowing out your brains, accompanied with weight in the limbs, loss of appetite, dry cough, andbad corns, sulphuret of antimony. Don't forget. "

Though poor Mr. Digby confusedly thought that the gentleman was out ofhis mind, yet he tried politely to say "that he was much obliged, andwould be sure to remember;" but his tongue failed him, and his own ideasgrew perplexed. His head fell back heavily, and he sank into a silencewhich seemed that of sleep. 

The traveller looked hard at Helen, as she gently drew her father's headon her shoulder, and there pillowed it with a tenderness which was morethat of a mother than child. 

"Moral affections, soft, compassionate!--a good child and would go wellwith--pulsatilla. "

Helen held up her finger, and glanced from her father to the traveller, and then to her father again. 

"Certainly, --pulsatilla!" muttered the homoeopathist, and ensconcinghimself in his own corner, he also sought to sleep. But after vainefforts, accompanied by restless gestures and movements, he suddenlystarted up, and again extracted his phial-book. 

"What the deuce are they to me?" he muttered. "Morbid sensibility ofcharacter--coffee? No!--accompanied by vivacity and violence--nux!" Hebrought his book to the window, contrived to read the label on a pigmybottle. "Nux! that's it, " he said, --and he swallowed a globule!

"Now, " quoth he, after a pause, "I don't care a straw for themisfortunes of other people; nay, I have half a mind to let down thewindow. "

Helen looked up. 

"But I'll not, " he added resolutely; and this time he fell fairlyasleep. 

CHAPTER XII. 

The coach stopped at eleven o'clock to allow the passengers to sup. Thehomoeopathist woke up, got out, gave himself a shake, and inhaled thefresh air into his vigorous lungs with an evident sensation of delight. He then turned and looked into the coach. 

"Let your father get out, my dear, " said he, with a tone more gentlethan usual. "I should like to see him indoors, --perhaps I can do himgood. "

But what was Helen's terror when she found that her father did not stir!He was in a deep swoon, and still quite insensible when they lifted himfrom the carriage. When he recovered his senses his cough returned, andthe effort brought up blood. 

It was impossible for him to proceed farther. The homoeopathist assistedto undress and put him into bed. And having administered another of hismysterious globules, he inquired of the landlady how far it was to thenearest doctor, --for the inn stood by itself in a small hamlet. Therewas the parish apothecary three miles off. But on hearing that thegentlefolks employed Dr. Dosewell, and it was a good seven miles to hishouse, the homoeopathist fetched a deep breath. The coach only stopped aquarter of an hour. 

"Cott!" said he, angrily, to himself, "the nux was a failure. Mysensibility is chronic. I must go through a long course to get rid ofit. Hollo, guard! get out my carpet-bag. I sha'n't go on to-night. "

And the good man after a very slight supper went upstairs again to thesufferer. 

"Shall I send for Dr. Dosewell, sir?" asked the landlady, stopping himat the door. 

"Hum! At what hour to-morrow does the next coach to London pass?"

"Not before eight, sir. "

"Well, send for the doctor to be here at seven. That leaves us at leastsome hours free from allopathy and murder, " grunted the disciple ofHahnemann, as he entered the room. 

Whether it was the globule that the homoeopathist had administered, or the effect of nature, aided by repose, that checked the effusion ofblood, and restored some temporary strength to the poor sufferer, ismore than it becomes one not of the Faculty to opine. But certainly Mr. Digby seemed better, and he gradually fell into a profound sleep, butnot till the doctor had put his ear to his chest, tapped it with hishand, and asked several questions; after which the homoeopathist retiredinto a corner of the room, and leaning his face on his hand seemed tomeditate. From his thoughts he was disturbed by a gentle touch. Helenwas kneeling at his feet. "Is he very ill, very?" said she; and her fondwistful eyes were fixed on the physician's with all the earnestness ofdespair. 

"Your father is very ill, " replied the doctor, after a short pause. "Hecannot move hence for some days at least. I am going to London; shall Icall on your relations, and tell some of them to join you?"

"No, thank you, sir, " answered Helen, colouring. "But do not fear; Ican nurse Papa. I think he has been worse before, --that is, he hascomplained more. "

The homeopathist rose, and took two strides across the room; then hepaused by the bed, and listened to the breathing of the sleeping man. 

He stole back to the child, who was still kneeling, took her in his armsand kissed her. "Tamn it, " said he, angrily, and putting her down, "goto bed now, --you are not wanted any more. "

"Please, sir, " said Helen, "I cannot leave him so. If he wakes he wouldmiss me. "

The doctor's hand trembled; he had recourse to his globules. 

"Anxiety--grief suppressed, " muttered he. "Don't you want to cry, mydear? Cry, --do!"

"I can't, " murmured Helen. 

"Pulsatilla!" said the doctor, almost with triumph. "I said so from thefirst. Open your mouth--here! Goodnight. My room is opposite, --No. 6;call me if he wakes. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

At seven o'clock Dr. Dosewell arrived, and was shown into the room ofthe homoeopathist, who, already up and dressed, had visited his patient. 

"My name is Morgan, " said the homoeopathist; "I am a physician. I leavein your hands a patient whom, I fear, neither I nor you can restore. Come and look at him. "

The two doctors went into the sick-room. Mr. Digby was very feeble, buthe had recovered his consciousness, and inclined his head courteously. 

"I am sorry to cause so much trouble, " said he. The homoeopathist drewaway Helen; the allopathist seated himself by the bedside and put hisquestions, felt the pulse, sounded the lungs, and looked at the tongueof the patient. Helen's eye was fixed on the strange doctor, and hercolour rose, and her eye sparkled when he got up cheerfully, and said ina pleasant voice, "You may have a little tea. "

"Tea!" growled the homeopathist, --"barbarian!"

"He is better, then, sir?" said Helen, creeping to the allopathist. 

"Oh, yes, my dear, --certainly; and we shall do very well, I hope. "

The two doctors then withdrew. 

"Last about a week!" said Dr. Dosewell, smiling pleasantly, and showinga very white set of teeth. 

"I should have said a month; but our systems are different, " replied Dr. Morgan, dryly. 

DR. DOSEWELL (courteously). --"We country doctors bow to our metropolitansuperiors; what would you advise? You would venture, perhaps, theexperiment of bleeding. "

DR. MORGAN (spluttering and growling Welsh, which he never did but inexcitement). --"Pleed! Cott in heaven! do you think I am a putcher, --anexecutioner? Pleed! Never. "

DR. DOSEWELL. --"I don't find it answer, myself, when both lungs aregone! But perhaps you are for inhaling?"

DR. MORGAN. --"Fiddledee!"

DR. DOSEWELL (with some displeasure). --"What would you advise, then, inorder to prolong our patient's life for a month?"

DR. MORGAN. --"Give him Rhus!"

DR. DOSEWELL. --"Rhus, sir! Rhus! I don't know that medicine. Rhus!"

Dr. MORGAN. --"Rhus Toxicodendron. "

The length of the last word excited Dr. Dosewell's respect. A word offive syllables, --that was something like! He bowed deferentially, butstill looked puzzled. At last he said, smiling frankly, "You greatLondon practitioners have so many new medicines: may I ask what Rhustoxico--toxico--"

"Dendron. "

"Is?"

"The juice of the upas, --vulgarly called the poison-tree. " Dr. Dosewellstarted. 

"Upas--poison-tree--little birds that come under the shade fall downdead! You give upas juice in these desperate cases: what's the dose?"

Dr. Morgan grinned maliciously, and produced a globule the size of asmall pin's head. 

Dr. Dosewell recoiled in disgust. 

"Oh!" said he, very coldly, and assuming at once an air of superbsuperiority, "I see, a homoeopathist, sir!"

"A homoeopathist. "

"Um!"

"Um!"

"A strange system, Dr. Morgan, " said Dr. Dosewell, recovering hischeerful smile, but with a curl of contempt in it, "and would soon dofor the druggists. "

"Serve 'em right. The druggists soon do for the patients. "

"Sir!"

"Sir!"

DR. DOSEWELL (with dignity). --"You don't know, perhaps, Dr. Morgan, that I am an apothecary as well as a surgeon. In fact, " he added, witha certain grand humility, "I have not yet taken a diploma, and am butdoctor by courtesy. "

DR. MORGAN. --"All one, sir! Doctor signs the death-warrant, 'pothecarydoes the deed!"

DR. DOSEWELL (with a withering sneer). --"Certainly we don't profess tokeep a dying man alive upon the juice of the deadly upas-tree. "

DR. MORGAN (complacently). --"Of course you don't. There are no poisonswith us. That's just the difference between you and me, Dr. Dosewell. "

DR. DOSEWELL (pointing to the homeopathist's travelling pharmacopoeia, and with affected candour). --"Indeed, I have always said that if you cando no good, you can do no harm, with your infinitesimals. "

DR. MORGAN, who had been obtuse to the insinuation of poisoning, firesup violently at the charge of doing no harm. "You know nothing aboutit! I could kill quite as many people as you, if I chose it; but I don'tchoose. "

DR. DOSEWELL (shrugging his shoulders). --"Sir Sir! It is no use arguing;the thing's against common-sense. In short, it is my firm belief that itis--is a complete--"

DR. MORGAN. --"A complete what?"

DR. DOSEWELL (provoked to the utmost). --"Humbug!"

DR. MORGAN. --"Humbug! Cott in heaven! You old--"

DR. DOSEWELL. --"Old what, sir?"

DR. MORGAN (at home in a series of alliteral vowels, which none buta Cymbrian could have uttered without gasping). --"Old allopathicalanthropophagite!"

DR. DOSEWELL (starting up, seizing by the back the chair on which he hadsat, and bringing it down violently on its four legs). --"Sir!"

DR. MORGAN (imitating the action with his own chair). --"Sir!"

DR. DOSEWELL. --"You're abusive. "

DR. MORGAN. --"You're impertinent. "

DR. DOSEWELL. --"Sir!"

DR. MORGAN. --"Sir!"

The two rivals confronted each other. 

They were both athletic men, and fiery men. Dr. Dosewell was the taller, but Dr. Morgan was the stouter. Dr. Dosewell on the mother's side wasIrish; but Dr. Morgan on both sides was Welsh. All things considered, Iwould have backed Dr. Morgan if it had come to blows. But, luckily forthe honour of science, here the chambermaid knocked at the door, andsaid, "The coach is coming, sir. "

Dr. Morgan recovered his temper and his manners at that announcement. "Dr. Dosewell, " said he, "I have been too hot, --I apologize. "

"Dr. Morgan, " answered the allopathist, "I forgot myself. Your hand, sir. "

DR. MORGAN. --"We are both devoted to humanity, though with differentopinions. We should respect each other. "

DR. DOSEWELL. --"Where look for liberality, if men of science areilliberal to their brethren?"

DR. MORGAN (aside). --"The old hypocrite! He would pound me in a mortarif the law would let him. "

DR. DOSEWELL (aside). --"The wretched charlatan! I should like to poundhim in a mortar. "

DR. MORGAN. --"Good-by, my esteemed and worthy brother. "

DR. DOSEWELL. --"My excellent friend, good-by. "

DR. MORGAN (returning in haste). --"I forgot. I don't think our poorpatient is very rich. I confide him to your disinterested benevolence. "(Hurries away. )

DR. DOSEWELL (in a rage). --"Seven miles at six o'clock in the morning, and perhaps done out of my fee! Quack! Villain!"

Meanwhile, Dr. Morgan had returned to the sick-room. 

"I must wish you farewell, " said he to poor Mr. Digby, who was languidlysipping his tea. "But you are in the hands of a--of a--gentleman in theprofession. "

"You have been too kind, --I am shocked, " said Mr. Digby. "Helen, where'smy purse?"

Dr. Morgan paused. 

He paused, first, because it must be owned that his practice wasrestricted, and a fee gratified the vanity natural to unappreciatedtalent, and had the charm of novelty, which is sweet to human natureitself. Secondly, he was a man--

 "Who knew his rights; and, knowing, dared maintain. "

He had resigned a coach fare, stayed a night, and thought he hadrelieved his patient. He had a right to his fee. 

On the other hand, he paused, because, though he had small practice, he was tolerably well off, and did not care for money in itself, and hesuspected his patient to be no Croesus. 

Meanwhile the purse was in Helen's hand. He took it from her, and sawbut a few sovereigns within the well-worn network. He drew the child alittle aside. 

"Answer me, my dear, frankly, --is your papa rich?--" And he glanced atthe shabby clothes strewed on the chair and Helen's faded frock. 

"Alas, no!" said Helen, hanging her head. "Is that all you have?"

"All. "

"I am ashamed to offer you two guineas, " said Mr. Digby's hollow voicefrom the bed. 

"And I should be still more ashamed to take them. Good by, sir. Comehere, my child. Keep your money, and don't waste it on the other doctormore than you can help. His medicines can do your father no good. But Isuppose you must have some. He's no physician, therefore there's no fee. He'll send a bill, --it can't be much. You understand. And now, God blessyou. "

Dr. Morgan was off. But, as he paid the landlady his bill, he saidconsiderately, "The poor people upstairs can pay you, but not thatdoctor, --and he's of no use. Be kind to the little girl, and getthe doctor to tell his patient (quietly of course) to write to hisfriends--soon--you understand. Somebody must take charge of the poorchild. And stop--hold your hand; take care--these globules for thelittle girl when her father dies, "--here the doctor muttered to himself, "grief, --aconite, and if she cries too much afterwards, these--(don'tmistake). Tears, --caustic!"

"Come, sir, " cried the coachman. 

"Coming; tears, --caustic, " repeated the homoeopathist, pulling out hishandkerchief and his phial-book together as he got into the coach; andhe hastily swallowed his antilachrymal. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Richard Avenel was in a state of great nervous excitement. He proposedto give an entertainment of a kind wholly new to the experience ofScrewstown. Mrs. M'Catchley had described with much eloquence theDejeunes dansants of her fashionable friends residing in the elegantsuburbs of Wimbledon and Fulham. She declared that nothing was soagreeable. She had even said point-blank to Mr. Avenel, "Why don't yougive a Dejeune dansant?" And, therewith, a Dejeune dansant Mr. Avenelresolved to give. 

The day was fixed, and Mr. Avenel entered into all the requisitepreparations, with the energy of a man and the providence of a woman. 

One morning as he stood musing on the lawn, irresolute as to the bestsite for the tents, Leonard came up to him with an open letter in hishand. 

"My dear uncle, " said he, softly. 

"Ha!" exclaimed Mr. Avenel, with a start. "Ha-well, what now?"

"I have just received a letter from Mr. Dale. He tells me that my poormother is very restless and uneasy, because he cannot assure her thathe has heard from me; and his letter requires an answer. Indeed I shallseem very ungrateful to him--to all--if I do not write. "

Richard Avenel's brows met. He uttered an impatient "Pish!" and turnedaway. Then coming back, he fixed his clear hawk-like eye on Leonard'singenuous countenance, linked his arm into his nephew's, and drew himinto the shrubbery. 

"Well, Leonard, " said he, after a pause, "it is time that I should giveyou some idea of my plans with regard to you. You have seen my manner ofliving--some difference from what you ever saw before, I calculate! NowI have given you, what no one gave me, a lift in the world; and where Iplace you, there you must help yourself. "

"Such is my duty and my desire, " said Leonard, heartily. "Good. Youare a clever lad, and a genteel lad, and will do me credit. I have haddoubts of what is best for you. At one time I thought of sending you tocollege. That, I know; is Mr. Dale's wish; perhaps it is your own. ButI have given up that idea; I have something better for you. You havea clear head for business, and are a capital arithmetician. I think ofbringing you up to superintend my business; by and by I will admit youinto partnership; and before you are thirty you will be a rich man. Come, does that suit you?"

"My dear uncle, " said Leonard, frankly, but much touched by thisgenerosity, "it is not for me to have a choice. I should have preferredgoing to college, because there I might gain independence for myself andcease to be a burden on you. Moreover, my heart moves me to studiesmore congenial with the college than the counting-house. But all this isnothing compared with my wish to be of use to you, and to prove in anyway, however feebly, my gratitude for all your kindness. "

"You're a good, grateful, sensible lad, " exclaimed Richard, heartily;"and believe me, though I'm a rough diamond, I have your true interestat heart. You can be of use to me, and in being so you will bestserve yourself. To tell you the truth, I have some idea of changingmy condition. There's a lady of fashion and quality who, I think, maycondescend to become Mrs. Avenel; and if so, I shall probably reside agreat part of the year in London. I don't want to give up my business. No other investment will yield the same interest. But you can soon learnto superintend it for me, as some day or other I may retire, and thenyou can step in. Once a member of our great commercial class, and withyour talents you may be anything, --member of parliament, and after that, minister of State, for what I know. And my wife--hem! that is to be--hasgreat connections, and you shall marry well; and--oh, the Avenels willhold their heads with the highest, after all! Damn the aristocracy! weclever fellows will be the aristocrats, eh?" Richard rubbed his hands. 

Certainly, as we have seen, Leonard, especially in his earlier stepsto knowledge, had repined at his position in the many degrees of life;certainly he was still ambitious; certainly he could not now havereturned contentedly to the humble occupation he had left; and woe tothe young man who does not hear with a quickened pulse and brighteningeye words that promise independence, and flatter with the hope ofdistinction. Still, it was with all the reaction of chill and mournfuldisappointment that Leonard, a few hours after this dialogue withhis uncle, found himself alone in the fields, and pondering overthe prospects before him. He had set his heart upon completing hisintellectual education, upon developing those powers within him whichyearned for an arena of literature, and revolted from the routine oftrade. 

But to his credit be it said, that he vigorously resisted this naturaldisappointment, and by degrees schooled himself to look cheerfully onthe path imposed on his duty, and sanctioned by the manly sense that wasat the core of his character. 

I believe that this self-conquest showed that the boy had true genius. The false genius would have written sonnets and despaired. 

But still, Richard Avenel left his nephew sadly perplexed as tothe knotty question from which their talk on the future haddiverged, --namely, should he write to the parson, and assure the fearsof his mother? How do so without Richard's consent, when Richard had ona former occasion so imperiously declared that, if he did, it wouldlose his mother all that Richard intended to settle on her? While he wasdebating this matter with his conscience, leaning against a stile thatinterrupted a path to the town, Leonard Fairfield was startled by anexclamation. He looked up, and beheld Mr. Sprott the tinker. 

CHAPTER XV. 

The tinker, blacker and grimmer than ever, stared hard at the alteredperson of his old acquaintance, and extended his sable fingers, as ifinclined to convince himself by the sense of touch that it was Leonardin the flesh that he beheld, under vestments so marvellously elegant andpreternaturally spruce. 

Leonard shrank mechanically from the contact, while in great surprise hefaltered, --

"You here, Mr. Sprott! What could bring you so far from home?"

"'Ome!" echoed the tinker, "I 'as no 'ome! or rather, d' ye see, MusterFairfilt, I makes myself at 'ome verever I goes! Lor' love ye! I ben'tsettled on no parridge. I wanders here and I vanders there, and that'smy 'ome verever I can mend my kettles and sell my tracks!"

So saying, the tinker slid his panniers on the ground, gave a grunt ofrelease and satisfaction, and seated himself with great composure on thestile from which Leonard had retreated. 

"But, dash my wig, " resumed Mr. Sprott, as he once more surveyedLeonard, "vy, you bees a rale gentleman, now, surely! Vot's the dodge, eh?"

"Dodge!" repeated Leonard, mechanically, "I don't understand you. " Then, thinking that it was neither necessary nor expedient to keep up hisacquaintance with Mr. Sprott, nor prudent to expose himself to thebattery of questions which he foresaw that further parley would bringupon him, he extended a crown-piece to the tinker; and saying, with ahalf-smile, "You must excuse me for leaving you--I have business in thetown; and do me the favour to accept this trifle, " he walked brisklyoff. 

The tinker looked long at the crown-piece, and then sliding it into hispocket, said to himself, --

"Ho, 'ush-money! No go, my swell cove. "

After venting that brief soliloquy he sat silent a little while, tillLeonard was nearly out of sight; then rose, resumed his fardel, andcreeping quick along the hedgerows, followed Leonard towards the town. Just in the last field, as he looked over the hedge, he saw Leonardaccosted by a gentleman of comely mien and important swagger. Thatgentleman soon left the young man, and came, whistling loud, up thepath, and straight towards the tinker. Mr. Sprott looked round, but thehedge was too neat to allow of a good hiding-place, so he put a boldfront on it, and stepped forth like a man. But, alas for him! before hegot into the public path, the proprietor of the land, Mr. RichardAvenel (for the gentleman was no less a personage), had spied out thetrespasser, and called to him with a "Hillo, fellow, " that bespoke allthe dignity of a man who owns acres, and all the wrath of a man whobeholds those acres impudently invaded. 

The tinker stopped, and Mr. Avenel stalked up to him. "What the devilare you doing on my property, lurking by my hedge? I suspect you are anincendiary!"

"I be a tinker, " quoth Mr. Sprott, not louting low, for a sturdyrepublican was Mr. Sprott, but, like a lord of human kind, --

 "Pride in his port, defiance in his eye. "

Mr. Avenel's fingers itched to knock the tinker's villanous hat off hisjacobinical head, but he repressed the undignified impulse by thrustingboth hands deep into his trousers' pockets. 

"A tinker!" he cried, --"that's a vagrant; and I'm a magistrate, and I'vea great mind to send you to the treadmill, --that I have. What do you dohere, I say? You have not answered my question. "

"What does I do 'ere?" said Mr. Sprott. "Vy, you had better ax mycrakter of the young gent I saw you talking with just now; he knows me. "

"What! my nephew knows you?"

"W-hew, " whistled the tinker, "your nephew is it, sir? I have a greatrespek for your family. I 've knowed Mrs. Fairfilt the vashervoman thismany a year. I 'umbly ax your pardon. " And he took off his hat thistime. 

Mr. Avenel turned red and white in a breath. He growled out somethinginaudible, turned on his heel, and strode off. The tinker watched him ashe had watched Leonard, and then dogged the uncle as he had dogged thenephew. I don't presume to say that there was cause and effect in whathappened that night, but it was what is called "a curious coincidence"that that night one of Richard Avenel's ricks was set on fire, and thatthat day he had called Mr. Sprott an incendiary. Mr. Sprott was a man ofa very high spirit, and did not forgive an insult easily. His nature wasinflammatory, and so was that of the lucifers which he always carriedabout him, with his tracts and glue-pots. 

The next morning there was an inquiry made for the tinker, but he haddisappeared from the neighbourhood. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

It was a fortunate thing that the dejeune dansant so absorbed Mr. Richard Avenel's thoughts that even the conflagration of his rickcould not scare away the graceful and poetic images connected with thatpastoral festivity. He was even loose and careless in the questions heput to Leonard about the tinker; nor did he send justice in pursuitof that itinerant trader; for, to say truth, Richard Avenel was a manaccustomed to make enemies amongst the lower orders; and though hesuspected Mr. Sprott of destroying his rick, yet, when he once set aboutsuspecting, he found he had quite as good cause to suspect fifty otherpersons. How on earth could a man puzzle himself about ricks and tinkerswhen all his cares and energies were devoted to a dejeune dansant? Itwas a maxim of Richard Avenel's, as it ought to be of every cleverman, "to do one thing at a time;" and therefore he postponed all otherconsiderations till the dejeune dansant was fairly done with. Amongstthese considerations was the letter which Leonard wished to write tothe parson. "Wait a bit, and we will both write!" said Richard, good-humouredly, "the moment the dijeune dansant is over!"

It must be owned that this fete was no ordinary provincial ceremonial. Richard Avenel was a man to do a thing well when he set about it, --

 "He soused the cabbage with a bounteous heart. "

By little and little his first notions had expanded, till what hadbeen meant to be only neat and elegant now embraced the costly andmagnificent. Artificers accustomed to dejeunes dansants came all theway from London to assist, to direct, to create. Hungarian singers andTyrolese singers and Swiss peasant-women, who were to chant the Ranz desVaches, and milk cows or make syllabubs, were engaged. The great marqueewas decorated as a Gothic banquet-hall; the breakfast itself was toconsist of "all the delicacies of the season. " In short, as RichardAvenel said to himself, "It is a thing once in a way; a thing on which Idon't object to spend money, provided that the thing is--the thing!"

It had been a matter of grave meditation how to make the societyworthy of the revel; for Richard Avenel was not contented with the merearistocracy of the town, --his ambition had grown with his expenses. "Since it will cost so much, " said he, "I may as well come it strong, and get in the county. "

True, that he was personally acquainted with very few of what are calledcounty families. But still, when a man makes himself a mark in alarge town, and can return one of the members whom that town sends toparliament; and when, moreover, that man proposes to give some superband original entertainment, in which the old can eat and the young candance, there is no county in the island that has not families enowwho will be delighted by an invitation from THAT MAN. And so Richard, finding that, as the thing got talked of, the dean's lady, and Mrs. Pompley, and various other great personages, took the liberty to suggestthat Squire this, and Sir somebody that, would be so pleased if theywere asked, fairly took the bull by the horns, and sent out his cards toPark, Hall, and Rectory, within a circumference of twelve miles. He metwith but few refusals, and he now counted upon five hundred guests. 

"In for a penny in for a pound, " said Mr. Richard Avenel. "I wonderwhat Mrs. M'Catchley will say?" Indeed, if the whole truth must beknown, --Mr. Richard Avenel not only gave that dejeune dansant in honourof Mrs. M'Catchley, but he had fixed in his heart of hearts upon thatoccasion (when surrounded by all his splendour, and assisted by theseductive arts of Terpsichore and Bacchus) to whisper to Mrs. M'Catchleythose soft words which--but why not here let Mr. Richard Avenel use hisown idiomatic and unsophisticated expression? "Please the pigs, then, "said Mr. Avenel to himself, "I shall pop the question!"

CHAPTER XVII. 

The Great Day arrived at last; and Mr. Richard Avenel, from hisdressing-room window, looked on the scene below as Hannibal or Napoleonlooked from the Alps on Italy. It was a scene to gratify the thoughtof conquest, and reward the labours of ambition. Placed on a littleeminence stood the singers from the mountains of the Tyrol, theirhigh-crowned hats and filigree buttons and gay sashes gleaming in thesun. Just seen from his place of watch, though concealed from the casualeye, the Hungarian musicians lay in ambush amidst a little belt oflaurels and American shrubs. Far to the right lay what had once beencalled horresco referens the duckpond, where--"Dulce sonant tenuigutture carmen aves. " But the ruthless ingenuity of the head-artificerhad converted the duck-pond into a Swiss lake, despite grievous wrongand sorrow to the assuetum innocuumque genus, --the familiar and harmlessinhabitants, who had been all expatriated and banished from their nativewaves. Large poles twisted with fir branches, stuck thickly around thelake, gave to the waters the becoming Helvetian gloom. And here, besidethree cows all bedecked with ribbons, stood the Swiss maidens destinedto startle the shades with the Ranz des Vaches. To the left, full uponthe sward, which it almost entirely covered, stretched the great Gothicmarquee, divided into two grand sections, --one for the dancing, one forthe dejeune. 

The day was propitious, --not a cloud in the sky. The musicianswere already tuning their instruments; figures of waiters hiredof Gunter--trim and decorous, in black trousers and whitewaistcoats--passed to and fro the space between the house and marquee. Richard looked and looked; and as he looked he drew mechanically hisrazor across the strop; and when he had looked his fill, he turnedreluctantly to the glass and shaved! All that blessed morning he hadbeen too busy, till then, to think of shaving. 

There is a vast deal of character in the way that a man performs thatoperation of shaving! You should have seen Richard Avenel shave! Youcould have judged at once how he would shave his neighbours, when yousaw the celerity, the completeness with which he shaved himself, --aforestroke and a backstroke, and tondenti barba cadebat. Cheek andchin were as smooth as glass. You would have buttoned up your pocketsinstinctively if you had seen him. 

But the rest of Mr. Avenel's toilet was not completed with correspondentdespatch. On his bed, and on his chairs, and on his sofa, and on hisdrawers, lay trousers and vests and cravats enough to distract thechoice of a Stoic. And first one pair of trousers was tried on, andthen another--and one waistcoat, and then a second, and then a third. Gradually that chef-d'oeuvre of civilization--a man dressed--grew intodevelopment and form; and, finally, Mr. Richard Avenel emerged into thelight of day. He had been lucky in his costume, --he felt it. It mightnot suit every one in colour or cut, but it suited him. 

And this was his garb. On such occasion, what epic poet would notdescribe the robe and tunic of a hero?

His surtout--in modern phrase his frockcoat--was blue, a rich blue, ablue that the royal brothers of George the Fourth were wont to favour. And the surtout, single-breasted, was thrown open gallantly; and in thesecond button-hole thereof was a moss-rose. The vest was white, and thetrousers a pearl gray, with what tailors style "a handsome fall over theboot. " A blue and white silk cravat, tied loose and debonair; an amplefield of shirt front, with plain gold studs; a pair of lemon-colouredkid gloves, and a white hat, placed somewhat too knowingly on one side, complete the description, and "give the world assurance of the man. "And, with his light, firm, well-shaped figure, his clear complexion, hiskeen, bright eye, and features that bespoke the courage, precision, andalertness of his character, --that is to say, features bold, not large, well-defined, and regular, --you might walk long through town or countrybefore you would see a handsomer specimen of humanity than our friendRichard Avenel. 

Handsome, and feeling that he was handsome; rich, and feeling that hewas rich; lord of the fete, and feeling that he was lord of the fete, Richard Avenel stepped out upon his lawn. 

And now the dust began to rise along the road, and carriages and gigsand chaises and flies might be seen at near intervals and in quickprocession. People came pretty much about the same time-as they do inthe country--Heaven reward them for it!

Richard Avenel was not quite at his ease at first in receiving hisguests, especially those whom he did not know by sight. But when thedancing began, and he had secured the fair hand of Mrs. M'Catchley forthe initiary quadrille, his courage and presence of mind returned tohim; and, seeing that many people whom he had not received at all seemedto enjoy themselves very much, he gave up the attempt to receive thosewho came after, --and that was a great relief to all parties. 

Meanwhile Leonard looked on the animated scene with a silent melancholy, which he in vain endeavoured to shake off, --a melancholy more commonamongst very young men in such scenes than we are apt to suppose. Somehow or other, the pleasure was not congenial to him; he had no Mrs. M'Catchley to endear it; he knew very few people, he was shy, he felthis position with his uncle was equivocal, he had not the habit ofsociety, he heard, incidentally, many an ill-natured remark upon hisuncle and the entertainment, he felt indignant and mortified. He hadbeen a great deal happier eating his radishes and reading his book bythe little fountain in Riccabocca's garden. He retired to a quiet partof the grounds, seated himself under a tree, leaned his cheek on hishand, and mused. He was soon far away;--happy age, when, whatever thepresent, the future seems so fair and so infinite!

But now the dejeune had succeeded the earlier dances; and, as champagneflowed royally, it is astonishing how the entertainment brightened. 

The sun was beginning to slope towards the west, when, during atemporary cessation of the dance, all the guests had assembled insuch space as the tent left on the lawn, or thickly filled the walksimmediately adjoining it. The gay dresses of the ladies, the joyouslaughter heard everywhere, and the brilliant sunlight over all, conveyedeven to Leonard the notion, not of mere hypocritical pleasure, butactual healthful happiness. He was attracted from his revery, andtimidly mingled with the groups. But Richard Avenel, with the fair Mrs. M'Catchley--her complexion more vivid, and her eyes more dazzling, andher step more elastic than usual--had turned from the gayety just asLeonard had turned towards it, and was now on the very spot (remote, obscure, shaded by the few trees above five years old that Mr. Avenel'sproperty boasted) which the young dreamer had deserted. 

And then! Ah, then! moment so meet for the sweet question of questions, place so appropriate for the delicate, bashful, murmured poppingthereof!--suddenly from the sward before, from the groups beyond, therefloated to the ears of Richard Avenel an indescribable, mingled, ominoussound, --a sound as of a general titter, a horrid, malignant, butlow cachinnation. And Mrs. M'Catchley, stretching forth her parasol, exclaimed, "Dear me, Mr. Avenel, what can they be all crowding therefor?"

There are certain sounds and certain sights--the one indistinct, the other vaguely conjecturable--which, nevertheless, we know, by aninstinct, bode some diabolical agency at work in our affairs. And if anyman gives an entertainment, and hears afar a general, ill-suppressed, derisive titter, and sees all his guests hurrying towards one spot, Idefy him to remain unmoved and uninquisitive. I defy him still more totake that precise occasion (however much he may have before designedit) to drop gracefully on his right knee before the handsomest Mrs. M'Catchley in the universe, and--pop the question! Richard Avenelblurted out something very like an oath; and, half guessing thatsomething must have happened that it would not be pleasing to bringimmediately under the notice of Mrs. M'Catchley, he said hastily, "Excuse me. I'll just go and see what is the matter; pray, stay till Icome back. " With that he sprang forward; in a minute he was in the midstof the group, that parted aside with the most obliging complacency tomake way for him. 

"But what's the matter?" he asked impatiently, yet fearfully. Not avoice answered. He strode on, and beheld his nephew in the arms of awoman!

"God bless my soul!" said Richard Avenel. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

And such a woman!

She had on a cotton gown, --very neat, I dare say, for anunder-housemaid; and such thick shoes! She had on a little black strawbonnet; and a kerchief, that might have cost tenpence, pinned acrossher waist instead of a shawl; and she looked altogether-respectable, nodoubt, but exceedingly dusty! And she was hanging upon Leonard's neck, and scolding, and caressing, and crying very loud. "God bless my soul!"said Mr. Richard Avenel. 

And as he uttered that innocent self-benediction, the woman hastilyturned round, and darting from Leonard, threw herself right upon RichardAvenel--burying under her embrace blue-coat, moss rose, white waistcoatand all--with a vehement sob and a loud exclamation!

"Oh! brother Dick!--dear, dear brother Dick! And I lives to see theeagin!" And then came two such kisses--you might have heard them a mileoff! The situation of brother Dick was appalling; and the crowd, thathad before only tittered politely, could not now resist the effect ofthis sudden embrace. There was a general explosion! It was a roar! Thatroar would have killed a weak man; but it sounded to the strong heartof Richard Avenel like the defiance of a foe, and it plucked forth in aninstant from all conventional let and barrier the native spirit of theAnglo-Saxon. 

He lifted abruptly his handsome masculine head, and looked roundthe ring of his ill-bred visitors with a haughty stare of rebuke andsurprise. 

"Ladies and gentlemen, " then said he, very coolly, "I don't see whatthere is to laugh at! A brother and sister meet after many years'separation, and the sister cries, poor thing. For my part I think itvery natural that she should cry; but not that you should laugh!"

In an instant the whole shame was removed from Richard Avenel, andrested in full weight upon the bystanders. It is impossible to say howfoolish and sheepish they all looked, nor how slinkingly each tried tocreep off. 

Richard Avenel seized his advantage with the promptitude of a man whohad got on in America, and was, therefore, accustomed to make the bestof things. He drew Mrs. Fairfield's arm in his, and led her into thehouse; but when he had got her safe into his parlour--Leonard followingall the time--and the door was closed upon those three, then RichardAvenel's ire burst forth. 

"You impudent, ungrateful, audacious--drab!"

Yes, drab was the word. I am shocked to say it, but the duties of ahistorian are stern: and the word was drab. 

"Drab!" faltered poor Jane Fairfield; and she clutched hold of Leonardto save herself from falling. 

"Sir!" cried Leonard, fiercely. 

You might as well have cried "sir" to a mountain torrent. Richardhurried on, for he was furious. 

"You nasty, dirty, dusty dowdy! How dare you come here to disgrace mein my own house and premises, after my sending you L50! To take the verytime, too, when--when Richard gasped for breath; and the laugh of hisguests rang in his ears, and got into his chest, and choked him. JaneFairfield drew herself up, and her tears were dried. 

"I did not come to disgrace you! I came to see my boy, and--"

"Ha!" interrupted Richard, "to see him. "

He turned to Leonard: "You have written to this woman, then?"

"No, sir, I have not. "

"I believe you lie. "

"He does not lie; and he is as good as yourself, and better, RichardAvenel, " exclaimed Mrs. Fairfield; "and I won't stand here and hearhim insulted, --that's what I won't. And as for your L50, there areforty-five of it; and I'll work my fingers to the bone till I pay backthe other five. And don't be afeard I shall disgrace you, for I'll neverlook on your face agin; and you're a wicked, bad man, --that's what youare!"

The poor woman's voice was so raised and so shrill, that any other andmore remorseful feeling which Richard might have conceived was drownedin his apprehensions that she would be overheard by his servants or hisguests, --a masculine apprehension, with which females rarely sympathize;which, on the contrary, they are inclined to consider a mean andcowardly terror on the part of their male oppressors. 

"Hush! hold your infernal squall, --do'. " said Mr. Avenel, in a tone thathe meant to be soothing. "There--sit down--and don't stir till I comeback again, and can talk to you calmly. Leonard, follow me, and help toexplain things to our guests. "

Leonard stood still, but shook his head slightly. 

"What do you mean, sir?" said Richard Avenel, in a very portentousgrowl. "Shaking your head at me? Do you intend to disobey me? You hadbetter take care!"

Leonard's front rose; he drew one arm round his mother, and thus hespoke, "Sir, you have been kind to me, and generous, and that thought alonesilenced my indignation when I heard you address such language to mymother; for I felt that, if I spoke, I should say too much. Now I speak, and it is to say, shortly, that--"

"Hush, boy, " said poor Mrs. Fairfield, frightened; "don't mind me. I didnot come to make mischief, and ruin your prospex. I'll go!"

"Will you ask her pardon, Mr. Avenel?" said Leonard, firmly; and headvanced towards his uncle. 

Richard, naturally hot and intolerant of contradiction, was thenexcited, not only by the angry emotions, which, it must be owned, a manso mortified, and in the very flush of triumph, might well experience, but by much more wine than he was in the habit of drinking; and whenLeonard approached him, he misinterpreted the movement into one ofmenace and aggression. He lifted his arm: "Come a step nearer, " saidhe, between his teeth, "and I'll knock you down. " Leonard advanced theforbidden step; but as Richard caught his eye, there was something inthat eye--not defying, not threatening, but bold and dauntless--whichRichard recognized and respected, for that something spoke the Freeman. The uncle's arm mechanically fell to his side. "You cannot strike me, Mr. Avenel, " said Leonard, "for you are aware that I could not strikeagain my mother's brother. As her son, I once more say to you, --ask herpardon. "

"Ten thousand devils! Are you mad?--or do you want to drive me mad? Youinsolent beggar, fed and clothed by my charity! Ask her pardon!--whatfor? That she has made me the object of jeer and ridicule with thatd---d cotton gown and those double-d---d thick shoes--I vow and protestthey've got nails in them! Hark ye, sir, I've been insulted by her, butI'm not to be bullied by you. Come with me instantly, or I discardyou; not a shilling of mine shall you have as long as I live. Take yourchoice: be a peasant, a labourer, or--"

"A base renegade to natural affection, a degraded beggar indeed!" criedLeonard, his breast heaving, and his cheeks in a glow. "Mother, Mother, come away. Never fear, --I have strength and youth, and we will worktogether as before. "

But poor Mrs. Fairfield, overcome by her excitement, had sunk down intoRichard's own handsome morocco leather easy-chair, and could neitherspeak nor stir. 

"Confound you both!" muttered Richard. "You can't be seen creeping outof my house now. Keep her here, you young viper, you; keep her till Icome back; and then, if you choose to go, go and be--"

Not finishing his sentence, Mr. Avenel hurried out of the room, andlocked the door, putting the key into his pocket. He paused for a momentin the hall, in order to collect his thoughts, drew three or four deepbreaths, gave himself a great shake, and, resolved to be faithful tohis principle of doing one thing at a time, shook off in that shake alldisturbing recollection of his mutinous captives. Stern as Achilles whenhe appeared to the Trojans, Richard Avenel stalked back to his lawn. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Brief as had been his absence, the host could see that, in the interval, a great and notable change had come over the spirit of his company. Someof those who lived in the town were evidently preparing to return homeon foot; those who lived at a distance, and whose carriages (having beensent away, and ordered to return at a fixed hour) had not yet arrived, were gathered together in small knots and groups; all looked sullen anddispleased, and all instinctively turned from their host as he passedthem by. They felt they had been lectured, and they were more put outthan Richard himself. They did not know if they might not be lecturedagain. This vulgar man, of what might he not be capable? Richard'sshrewd sense comprehended in an instant all the difficulties of hisposition; but he walked on deliberately and directly towards Mrs. M'Catchley, who was standing near the grand marquee with the Pompleysand the dean's lady. As those personages saw him make thus boldlytowards them, there was a flutter. "Hang the fellow!" said thecolonel, intrenching himself in his stock, "he is coming here. Low andshocking--what shall we do? Let us stroll on. " But Richard threw himselfin the way of the retreat. "Mrs. M'Catchley, " said he, very gravely, andoffering her his arm, "allow me three words with you. "

The poor widow looked very much discomposed. Mrs. Pompley pulled herby the sleeve. Richard still stood gazing into her face, with his armextended. She hesitated a minute, and then took the arm. 

"Monstrous impudent!" cried the colonel. 

"Let Mrs. M'Catchley alone, my dear, " responded Mrs. Pompley; "she willknow how to give him a lesson. "

"Madam, " said Richard, as soon as he and his companion were out ofhearing, "I rely on you to do me a favour. "

"On me?"

"On you, and you alone. You have influence with all those people, anda word from you will effect what I desire. Mrs. M'Catchley, " addedRichard, with a solemnity that was actually imposing, "I flatter myselfthat you have some friendship for me, which is more than I can say ofany other soul in these grounds; will you do me this favour, ay or no?"

"What is it, Mr. Avenel?" asked Mrs. M'Catchley, much disturbed, andsomewhat softened, --for she was by no means a woman without feeling;indeed, she considered herself nervous. 

"Get all your friends--all the company, in short-to come back into thetent for refreshments, for anything. I want to say a few words to them. "

"Bless me! Mr. Avenel--a few words!" cried the widow, "but that's justwhat they're all afraid of. You must pardon me, but you really can't askpeople to a dejeune dansant, and then--scold 'em!"

"I'm not going to scold them, " said Air. Avenel, very seriously, --"uponmy honour, I'm not. I'm going to make all right, and I even hopeafterwards that the dancing may go on--and that you will honour me againwith your hand. I leave you to your task; and believe me, I'm not anungrateful man. " He spoke, and bowed--not without some dignity--andvanished within the breakfast division of the marquee. There he busiedhimself in re-collecting the waiters, and directing them to re-arrangethe mangled remains of the table as they best could. Mrs. M'Catchley, whose curiosity and interest were aroused, executed her commission withall the ability and tact of a woman of the world, and in less than aquarter of an hour the marquee was filled, the corks flew, the champagnebounced and sparkled, people drank in silence, munched fruits and cakes, kept up their courage with the conscious sense of numbers, and felt agreat desire to know what was coming. Mr. Avenel, at the head of thetable, suddenly rose. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, " said he, "I have taken the liberty to invite youonce more into this tent, in order to ask you to sympathize with me uponan occasion which took us all a little by surprise to-day. 

"Of course, you all know I am a new man, --the maker of my own fortunes. "

A great many heads bowed involuntarily. The words were said manfully, and there was a general feeling of respect. "Probably, too, " resumed Mr. Avenel, "you may know that I am the son of very honest tradespeople. Isay honest, and they are not ashamed of me; I say tradespeople, and I'mnot ashamed of them. My sister married and settled at a distance. I tookher son to educate and bring up. But I did not tell her where he was, nor even that I had returned from America; I wished to choose my owntime for that, when I could give her the surprise, not only of a richbrother, but of a son whom I intended to make a gentleman, so far asmanners and education can make one. Well, the poor dear woman has foundme out sooner than I expected, and turned the tables on me by giving mea surprise of her own invention. Pray, forgive the confusion this littlefamily-scene has created; and though I own it was very laughable at themoment, and I was wrong to say otherwise, yet I am sure I don't judgeill of your good hearts, when I ask you to think what brother and sistermust feel who parted from each other when they were boy and girl. Tome" (and Richard gave a great gulp, for he felt that a great gulp alonecould swallow the abominable lie he was about to utter)--"to me this hasbeen a very happy occasion! I'm a plain man: no one can take ill whatI've said. And wishing that you may be all as happy in your family as Iam in mine--humble though it be--I beg to drink your very good healths!"

There was a universal applause when Richard sat down; and so well inhis plain way had he looked the thing, and done the thing, that at leasthalf of those present--who till then had certainly disliked and halfdespised him--suddenly felt that they were proud of his acquaintance. For however aristocratic this country of ours may be, and howeverespecially aristocratic be the genteeler classes in provincial towns andcoteries, there is nothing which English folks, from the highest to thelowest, in their hearts so respect as a man who has risen from nothing, and owns it frankly. Sir Compton Delaval, an old baronet, with apedigree as long as a Welshman's, who had been reluctantly decoyed tothe feast by his three unmarried daughters--not one of whom, however, had hitherto condescended even to bow to the host--now rose. It was hisright, --he was the first person there in rank and station. 

"Ladies and Gentlemen, " quoth Sir Compton Delaval, "I am sure that Iexpress the feelings of all present when I say that we have heard withgreat delight and admiration the words addressed to us by our excellenthost. [Applause. ] And if any of us, in what--Mr. Avenel describes justlyas the surprise of the moment, were betrayed into an unseemly merrimentat--at--[the dean's lady whispered 'some of the']--some of the--some ofthe--" repeated Sir Compton, puzzled, and coming to a deadlock ["holiestsentiments, " whispered the dean's lady]--"ay, some of the holiestsentiments in our nature, I beg him to accept our sincerest apologies. I can only say, for my part, that I am proud to rank Mr. Avenel amongstthe gentlemen of the county" (here Sir Compton gave a sounding thumpon the table), "and to thank him for one of the most brilliantentertainments it has ever been my lot to witness. If he won his fortunehonestly, he knows how to spend it nobly. "

Whiz went a fresh bottle of champagne. 

"I am not accustomed to public speaking, but I could not repress mysentiments. And I've now only to propose to you the health of our host. Richard Avenel, Esquire; and to couple with that the health of his--veryinteresting sister, and long life to them both. "

The sentence was half drowned in enthusiastic plaudits, and in threecheers for Richard Avenel, Esquire, and his very interesting sister. 

"I'm a cursed humbug, " thought Richard Avenel, as he wiped hisforehead; "but the world is such a humbug!" Then he glanced towards Mrs. M'Catehley and, to his great satisfaction, saw Mrs. M'Catchley with herhandkerchief before her eyes. 

Truth must be told; although the fair widow might certainly havecontemplated the probability of accepting Mr. Avenel as a husband, shehad never before felt the least bit in love with him; and now she did. There is something in courage and candour--in a word, in manliness--thatall women, the most worldly, do admire in men; and Richard Avenel, humbug though his conscience said he was, seemed to Mrs. M'Catchley likea hero. 

The host saw his triumph. "Now for another dance!" said he, gayly; andhe was about to offer his hand to Mrs. M'Catchley, when Sir ComptonDelaval seizing it, and giving it a hearty shake, cried, "You have notyet danced with my eldest daughter; so if you'll not ask her, why, Imust offer her to you as your partner. Here, Sarah. "

Miss Sarah Delaval, who was five feet eight, and as stately as she wastall, bowed her head graciously; and Mr. Avenel, before he knew wherehe was, found her leaning on his arm. But as he passed into the nextdivision of the tent, he had to run the gauntlet of all the gentlemen, who thronged round to shake hands with him. Their warm English heartscould not be satisfied till they had so repaired the sin of theirprevious haughtiness and mockery. Richard Avenel might then have safelyintroduced his sister--gown, kerchief, thick shoes, and all--to thecrowd; but he had no such thought. He thanked Heaven devoutly that shewas safely under lock and key. 

It was not till the third dance that he could secure Mrs. M'Catchley'shand, and then it was twilight. The carriages were at the door, but noone yet thought of going. People were really enjoying themselves. Mr. Avenel had had time, in the interim, to mature all his plans forcompleting and consummating that triumph which his tact and pluck haddrawn from his momentary disgrace. Excited as he was with wine, andsuppressed passion, he had yet the sense to feel that, when all thehalo that now surrounded him had evaporated, and Mrs. M'Catchley wasredelivered up to the Pompleys, whom he felt to be the last persons hisinterest could desire for her advisers, the thought of his low relationswould return with calm reflection. Now was the time. The iron was hot, now was the time to strike it, and forge the enduring chain. As heled Mrs. M'Catchley after the dance, into the lawn, he therefore saidtenderly, --

"How shall I thank you for the favour you have done me?"

"Oh!" said Mrs. M'Catchley, warmly, "It was no favour, and I am soglad--" She stopped. 

"You're not ashamed of me, then, in spite of what has happened?"

"Ashamed of you! Why, I should be so proud of you, if I were--"

"Finish the sentence and say--'your wife!'--there, it is out. My dearmadam, I am rich, as you know; I love you very heartily. With yourhelp, I think I can make a figure in a larger world than this: and that, whatever my father, my grandson at least will be--but it is time enoughto speak of him. What say you?--you--turn away. I'll not tease you, --itis not my way. I said before, ay or no; and your kindness so emboldensme that I say it again, ay or no?"

"But you take me so unawares--so--so--Lord! my dear Mr. Avenel; youare so hasty--I--I--" And the widow actually blushed, and was genuinelybashful. 

"Those horrid Pompleys!" thought Richard, as he saw the colonel bustlingup with Mrs. M'Catchley's cloak on his arm. "I press for your answer, "continued the suitor, speaking very fast. "I shall leave this placeto-morrow, if you will not give it. "

"Leave this place--leave me?"

"Then you will be mine?"

"Ah, Mr. Avenel!" said the widow, languidly, and leaving her hand inhis, "who can resist you?"

Up came Colonel Pompley; Richard took the shawl: "No hurry for that now, Colonel, --Mrs. M'Catchley feels already at home here. "

Ten minutes afterwards, Richard Avenel so contrived that it was knownby the whole company that their host was accepted by the Honourable Mrs. M'Catchley. And every one said, "He is a very clever man and a very goodfellow, " except the Pompleys--and the Pompleys were frantic. Mr. RichardAvenel had forced his way into the aristocracy of the country; thehusband of an Honourable, connected with peers!

"He will stand for our city--Vulgarian!" cried the colonel. "And hiswife will walk out before me, " cried the colonel's lady, --"nasty woman!"And she burst into tears. 

The guests were gone; and Richard had now leisure to consider whatcourse to pursue with regard to his sister and her son. 

His victory over his guests had in much softened his heart towards hisrelations; but he still felt bitterly aggrieved at Mrs. Fairfield'sunseasonable intrusion, and his pride was greatly chafed by the boldnessof Leonard. He had no idea of any man whom he had served, or meant toserve, having a will of his own, having a single thought in oppositionto his pleasure. He began, too, to feel that words had passed betweenhim and Leonard which could not be well forgotten by either, and wouldrender their close connection less pleasant than heretofore. He, thegreat Richard Avenel, beg pardon of Mrs. Fairfield, the washerwoman!No; she and Leonard must beg his. "That must be the first step, " saidRichard Avenel; "and I suppose they have come to their senses. " Withthat expectation, he unlocked the door of his parlour, and found himselfin complete solitude. The moon, lately risen, shone full into the room, and lit up every corner. He stared round bewildered, --the birds hadflown. "Did they go through the keyhole?" said Air. Avenel. "Ha! I see!the window is open!" The window reached to the ground. Mr. Avenel, inhis excitement, had forgotten that easy mode of egress. "Well, " said he, throwing himself into his easy-chair, "I suppose I shall soon hear fromthem: they'll be wanting my money fast enough, I fancy. " His eye caughtsight of a letter, unsealed, lying on the table. He opened it, and sawbank-notes to the amount of L50, --the widow's forty-five country notes, and a new note, Bank of England, that he had lately given to Leonard. With the money were these lines, written in Leonard's bold, clearwriting, though a word or two here and there showed that the hand hadtrembled, --

 I thank you for all you have done to one whom you regarded as the object of charity. My mother and I forgive what has passed. I depart with her. You bade me make my choice, and I have made it. 

 LEONARD FAIRFIELD. 

The paper dropped from Richard's hand, and he remained mute andremorseful for a moment. He soon felt, however, that he had no help forit but working himself up into a rage. "Of all people in the world, "cried Richard, stamping his foot on the floor, "there are none sodisagreeable, insolent, and ungrateful as poor relations. I wash myhands of them!"

BOOK SIXTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

WHEREIN MR. CAXTON IS PROFOUNDLY METAPHYSICAL. 

"Life, " said my father, in his most dogmatical tone, "is a certainquantity in time, which may be regarded in two ways, --First, as lifeintegral; Second, as life fractional. Life integral is that completewhole expressive of a certain value, large or small, which each manpossesses in himself. Life fractional is that same whole seized uponand invaded by other people, and subdivided amongst them. They who get alarge slice of it say, 'A very valuable life this!' Those who get but asmall handful say, 'So, so; nothing very great!' Those who get none ofit in the scramble exclaim, 'Good for nothing!'"

"I don't understand a word you are saying, " growled Captain Roland. 

My father surveyed his brother with compassion: "I will make it allclear, even to your understanding. When I sit down by myself in mystudy, having carefully locked the door on all of you, alone with mybooks and thoughts, I am in full possession of my integral life. I amtotus, teres, atque rotundus, --a whole human being, equivalent in value, we will say, for the sake of illustration, to a fixed round sum, L100for example. But when I go forth into the common apartment, each ofthose to whom I am of any worth whatsoever puts his finger into the bagthat contains me, and takes out of me what he wants. Kitty requires meto pay a bill; Pisistratus to save him the time and trouble of lookinginto a score or two of books; the children to tell them stories, orplay at hide-and-seek; and so on throughout the circle to which I haveincautiously given myself up for plunder and subdivision. The L100 whichI represented in my study is now parcelled out; I am worth L40 or L50to Kitty, L20 to Pisistratus, and perhaps 30s. To the children. This islife fractional. And I cease to be an integral till once more returningto my study, and again closing the door on all existence but my own. Meanwhile, it is perfectly clear that to those who, whether I am in thestudy or whether I am in the common sitting-room, get nothing at allout of me, I am not worth a farthing. It must be wholly indifferent to anative of Kamschatka whether Austin Caxton be or be not razed out of thegreat account-book of human beings. 

"Hence, " continued my father, --"hence it follows that the morefractional a life be--that is, the greater the number of persons amongwhom it can be subdivided--why, the more there are to say, 'A veryvaluable life that!' Thus the leader of a political party, a conqueror, a king, an author, who is amusing hundreds or thousands or millions, hasa greater number of persons whom his worth interests and affects than aSaint Simeon Stylites could have when he perched himself at the top ofa column; although, regarded each in himself, Saint Simeon, in his grandmortification of flesh, in the idea that he thereby pleased his DivineBenefactor, might represent a larger sum of moral value per se thanBonaparte or Voltaire. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Perfectly clear, sir; but I don't see what it has to dowith 'My Novel. '"

MR. CAXTON. --"Everything. Your novel, if it is to be a full andcomprehensive survey of the 'Quicquid agunt homines' (which it ought tobe, considering the length and breadth to which I foresee, from the slowdevelopment of your story, you meditate extending and expandingit), will embrace the two views of existence, --the integral and thefractional. You have shown us the former in Leonard, when he is sittingin his mother's cottage, or resting from his work by the little fount inRiccabocca's garden. And in harmony with that view of his life, you havesurrounded him with comparative integrals, only subdivided by the tenderhands of their immediate families and neighbours, --your squires andparsons, your Italian exile and his Jemima. With all these, life is, more or less, the life natural, and this is always, more or less, thelife integral. Then comes the life artificial, which is always, more orless, the life fractional. In the life natural, wherein we are swayedbut by our own native impulses and desires, subservient only to thegreat silent law of Virtue (which has pervaded the universe sinceit swung out of chaos), a man is of worth from what he is inhimself, --Newton was as worthy before the apple fell from the tree aswhen all Europe applauded the discoverer of the Principle of Gravity. But in the life artificial we are only of worth inasmuch as we affectothers; and, relative to that life, Newton rose in value more than amillion per cent when down fell the apple from which ultimately sprangup his discovery. In order to keep civilization going and spread overthe world the light of human intellect, we have certain desires withinus, ever swelling beyond the ease and independence which belongs to usas integrals. Cold man as Newton might be (he once took a lady's hand inhis own, Kitty, and used her forefinger for his tobacco-stopper, --greatphilosopher!), cold as he might be, he was yet moved into giving hisdiscoveries to the world, and that from motives very little differingin their quality from the motives that make Dr. Squills communicatearticles to the 'Phrenological Journal' upon the skulls of Bushmen andwombats. For it is the property of light to travel. When a man haslight in him, forth it must go. But the first passage of genius from itsintegral state (in which it has been reposing on its own wealth) intothe fractional is usually through a hard and vulgar pathway. It leavesbehind it the reveries of solitude, --that self-contemplating rest whichmay be called the Visionary, --and enters suddenly into the state thatmay be called the Positive and Actual. There it sees the operationsof money on the outer life; sees all the ruder and commoner springsof action; sees ambition without nobleness, love without romance; isbustled about and ordered and trampled and cowed, --in short, it passesan apprenticeship with some Richard Avenel, and does not detect whatgood and what grandeur, what addition even to the true poetry of thesocial universe, fractional existences like Richard Avenel's bestow;for the pillars that support society are like those of the Court of theHebrew Tabernacle, --they are of brass, it is true, but they are filletedwith silver. From such intermediate state Genius is expelled and drivenon its way, and would have been so in this case had Mrs. Fairfield (whois but the representative of the homely natural affections, strongestever in true genius, --for light is warm) never crushed Mr. Avenel's mossrose on her sisterly bosom. Now, forth from this passage and defile oftransition into the larger world, must Genius go on, working out itsnatural destiny amidst things and forms the most artificial. Passionsthat move and influence the world are at work around it. Often lostsight of itself, its very absence is a silent contrast to the agenciespresent. Merged and vanished for a while amidst the Practical World, yetwe ourselves feel all the while that it is there; is at work amidst theworkings around it. This practical world that effaces it rose out ofsome genius that has gone before; and so each man of genius, though wenever come across him, as his operations proceed in places remote fromour thoroughfares, is yet influencing the practical world that ignoreshim, for ever and ever. That is GENIUS! We can't describe it in books;we can only hint and suggest it by the accessories which we artfullyheap about it. The entrance of a true Probationer into the terribleordeal of Practical Life is like that into the miraculous cavern, bywhich, legend informs us, Saint Patrick converted Ireland. "

BLANCHE. --"What is that legend? I never heard of it. "

MR. CAXTON. --"My dear, you will find it in a thin folio at the right onentering my study, written by Thomas Messingham, and called 'FlorilegiumInsulae Sanctorum, ' etc. The account therein is confirmed by therelation of an honest soldier, one Louis Ennius, who had actuallyentered the cavern. In short, the truth of the legend is undeniable, unless you mean to say, which I can't for a moment suppose, that LouisEnnius was a liar. Thus it runs: Saint Patrick, finding that the Irishpagans were incredulous as to his pathetic assurances of the pains andtorments destined to those who did not expiate their sins in this world, prayed for a miracle to convince them. His prayer was heard; and acertain cavern, so small that a man could not stand up therein at hisease, was suddenly converted into a Purgatory, comprehending torturessufficient to convince the most incredulous. One unacquainted withhuman nature might conjecture that few would be disposed to venturevoluntarily into such a place; on the contrary, pilgrims came in crowds. Now, all who entered from vain curiosity or with souls unpreparedperished miserably; but those who entered with deep and earnest faith, conscious of their faults, and if bold, yet humble, not only came outsafe and sound, but purified, as if from the waters of a second baptism. See Savage and Johnson at night in Fleet Street, --and who shall doubtthe truth of Saint Patrick's Purgatory!" Therewith my father sighed;closed his Lucian, which had lain open on the table, and would read nonebut "good books" for the rest of the evening. 

CHAPTER II. 

On their escape from the prison to which Mr. Avenel had condemned them, Leonard and his mother found their way to a small public-house that layat a little distance from the town, and on the outskirts of the highroad. With his arm round his mother's waist, Leonard supported hersteps, and soothed her excitement. In fact, the poor woman's nerveswere greatly shaken, and she felt an uneasy remorse at the injury herintrusion had inflicted on the young man's worldly prospects. As theshrewd reader has guessed already, that infamous tinker was the primeagent of evil in this critical turn in the affairs of his quondamcustomer; for, on his return to his haunts around Hazeldean and theCasino, the tinker had hastened to apprise Mrs. Fairfield of hisinterview with Leonard, and, on finding that she was not aware that theboy was under the roof of his uncle, the pestilent vagabond (perhapsfrom spite against Mr. Avenel, or perhaps from that pure love ofmischief by which metaphysical critics explain the character of Iago, and which certainly formed a main element in the idiosyncrasy of Mr. Sprott) had so impressed on the widow's mind the haughty demeanour ofthe uncle, and the refined costume of the nephew, that Mrs. Fairfieldhad been seized with a bitter and insupportable jealousy. There was anintention to rob her of her boy!--he was to be made too fine for her. His silence was now accounted for. This sort of jealousy, always more orless a feminine quality, is often very strong amongst the poor; and itwas the more strong in Mrs. Fairfield, because, lone woman that she was, the boy was all in all to her. And though she was reconciled to the lossof his presence, nothing could reconcile her to the thought that hisaffections should be weaned from her. Moreover, there were in her mindcertain impressions, of the justice of which the reader may betterjudge hereafter, as to the gratitude--more than ordinarily filial--whichLeonard owed to her. In short, she did not like, as she phrased it, "tobe shaken off;" and after a sleepless night she resolved to judge forherself, much moved thereto by the malicious suggestions to that effectmade by Mr. Sprott, who mightily enjoyed the idea of mortifying thegentlemen by whom he had been so disrespectfully threatened withthe treadmill. The widow felt angry with Parson Dale and with theRiccaboccas: she thought they were in the plot against her; shecommunicated therefore, her intentions to none, and off she set, performing the journey partly on the top of the coach, partly on foot. No wonder that she was dusty, poor woman!

"And, oh, boy!" said she, half sobbing, "when I got through thelodge-gates, came on the lawn, and saw all that power o' fine folk, Isaid to myself, says I--for I felt fritted--I'll just have a look at himand go back. But ah, Lenny, when I saw thee, looking so handsome, andwhen thee turned and cried 'Mother, ' my heart was just ready to leap outo' my mouth, and so I could not help hugging thee, if I had died forit. And thou wert so kind, that I forgot all Mr. Sprott had said aboutDick's pride, or thought he had just told a fib about that, as he hadwanted me to believe a fib about thee. Then Dick came up--and I had notseen him for so many years--and we come o' the same father and mother;and so--and so--" The widow's sobs here fairly choked her. "Ah, " shesaid, after giving vent to her passion, and throwing her arms roundLeonard's neck, as they sat in the little sanded parlour of thepublic-house, --"ah, and I've brought thee to this. Go back; go back, boy, and never mind me. "

With some difficulty Leonard pacified poor Mrs. Fairfield, and got herto retire to bed; for she was, indeed, thoroughly exhausted. He thenstepped forth into the road; musingly. All the stars were out; andYouth, in its troubles, instinctively looks up to the stars. Folding hisarms, Leonard gazed on the heavens, and his lips murmured. 

From this trance, for so it might be called, he was awakened by avoice in a decidedly London accent; and, turning hastily round, saw Mr. Avenel's very gentlemanlike butler. 

Leonard's first idea was that his uncle had repented, and sent in searchof him. But the butler seemed as much surprised at the rencontre ashimself: that personage, indeed, the fatigues of the day being over, wasaccompanying one of Mr. Gunter's waiters to the public-house (at whichthe latter had secured his lodging), having discovered an old friendin the waiter, and proposing to regale himself with a cheerful glass, and--THAT of course--abuse of his present situation. 

"Mr. Fairfield!" exclaimed the butler, while the waiter walkeddiscreetly on. 

Leonard looked, and said nothing. The butler began to think that someapology was due for leaving his plate and his pantry, and that he mightas well secure Leonard's propitiatory influence with his master. 

"Please, sir, " said he, touching his hat, "I was just a showing Mr. Giles the way to the Blue Bells, where he puts up for the night. I hopemy master will not be offended. If you are a going back, sir, would youkindly mention it?"

"I am not going back, Jarvis, " answered Leonard, after a pause; "I amleaving Mr. Avenel's house, to accompany my mother, --rather suddenly. I should be very much obliged to you if you would bring some things ofmine to me at the Blue Bells. I will give you the list, if you will stepwith me to the inn. "

Without waiting for a reply, Leonard then turned towards the inn, andmade his humble inventory: item, the clothes he had brought with himfrom the Casino; item, the knapsack that had contained them; item, a fewbooks, ditto; item, Dr. Riccabocca's watch; item, sundry manuscripts, on which the young student now built all his hopes of fame and fortune. This list he put into Mr. Jarvis's hand. 

"Sir, " said the butler, twirling the paper between his finger and thumb, "you're not a going for long, I hope?" and he looked on the face ofthe young man, who had always been "civil spoken to him, " with asmuch curiosity and as much compassion as so apathetic and princelya personage could experience in matters affecting a family lessaristocratic than he had hitherto condescended to serve. 

"Yes, " said Leonard, simply and briefly; "and your master will no doubtexcuse you for rendering me this service. " Mr. Jarvis postponed for thepresent his glass and chat with the waiter, and went back at once to Mr. Avenel. That gentleman, still seated in his library, had not been awareof the butler's absence; and when Mr. Jarvis entered and told him thathe had met Mr. Fairfield, and communicating the commission with whichhe was intrusted, asked leave to execute it, Mr. Avenel felt the man'sinquisitive eye was on him, and conceived new wrath against Leonard fora new humiliation to his pride. It was awkward to give no explanationof his nephew's departure, still more awkward to explain. After a shortpause, Mr. Avenel said sullenly, "My nephew is going away on businessfor some time, --do what he tells you;" and then turned his back, andlighted his cigar. 

"That beast of a boy, " said he, soliloquizing, "either means this as anaffront, or an overture: if an affront, he is, indeed, well got ridof; if an overture, he will soon make a more respectful and properone. After all, I can't have too little of relations till I have fairlysecured Mrs. M'Catchley. An Honourable! I wonder if that makes me anHonourable too? This cursed Debrett contains no practical information onthose points. "

The next morning the clothes and the watch with which Mr. Avenelpresented Leonard were returned, with a note meant to express gratitude, but certainly written with very little knowledge of the world; and sofull of that somewhat over-resentful pride which had in earlier lifemade Leonard fly from Hazeldean, and refuse all apology to Randal, thatit is not to be wondered at that Mr. Avenel's last remorsefulfeelings evaporated in ire. "I hope he will starve!" said the uncle, vindictively. 

CHAPTER III. 

"Listen to me, my dear mother, " said Leonard the next morning, as, withknapsack on his shoulder and Mrs. Fairfield on his arm, he walked alongthe high road; "I do assure you from my heart that I do not regret theloss of favours which I see plainly would have crushed out of me thevery sense of independence. But do not fear for me; I have educationand energy, --I shall do well for myself, trust me. --No, I cannot, it istrue, go back to our cottage; I cannot be a gardener again. Don't askme, --I should be discontented, miserable. But I will go up to London!That's the place to make a fortune and a name: I will make both. Oh, yes, trust me, I will. You shall soon be proud of your Leonard; and thenwe will always live together, --always! Don't cry. "

"But what can you do in Lunnon, --such a big place, Lenny?"

"What! Every year does not some lad leave our village, and go and seekhis fortune, taking with him but health and strong hands? I have these, and I have more: I have brains and thoughts and hopes, that--again Isay, No, no; never fear for me!"

The boy threw back his head proudly; there was something sublime in hisyoung trust in the future. 

"Well. But you will write to Mr. Dale or to me? I will get Mr. Daleor the good mounseer (now I know they were not agin me) to read yourletters. "

"I will, indeed!"

"And, boy, you have nothing in your pockets. We have paid Dick; these, at least, are my own, after paying the coach fare. " And she would thrusta sovereign and some shillings into Leonard's waistcoat pocket. 

After some resistance, he was forced to consent. 

"And there's a sixpence with a hole in it. Don't part with that, Lenny;it will bring thee good luck. "

Thus talking, they gained the inn where the three roads met, and fromwhich a coach went direct to the Casino. And here, without entering theinn, they sat on the greensward by the hedgerow, waiting the arrivalof the coach--Mrs. Fairfield was much subdued in spirits, and therewas evidently on her mind something uneasy, --some struggle with herconscience. She not only upbraided herself for her rash visit, but shekept talking of her dead Mark. And what would he say of her, if he couldsee her in heaven?

"It was so selfish in me, Lenny. "

"Pooh, pooh! Has not a mother a right to her child?"

"Ay, ay, ay!" cried Mrs. Fairfield. "I do love you as a child, --my ownchild. But if I was not your mother, after all, Lenny, and cost you allthis--oh, what would you say of me then?"

"Not my own mother!" said Leonard, laughing as he kissed her. "Well, Idon't know what I should say then differently from what I say now, --thatyou, who brought me up and nursed and cherished me, had a right to myhome and my heart, wherever I was. "

"Bless thee!" cried Mrs. Fairfield, as she pressed him to her heart. "But it weighs here, --it weighs, " she said, starting up. 

At that instant the coach appeared, and Leonard ran forward to inquireif there was an outside place. Then there was a short bustle while thehorses were being changed; and Mrs. Fairfield was lifted up to the roofof the vehicle, so all further private conversation between her andLeonard ceased. But as the coach whirled away, and she waved her handto the boy, who stood on the road-side gazing after her, she stillmurmured, "It weighs here, --it weighs!"

CHAPTER IV. 

Leonard walked sturdily on in the high road to the Great City. The daywas calm and sunlit, but with a gentle breeze from gray hills at thedistance; and with each mile that he passed, his step seemed to growmore firm, and his front more elate. Oh, it is such joy in youth to bealone with one's daydreams! And youth feels so glorious a vigour in thesense of its own strength, though the world be before and--against it!Removed from that chilling counting-house, from the imperious will ofa patron and master, all friendless, but all independent, the youngadventurer felt a new being, felt his grand nature as Man. And on theMan rushed the genius long interdicted and thrust aside, --rushing back, with the first breath of adversity, to console--no! the Man needed notconsolation, --to kindle, to animate, to rejoice! If there is a being inthe world worthy of our envy, after we have grown wise philosophersof the fireside, it is not the palled voluptuary, nor the carewornstatesman, nor even the great prince of arts and letters, alreadycrowned with the laurel, whose leaves are as fit for poison as forgarlands; it is the young child of adventure and hope. Ay, and theemptier his purse, ten to one but the richer his heart, and the widerthe domains which his fancy enjoys as he goes on with kingly step to theFuture. 

Not till towards the evening did our adventurer slacken his pace andthink of rest and refreshment. There, then, lay before him on eitherside the road those wide patches of uninclosed land which in Englandoften denote the entrance to a village. Presently one or two neatcottages came in sight; then a small farmhouse, with its yard and barns. And some way farther yet, he saw the sign swinging before an inn of somepretensions, --the sort of inn often found on a long stage between twogreat towns commonly called "The Halfway House. " But the inn stood backfrom the road, having its own separate sward in front, whereon was agreat beech-tree (from which the sign extended) and a rustic arbour; sothat to gain the inn, the coaches that stopped there took a sweep fromthe main thoroughfare. Between our pedestrian and the inn there stood, naked and alone, on the common land, a church; our ancestors never wouldhave chosen that site for it; therefore it was a modern church, --modernGothic; handsome to an eye not versed in the attributes ofecclesiastical architecture, very barbarous to an eye that was. Somehowor other the church looked cold and raw and uninviting. It looked achurch for show, --much too big for the scattered hamlet, and void ofall the venerable associations which give their peculiar and unspeakableatmosphere of piety to the churches in which succeeding generations haveknelt and worshipped. Leonard paused and surveyed the edifice withan unlearned but poetical gaze; it dissatisfied him. And he was yetpondering why, when a young girl passed slowly before him, hereyes fixed on the ground, opened the little gate that led into thechurchyard, and vanished. He did not see the child's face; but there wassomething in her movements so utterly listless, forlorn, and sad thathis heart was touched. What did she there? He approached the low wallwith a noiseless step, and looked over it wistfully. 

There by a grave, evidently quite recent, with no wooden tomb nortombstone like the rest, the little girl had thrown herself, and she wassobbing loud and passionately. Leonard opened the gate, and approachedher with a soft step. Mingled with her sobs, he heard broken sentences, wild and vain, as all human sorrowings over graves must be. 

"Father! oh, Father, do you not really hear me? I am so lone, so lone!Take me to you, --take me!" And she buried her face in the deep grass. 

"Poor child!" said Leonard, in a half whisper, --"he is not there. Lookabove!"

The girl did not heed him; he put his arm round her waist gently; shemade a gesture of impatience and anger, but she would not turn her face, and she clung to the grave with her hands. 

After clear, sunny days the dews fall more heavily; and now, as the sunset, the herbage was bathed in a vaporous haze, --a dim mist rose around. The young man seated himself beside her, and tried to draw the child tohis breast. Then she turned eagerly, indignantly, and pushed him asidewith jealous arms. He profaned the grave! He understood her with hisdeep poet-heart, and rose. There was a pause. Leonard was the first tobreak it. 

"Come to your home with me, my child, and we will talk of him by theway. "

"Him! Who are you? You did not know him!" said the girl, still withanger. "Go away! Why do you disturb me? I do no one harm. Go! go!"

"You do yourself harm, and that will grieve him if he sees you yonder!Come!"

The child looked at him through her blinding tears, and his facesoftened and soothed her. 

"Go!" she said, very plaintively, and in subdued accents. "I will butstay a minute more. I--I have so much to say yet. "

Leonard left the churchyard, and waited without; and in a short timethe child came forth, waived him aside as he approached her, and hurriedaway. He followed her at a distance, and saw her disappear within theinn. 

CHAPTER V. 

"Hip-Hip-Hurrah!" Such was the sound that greeted our young travelleras he reached the inn door, --a sound joyous in itself, but sadly out ofharmony with the feelings which the child sobbing on the tombless gravehad left at his heart. The sound came from within, and was followed bythumps and stamps, and the jingle of glasses. A strong odour oftobacco was wafted to his olfactory sense. He hesitated a moment at thethreshold. 

Before him, on benches under the beech-tree and within the arbour, weregrouped sundry athletic forms with "pipes in the liberal air. "

The landlady, as she passed across the passage to the taproom, caughtsight of his form at the doorway, and came forward. Leonard still stoodirresolute. He would have gone on his way, but for the child: she hadinterested him strongly. 

"You seem full, ma'am, " said he. "Can I have accommodation for thenight?"

"Why, indeed, sir, " said the landlady, civilly, "I can give you abedroom, but I don't know where to put you meanwhile. The two parloursand the tap-room and the kitchen are all choke-full. There has been agreat cattle-fair in the neighbourhood, and I suppose we have as many asfifty farmers and drovers stopping here. "

"As to that, ma'am, I can sit in the bedroom you are kind enough to giveme; and if it does not cause you much trouble to let me have sometea there, I should be glad; but I can wait your leisure. Do not putyourself out of the way for me. "

The landlady was touched by a consideration she was not much habituatedto receive from her bluff customers. "You speak very handsome, sir, andwe will do our best to serve you, if you will excuse all faults. Thisway, sir. " Leonard lowered his knapsack, stepped into the passage, with some difficulty forced his way through a knot of sturdy giantsin top-boots or leathern gaiters, who were swarining in and out thetap-room, and followed his hostess upstairs to a little bedroom at thetop of the house. 

"It is small, sir, and high, " said the hostess, apologetically. "Butthere be four gentlemen farmers that have come a great distance, and allthe first floor is engaged; you will be more out of the noise here. "

"Nothing can suit me better. But, stay, --pardon me;" and Leonard, glancing at the garb of the hostess, observed she was not in mourning. "A little girl whom I saw in the churchyard yonder, weeping verybitterly--is she a relation of yours? Poor child! she seems to havedeeper feelings than are common at her age. "

"Ah, sir, " said the landlady, putting the corner of her apron to hereyes, "it is a very sad story. I don't know what to do. Her father wastaken ill on his way to Lunnon, and stopped here, and has been buriedfour days. And the poor little girl seems to have no relations--andwhere is she to go? Laryer Jones says we must pass her to Maryboneparish, where her father lived last; and what's to become of her then?My heart bleeds to think on it. "

Here there rose such an uproar from below, that it was evident somequarrel had broken out; and the hostess, recalled to her duties, hastened to carry thither her propitiatory influences. 

Leonard seated himself pensively by the little lattice. Here was someone more alone in the world than he; and she, poor orphan, had no stoutman's heart to grapple with fate, and no golden manuscripts that wereto be as the "Open-Sesame" to the treasures of Aladdin. By and by, the hostess brought him up a tray with tea and other refreshments, andLeonard resumed his inquiries. "No relatives?" said he; "surely thechild must have some kinsfolk in London? Did her father leave nodirections, or was he in possession of his faculties?"

"Yes, sir; he was quite reasonable like to the last. And I asked himif he had not anything on his mind, and he said, 'I have. ' And I said, 'Your little girl, sir?' And he answered me, 'Yes, ma'am;' and layinghis head on his pillow, he wept very quietly. I could not say moremyself, for it set me off to see him cry so meekly; but my husband isharder nor I, and he said, 'Cheer up, Mr. Digby; had not you betterwrite to your friends?'

"'Friends!' said the gentleman, in such a voice! 'Friends I have butone, and I am going to Him! I cannot take her there!' Then he seemedsuddenly to recollect himself, and called for his clothes, and rummagedin the pockets as if looking for some address, and could not find it. He seemed a forgetful kind of gentleman, and his hands were what I callhelpless hands, sir! And then he gasped out, 'Stop, stop! I never hadthe address. Write to Lord Les--', something like Lord Lester, but wecould not make out the name. Indeed he did not finish it, for therewas a rush of blood to his lips; and though he seemed sensible whenhe recovered (and knew us and his little girl too, till he went offsmiling), he never spoke word more. "

"Poor man, " said Leonard, wiping his eyes. "But his little girl surelyremembers the name that he did not finish?"

"No. She says he must have meant a gentleman whom they had met inthe Park not long ago, who was very kind to her father, and was Lordsomething; but she don't remember the name, for she never saw him beforeor since, and her father talked very little about any one lately, butthought he should find some kind friends at Screwstown, and travelleddown there with her from Lunnon. But she supposes he was disappointed, for he went out, came back, and merely told her to put up the things, asthey must go back to Lunnon. And on his way there he--died. Hush, what'sthat? I hope she did not overhear us. No, we were talking low. She hasthe next room to your'n, sir. I thought I heard her sobbing. Hush!"

"In the next room? I hear nothing. Well, with your leave, I will speakto her before I quit you. And had her father no money with him?"

"Yes, a few sovereigns, sir; they paid for his funeral, and there isa little left still, --enough to take her to town; for my husband said, says he, 'Hannah, the widow gave her mite, and we must not take theorphan's;' and my husband is a hard man, too, sir--bless him!"

"Let me take your hand, ma'am. God reward you both. "

"La, sir! why, even Dr. Dosewell said, rather grumpily though, 'Nevermind my bill; but don't call me up at six o'clock in the morning again, without knowing a little more about people. ' And I never afore knew Dr. Dosewell go without his bill being paid. He said it was a trick o' theother doctor to spite him. "

"What other doctor?"

"Oh, a very good gentleman, who got out with Mr. Digby when he was takenill, and stayed till the next morning; and our doctor says his name isMorgan, and he lives in Lunnou, and is a homy--something. "

"Homicide, " suggested Leonard, ignorantly. 

"Ah, homicide; something like that, only a deal longer and worse. Buthe left some of the tiniest little balls you ever see, sir, to give thechild; but, bless you, they did her no good, --how should they?"

"Tiny balls, oh--homoeopathist--I understand. And the doctor was kind toher; perhaps he may help her. Have you written to him?"

"But we don't know his address, and Lunnon is a vast place, sir. "

"I am going to London and will find it out. "

"Ah, sir, you seem very kind; and sin' she must go to Lunnon (for whatcan we do with her here?--she's too genteel for service), I wish she wasgoing with you. "

"With me!" said Leonard, startled, --"with me! Well, why not?"

"I am sure she comes of good blood, sir. You would have known her fatherwas quite the gentleman, only to see him die, sir. He went off so kindand civil like, as if he was ashamed to give so much trouble, --quite agentleman, if ever there was one. And so are you, sir, I'm sure, " saidthe land lady, courtesying; "I know what gentlefolk be. I've been ahousekeeper in the first of families in this very shire, sir, though Ican't say I've served in Lunnon; and so, as gentlefolks know each other, I 've no doubt you could find out her relations. Dear, dear! Coming, coming!"

Here there were loud cries for the hostess, and she hurried away. Thefarmers and drovers were beginning to depart, and their bills were to bemade out and paid. Leonard saw his hostess no more that night. The lastHip-hip-hurrah was heard, --some toast, perhaps to the health of thecounty members, --and the chamber of woe beside Leonard's rattled withthe shout. By and by, silence gradually succeeded the various dissonantsounds below. The carts and gigs rolled away; the clatter of hoofs onthe road ceased; there was then a dumb dull sound as of locking-up, andlow, humming voices below, and footsteps mounting the stairs to bed, with now and then a drunken hiccough or maudlin laugh, as some conqueredvotary of Bacchus was fairly carried up to his domicile. 

All, then, at last was silent, just as the clock from the church soundedthe stroke of eleven. 

Leonard, meanwhile, had been looking over his manuscripts. There wasfirst a project for an improvement on the steam-engine, --a project thathad long lain in his mind, begun with the first knowledge of mechanicsthat he had gleaned from his purchases of the tinker. He put thataside now, --it required too great an effort of the reasoning faculty tore-examine. 

He glanced less hastily over a collection of essays on varioussubjects, --some that he thought indifferent, some that he thought good. He then lingered over a collection of verses written in his best handwith loving care, --verses first inspired by his perusal of Nora'smelancholy memorials. These verses were as a diary of his heart and hisfancy, --those deep, unwitnessed struggles which the boyhood of all morethoughtful natures has passed in its bright yet murky storm of the cloudand the lightning-flash, though but few boys pause to record the crisisfrom which slowly emerges Man. And these first desultory grapplings withthe fugitive airy images that flit through the dim chambers of thebrain had become with each effort more sustained and vigorous, till thephantoms were spelled, the flying ones arrested, the Immaterial seized, and clothed with Form. Gazing on his last effort, Leonard felt thatthere at length spoke forth the poet. It was a work which though as yetbut half completed, came from a strong hand; not that shadow tremblingon unsteady waters, which is but the pale reflex and imitation ofsome bright mind, sphered out of reach and afar, but an originalsubstance, --a life, a thing of the Creative Faculty, --breathingback already the breath it had received. This work had paused duringLeonard's residence with Mr. Avenel, or had only now and then, instealth, and at night, received a rare touch. Now, as with a fresh eyehe reperused it, and with that strange, innocent admiration, not ofself--for a man's work is not, alas! himself, --it is the beautifiedand idealized essence, extracted he knows not how from his own humanelements of clay; admiration known but to poets, --their purest delight, often their sole reward. And then with a warmer and more earthly beat ofhis full heart, he rushed in fancy to the Great City, where all riversof fame meet, but not to be merged and lost, sallying forth again, individualized and separate, to flow through that one vast Thought ofGod which we call THE WORLD. 

He put up his papers; and opened his window, as was his ordinary custom, before he retired to rest, --for he had many odd habits; and he loved tolook out into the night when he prayed. His soul seemed to escape fromthe body--to mount on the air, to gain more rapid access to the farThrone in the Infinite--when his breath went forth among the winds, andhis eyes rested fixed on the stars of heaven. 

So the boy prayed silently; and after his prayer he was about, lingeringly, to close the lattice, when he heard distinctly sobs closeat hand. He paused, and held his breath, then looked gently out; thecasement next his own was also open. Someone was also at watch by thatcasement, --perhaps also praying. He listened yet more intently, andcaught, soft and low, the words, "Father, Father, do you hear me now?"

CHAPTER VI. 

Leonard opened his door and stole towards that of the room adjoining;for his first natural impulse had been to enter and console. But whenhis touch was on the handle, he drew back. Child though the mourner was, her sorrows were rendered yet more sacred from intrusion by her sex. Something, he knew not what, in his young ignorance, withheld himfrom the threshold. To have crossed it then would have seemed to himprofanation. So he returned, and for hours yet he occasionally heard thesobs, till they died away, and childhood wept itself to sleep. 

But the next morning, when he heard his neighbour astir, he knockedgently at her door: there was no answer. He entered softly, and sawher seated very listlessly in the centre of the room, --as if it had nofamiliar nook or corner as the rooms of home have, her hands drooping onher lap, and her eyes gazing desolately on the floor. Then he approachedand spoke to her. 

Helen was very subdued, and very silent. Her tears seemed dried up;and it was long before she gave sign or token that she heeded him. Atlength, however, he gradually succeeded in rousing her interest; andthe first symptom of his success was in the quiver of her lip, and theoverflow of her downcast eyes. 

By little and little he wormed himself into her confidence; and she toldhim in broken whispers her simple story. But what moved him the mostwas, that beyond her sense of loneliness she did not seem to feel herown unprotected state. She mourned the object she had nursed andheeded and cherished, for she had been rather the protectress than theprotected to the helpless dead. He could not gain from her any moresatisfactory information than the landlady had already imparted, as toher friends and prospects; but she permitted him passively to look amongthe effects her father had left, save only that, if his hand touchedsomething that seemed to her associations especially holy, she waved himback, or drew it quickly away. There were many bills receipted in thename of Captain Digby, old yellow faded music-scores for the flute, extracts of Parts from Prompt Books, gay parts of lively comedies, in which heroes have so noble a contempt for money, --fit heroes fora Sheridan and a Farquhar; close by these were several pawnbroker'stickets; and, not arrayed smoothly, but crumpled up, as if with anindignant nervous clutch of the helpless hands, some two or threeletters. He asked Helen's permission to glance at these, for they mightafford a clew to friends. Helen gave the permission by a silent bend ofthe head. The letters, however, were but short and freezing answers fromwhat appeared to be distant connections or former friends, or personsto whom the deceased had applied for some situation. They were all verydisheartening in their tone. Leonard next endeavoured to refreshHelen's memory as to the name of the nobleman which had been last on herfather's lips; but there he failed wholly. For it may be remembered thatLord L'Estrange, when he pressed his loan on Mr. Digby, and subsequentlytold that gentleman to address him at Mr. Egerton's, had, from a naturaldelicacy, sent the child on, that she might not witness the charitybestowed on the father; and Helen said truly that Mr. Digby had sunklatterly into an habitual silence on all his affairs. She might haveheard her father mention the name, but she had not treasured it up; allshe could say was, that she should know the stranger again if she methim, and his dog too. Seeing that the child had grown calm, Leonard wasthen going to leave the room, in order to confer with the hostess, whenshe rose suddenly, though noiselessly, and put her little hand in his, as if to detain him. She did not say a word; the action said all, --said, "Do not desert me. " And Leonard's heart rushed to his lips, and heanswered to the action, as he bent down, and kissed her cheek, "Orphan, will you go with me? We have one Father yet to both of us, and He willguide us on earth. I am fatherless like you. " She raised her eyes tohis, looked at him long, and then leaned her head confidingly on hisstrong young shoulder. 

CHAPTER VII. 

At noon that same day the young man and the child were on their road toLondon. The host had at first a little demurred at trusting Helen to soyoung a companion; but Leonard, in his happy ignorance, had talked sosanguinely of finding out this lord, or some adequate protectors for thechild; and in so grand a strain, though with all sincerity, had spokenof his own great prospects in the metropolis (he did not say what theywere!) that had he been the craftiest impostor he could not more havetaken in the rustic host. And while the landlady still cherished theillusive fancy that all gentlefolks must know each other in London, asthey did in a county, the landlord believed, at least, that a young manso respectably dressed, although but a foot-traveller, who talked inso confident a tone, and who was so willing to undertake what mightbe rather a burdensome charge, unless he saw how to rid himself of it, would be sure to have friends older and wiser than himself, who wouldjudge what could best be done for the orphan. 

And what was the host to do with her? Better this volunteered escort, at least, than vaguely passing her on from parish to parish, and leavingher friendless at last in the streets of London. Helen, too, smiledfor the first time on being asked her wishes, and again put her hand inLeonard's. In short, so it was settled. 

The little girl made up a bundle of the things she most prized orneeded. Leonard did not feel the additional load, as he slung it to hisknapsack; the rest of the luggage was to be sent to London as soon asLeonard wrote (which he promised to do soon) and gave an address. 

Helen paid her last visit to the churchyard; and she joined hercompanion as he stood on the road, without the solemn precincts. And nowthey had gone on some hours; and when he asked her if she were tired, she still answered "No. " But Leonard was merciful, and made their day'sjourney short; and it took them some days to reach London. By the longlonely way they grew so intimate, at the end of the second day, theycalled each other brother and sister; and Leonard, to his delight, foundthat as her grief, with the bodily movement and the change of scene, subsided from its first intenseness and its insensibility to otherimpressions, she developed a quickness of comprehension far beyond heryears. Poor child! that had been forced upon her by Necessity. Andshe understood him in his spiritual consolations, half poetical, halfreligious; and she listened to his own tale, and the story of hisself-education and solitary struggles, --those, too, she understood. But when he burst out with his enthusiasm, his glorious hopes, hisconfidence in the fate before them, then she would shake her head veryquietly and very sadly. Did she comprehend them! Alas! perhaps too well. She knew more as to real life than he did. Leonard was at first theirjoint treasurer; but before the second day was over, Helen seemed todiscover that he was too lavish; and she told him so, with a prudentgrave look, putting her hand on his arm as he was about to enter aninn to dine; and the gravity would have been comic, but that the eyesthrough their moisture were so meek and grateful. She felt he was aboutto incur that ruinous extravagance on her account. Somehow or other, thepurse found its way into her keeping, and then she looked proud and inher natural element. 

Ah! what happy meals under her care were provided; so much moreenjoyable than in dull, sanded inn-parlours, swarming with flies, andreeking with stale tobacco. She would leave him at the entrance of avillage, bound forward, and cater, and return with a little basket and apretty blue jug--which she had bought on the road, --the last filled withnew milk; the first with new bread, and some special dainty in radishesor water-tresses. And she had such a talent for finding out theprettiest spot whereon to halt and dine: sometimes in the heart of awood, --so still, it was like a forest in fairy tales, the hare stealingthrough the alleys, or the squirrel peeping at them from the boughs;sometimes by a little brawling stream, with the fishes seen under theclear wave, and shooting round the crumbs thrown to them. They made anArcadia of the dull road up to their dread Thermopylae, the war againstthe million that waited them on the other side of their pass throughTempo. 

"Shall we be as happy when we are great?" said Leonard, in his grandsimplicity. 

Helen sighed, and the wise little head was shaken. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

At last they came within easy reach of London; but Leonard had resolvednot to enter the metropolis fatigued and exhausted, as a wandererneeding refuge, but fresh and elate, as a conqueror coming in triumphto take possession of the capital. Therefore they halted early in theevening of the day preceding this imperial entry, about six miles fromthe metropolis, in the neighbourhood of Ealing (for by that route laytheir way). They were not tired on arriving at their inn. The weatherwas singularly lovely, with that combination of softness and brilliancywhich is only known to the rare true summer days of England; all belowso green, above so blue, --days of which we have about six in the year, and recall vaguely when we read of Robin Hood and Maid Marian, of Damseland Knight in Spenser's golden Summer Song, or of Jacques, dropped underthe oak-tree, watching the deer amidst the dells of Ardennes. So, aftera little pause at their inn, they strolled forth, not for travel butpleasure, towards the cool of sunset, passing by the grounds that oncebelonged to the Duke of Kent, and catching a glimpse of the shrubsand lawns of that beautiful domain through the lodge-gates; then theycrossed into some fields, and came to a little rivulet called theBrent. Helen had been more sad that day than on any during theirjourney, --perhaps because, on approaching London, the memory of herfather became more vivid; perhaps from her precocious knowledge of life, and her foreboding of what was to befall them, children that they bothwere. But Leonard was selfish that day; he could not be influenced byhis companion's sorrow; he was so full of his own sense of being, andhe already caught from the atmosphere the fever that belongs to anxiouscapitals. 

"Sit here, sister, " said he, imperiously, throwing himself under theshade of a pollard-tree that overhung the winding brook, "sit here andtalk. "

He flung off his hat, tossed back his rich curls, and sprinkled his browfrom the stream that eddied round the roots of the tree that bulged out, bald and gnarled, from the bank and delved into the waves below. Helenquietly obeyed him, and nestled close to his side. 

"And so this London is really very vast, --VERY?" he repeatedinquisitively. 

"Very, " answered Helen, as, abstractedly, she plucked the cowslips nearher, and let them fall into the running waters. "See how the flowersare carried down the stream! They are lost now. London is to us what theriver is to the flowers, very vast, very strong;" and she added, after apause, "very cruel!"

"Cruel! Ah, it has been so to you; but now--now I will take care ofyou!" he smiled triumphantly; and his smile was beautiful both in itspride and its kindness. It is astonishing how Leonard had altered sincehe had left his uncle's. He was both younger and older; for the sense ofgenius, when it snaps its shackles, makes us both older and wiser as tothe world it soars to, younger and blinder as to the world it springsfrom. 

"And it is not a very handsome city, either, you say?"

"Very ugly indeed, " said Helen, with some fervour; "at least all I haveseen of it. "

"But there must be parts that are prettier than others? You say thereare parks: why should not we lodge near them and look upon the greentrees?"

"That would be nice, " said Helen, almost joyously; "but--" and herethe head was shaken--"there are no lodgings for us except in courts andalleys. "

"Why?"

"Why?" echoed Helen, with a smile, and she held up the purse. 

"Pooh! always that horrid purse; as if, too, we were not going to fillit! Did not I tell you the story of Fortunio? Well, at all events, wewill go first to the neighbourhood where you last lived, and learn thereall we can; and then the day after to-morrow I will see this Dr. Morgan, and find out the lord. "

The tears started to Helen's soft eyes. "You want to get rid of me soon, brother. "

"I! Ah, I feel so happy to have you with me it seems to me as if I hadpined for you all my life, and you had come at last; for I never hadbrother nor sister nor any one to love, that was not older than myself, except--"

"Except the young lady you told me of, " said Helen, turning away herface; for children are very jealous. 

"Yes, I loved her, love her still. But that was different, " saidLeonard. "I could never have talked to her as to you: to you I open mywhole heart; you are my little Muse, Helen: I confess to you my wildwhims and fancies as frankly as if I were writing poetry. " As he saidthis, a step was heard, and a shadow fell over the stream. A belatedangler appeared on the margin, drawing his line impatiently across thewater, as if to worry some dozing fish into a bite before it finallysettled itself for the night. Absorbed in his occupation, the angler didnot observe the young persons on the sward under the tree, and he haltedthere, close upon them. 

"Curse that perch!" said he, aloud. 

"Take care, sir, " cried Leonard; for the man, in stepping back, nearlytrod upon Helen. 

The angler turned. "What 's the matter? Hist! you have frightened myperch. Keep still, can't you?"

Helen drew herself out of the way, and Leonard remained motionless. Heremembered Jackeymo, and felt a sympathy for the angler. 

"It is the most extraordinary perch, that!" muttered the stranger, soliloquizing. "It has the devil's own luck. It must have been bornwith a silver spoon in its mouth, that damned perch! I shall nevercatch it, --never! Ha! no, only a weed. I give it up. " With this, heindignantly jerked his rod from the water and began to disjoint it. While leisurely engaged in this occupation, he turned to Leonard. 

"Humph! are you intimately acquainted with this stream, sir?"

"No, " answered Leonard. "I never saw it before. "

ANGLER, (solemnly). --"Then, young man, take my advice, and do not giveway to its fascinations. Sir, I am a martyr to this stream; it has beenthe Delilah of my existence. "

LEONARD (interested, the last sentence seemed to him poetical). --"TheDelilah! sir, the Delilah!"

ANGLER. --"The Delilah. Young man, listen, and be warned by example. WhenI was about your age, I first came to this stream to fish. Sir, on thatfatal day, about three p. M. , I hooked up a fish, --such a big one, itmust have weighed a pound and a half. Sir, it was that length;" and theangler put finger to wrist. "And just when I had got it nearly ashore, by the very place where you are sitting, on that shelving bank, youngman, the line broke, and the perch twisted himself among those roots, and--cacodaemon that he was--ran off, hook and all. Well, that fishhaunted me; never before had I seen such a fish. Minnows I had caught inthe Thames and elsewhere, also gudgeons, and occasionally a dace. Buta fish like that--a PERCH, all his fins up, like the sails of aman-of-war--a monster perch, --a whale of a perch! No, never till thenhad I known what leviathans lie hid within the deeps. I could not sleeptill I had returned; and again, sir, --I caught that perch. And this timeI pulled him fairly out of the water. He escaped; and how did he escape?Sir, he left his eye behind him on the hook. Years, long years, havepassed since then; but never shall I forget the agony of that moment. "

LEONARD. --"To the perch, sir?"

ANGLER. --"Perch! agony to him! He enjoyed it. Agony to me! I gazed onthat eye, and the eye looked as sly and as wicked as if it were laughingin my face. Well, sir, I had heard that there is no better bait for aperch than a perch's eye. I adjusted that eye on the hook, and droppedin the line gently. The water was unusually clear; in two minutes Isaw that perch return. He approached the hook; he recognized his eye, frisked his tail, made a plunge, and, as I live, carried off theeye, safe and sound; and I saw him digesting it by the side of thatwater-lily. The mocking fiend! Seven times since that day, in the courseof a varied and eventful life, have I caught that perch, and seven timeshas that perch escaped. "

LEONARD (astonished). --"It can't be the same perch; perches are verytender fish. A hook inside of it, and an eye hooked out of it--no perchcould withstand such havoc in its constitution. "

ANGLER (with an appearance of awe). --"It does seem supernatural. But itis that perch; for hark ye, sir, there is ONLY ONE perch in the wholebrook! All the years I have fished here, I have never caught anotherperch; and this solitary inmate of the watery element I know by sightbetter than I knew my own lost father. For each time that I have raisedit out of the water, its profile has been turned to me, and I have seenwith a shudder that it has had only--One Eye! It is a most mysteriousand a most diabolical phenomenon, that perch! It has been the ruin of myprospects in life. I was offered a situation in Jamaica: I could notgo with that perch left here in triumph. I might afterwards have had anappointinent in India, but I could not put the ocean between myselfand that perch: thus have I frittered away my existence in the fatalmetropolis of my native land. And once a week from February to DecemberI come hither. Good heavens! if I should catch the perch at last, theoccupation of my existence will be gone. "

Leonard gazed curiously at the angler, as the last thus mournfullyconcluded. The ornate turn of his periods did not suit with his costume. He looked wofully threadbare and shabby, --a genteel sort of shabbinesstoo, --shabbiness in black. There was humour in the corners of hislip; and his hands, though they did not seem very clean--indeed hisoccupation was not friendly to such niceties--were those of a man whohad not known manual labour. His face was pale and puffed, but the tipof the nose was red. He did not seem as if the watery element was asfamiliar to himself as to his Delilah, the perch. 

"Such is Life!" recommenced the angler, in a moralizing tone, as he slidhis rod into its canvas case. "If a man knew what it was to fish allone's life in a stream that has only one perch, to catch that one perchnine times in all, and nine times to see it fall back into the water, plump, --if a man knew what it was, why, then "--here the angler lookedover his shoulder full at Leonard--"why then, young sir, he would knowwhat human life is to vain ambition. Good-evening. "

Away he went treading over the daisies and kingcups. Helen's eyesfollowed him wistfully. 

"What a strange person!" said Leonard, laughing. 

"I think he is a very wise one, " murmured Helen; and she came close upto Leonard, and took his hand in both hers, as if she felt already thathe was in need of the Comforter, --the line broken, and the perch lost!

CHAPTER IX. 

At noon the next day, London stole upon them through a gloomy, thick, oppressive atmosphere; for where is it that we can say London bursts onthe sight? It stole on them through one of its fairest and most graciousavenues of approach, --by the stately gardens of Kensington, along theside of Hyde Park, and so on towards Cumberland Gate. 

Leonard was not the least struck. And yet with a very little money, anda very little taste, it would be easy to render this entrance to Londonas grand and as imposing as that to Paris from the Champs Elysees. Asthey came near the Edgware Road, Helen took her new brother by thehand and guided him; for she knew all that neighbourhood, and she wasacquainted with a lodging near that occupied by her father (to thatlodging itself she could not have gone for the world), where they mightbe housed cheaply. 

But just then the sky, so dull and overcast since morning, seemed onemass of black cloud. There suddenly came on a violent storm of rain. Theboy and girl took refuge in a covered mews, in a street running outof the Edgware Road. This shelter soon became crowded; the two youngpilgrims crept close to the wall, apart from the rest, Leonard's armround Helen's waist, sheltering her from the rain that the strongwind contending with it beat in through the passage. Presently a younggentleman of better mien and dress than the other refugees entered, nothastily, but rather with a slow and proud step, as if, though he deignedto take shelter, he scorned to run to it. He glanced somewhat haughtilyat the assembled group, passed on through the midst of it, came nearLeonard, took off his hat, and shook the rain from its brim. His headthus uncovered, left all his features exposed; and the village youthrecognized, at the first glance, his old victorious assailant on thegreen at Hazeldean. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Yet Randal Leslie was altered. His dark cheek was as thin as in boyhood, and even yet more wasted by intense study and night vigils; but theexpression of his face was at once more refined and manly, and there wasa steady concentrated light in his eye, like that of one who has beenin the habit of bringing all his thoughts to one point. He looked olderthan he was. He was dressed simply in black, a colour which becamehim; and altogether his aspect and figure were, not showy indeed, butdistinguished. He looked to the common eye a gentleman; and to the moreobservant a scholar. 

Helter-skelter! pell-mell! the group in the passage now pressed eachon each, now scattered on all sides, making way, rushing down the mews, against the walls, as a fiery horse darted under shelter. The rider, ayoung man with a very handsome face, and dressed with that peculiar carewhich we commonly call dandyism, cried out, good-humouredly, "Don't beafraid; the horse sha'n't hurt any of you. A thousand pardons--so ho! soho!" He patted the horse, and it stood as still as a statue, filling upthe centre of the passage. The groups resettled; Randal approached therider. 

"Frank Hazeldean!"

"Ah, is it indeed Randal Leslie?"

Frank was off his horse in a moment, and the bridle was consigned to thecare of a slim 'prentice-boy holding a bundle. 

"My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you. How lucky it was that Ishould turn in here. Not like me either, for I don't much care for aducking. Staying in town, Randal?"

"Yes; at your uncle's, Mr. Egerton. I have left Oxford. "

"For good?"

"For good. "

"But you have not taken your degree, I think? We Etonians all consideredyou booked for a double-first. Oh, we have been so proud of yourfame, --you carried off all the prizes. "

"Not all; but some, certainly. Mr. Egerton offered me my choice, --tostay for my degree, or to enter at once into the Foreign Office. Ipreferred the end to the means. For, after all, what good are academicalhonours but as the entrance to life? To enter now is to save a step in along way, Frank. "

"Ah, you were always ambitious, and you will make a great figure, I amsure. "

"Perhaps so--if I work for it. Knowledge is power. " Leonard started. 

"And you!" resumed Randal, looking with some curious attention at hisold schoolfellow. "You never came to Oxford. I did hear you were goinginto the army. "

"I am in the Guards, " said Frank, trying hard not to look too conceitedas he made that acknowledgment. "The governor pished a little, and wouldrather I had come to live with him in the old Hall, and take to farming. Time enough for that, eh? By Jove, Randal, how pleasant a thing is lifein London! Do you go to Almack's to-night?"

"No; Wednesday is a holiday in the House. There is a great parliamentarydinner at Mr. Egerton's. He is in the Cabinet now, you know; but youdon't see much of your uncle, I think. "

"Our sets are different, " said the young gentleman, in a tone of voiceworthy of Brummel. "All those parliamentary fellows are devilish dull. The rain's over. I don't know whether the governor would like me to callat Grosvenor Square; but pray come and see me. Here's my card to remindyou; you must dine at our mess. Such capital fellows! What day will youfix?"

"I will call and let you know. Don't you find it rather expensive in theGuards? I remember that you thought the governor, as you call him, usedto chafe a little when you wrote for more pocket-money; and the onlytime I ever saw you with tears in your eyes was when Mr. Hazeldean, insending you L5, reminded you that his estates were not entailed, --wereat his own disposal, and they should never go to an extravagantspendthrift. It was not a pleasant threat that, Frank. "

"Oh!" cried the young man, colouring deeply. "It was not the threat thatpained me; it was that my father could think so meanly of me as tofancy that--Well, well, but those were schoolboy days. And my father wasalways more generous than I deserved. We must see a great deal of eachother, Randal. How good-natured you were at Eton, making my longs andshorts for me; I shall never forget it. Do call soon. "

Frank swung himself into his saddle, and rewarded the slim youth withhalf-a-crown, --a largess four times more ample than his father wouldhave deemed sufficient. A jerk of the reins and a touch of the heel, offbounded the fiery horse and the gay young rider. Randal mused, and asthe rain had now ceased, the passengers under shelter dispersed and wenttheir way. Only Randal, Leonard, and Helen remained behind. Then, asRandal, still musing, lifted his eyes, they fell full upon Leonard'sface. He started, passed his hand quickly over his brow, looked again, hard and piercingly; and the change in his pale cheek to a shade stillpaler, a quick compression and nervous gnawing of his lip, showed thathe too recognized an old foe. Then his glance ran over Leonard's dress, which was somewhat dust-stained, but far above the class amongst whichthe peasant was born. Randal raised his brows in surprise, and with asmile slightly supercilious--the smile stung Leonard--and with a slowstep, Randal left the passage, and took his way towards GrosvenorSquare. The Entrance of Ambition was clear to him. 

Then the little girl once more took Leonard by the hand, and led himthrough rows of humble, obscure, dreary streets. It seemed almost likean allegory personified, as the sad, silent child led on the pennilessand low-born adventurer of genius by the squalid shops and throughthe winding lanes, which grew meaner and meaner, till both their formsvanished from the view. 

CHAPTER X. 

"But do come; change your dress, return and dine with me; you will havejust time, Harley. You will meet the most eminent men of our party;surely they are worth your study, philosopher that you affect to be. "

Thus said Audley Egerton to Lord L'Estrange, with whom he had beenriding (after the toils of his office). The two gentlemen were inAudley's library, --Mr. Egerton, as usual, buttoned up, seated in hischair, in the erect posture of a man who scorns "inglorious ease;"Harley, as usual, thrown at length on the sofa. , his long hair incareless curls, his neckcloth loose, his habiliments flowing simplexmundit is, indeed, his grace all his own; seemingly negligent, neverslovenly; at ease everywhere and with every one, even with Mr. AudleyEgerton, who chilled or awed the ease out of most people. 

"Nay, my dear Audley, forgive me. But your eminent men are all men ofone idea, and that not a diverting one, politics! politics! politics!The storm in the saucer. "

"But what is your life, Harley?--the saucer without the storm?"

"Do you know, that's very well said, Audley? I did not think you hadso much liveliness of repartee. Life! life! it is insipid, it isshallow, --no launching Argosies in the saucer. Audley, I have the oddestfancy--"

"That of course, " said Audley, dryly; "you never had any other. What isthe new one?"

HARLEY (with great gravity). --"Do you believe in Mesmerism?"

AUDLEY. --"Certainly not. "

HARLEY. --"If it were in the power of an animal magnetizer to get me outof my own skin into somebody's else! That's my fancy! I am so tired ofmyself, --so tired! I have run through all my ideas, --know every one ofthem by heart. When some pretentious impostor of an idea perks itself upand says, 'Look at me, --I 'm a new acquaintance, ' I just give it a nod, and say 'Not at all, you have only got a new coat on; you are the sameold wretch that has bored me these last twenty years; get away. ' Butif one could be in a new skin, if I could be for half-an-hour your tallporter, or one of your eminent matter-of-fact men, I should then reallytravel into a new world. ' Every man's brain must be a world initself, eh? If I could but make a parochial settlement even in yours, Audley, --run over all your thoughts and sensations. Upon my life, I 'llgo and talk to that French mesmerizer about it. "

 [If, at the date in which Lord L'Estrange held this conversation with Mr. Egerton, Alfred de Musset had written his comedies, we should suspect that his lordship had plagiarized from one of them the whimsical idea that he here vents upon Audley. In repeating it, the author at least cannot escape from the charge of obligation to a writer whose humour is sufficiently opulent to justify the loan. ]

AUDLEY (who does not seem to like the notion of having his thoughtsand sensations rummaged, even by his friend, and even in fancy)--"Pooh, pooh, pooh! Do talk like a man of sense. "

HARLEY. --"Man of sense! Where shall I find a model? I don't know a manof sense!--never met such a creature. Don't believe it ever existed. Atone time I thought Socrates must have been a man of sense: a delusion;he would stand gazing into the air, and talking to his Genius fromsunrise to sunset. Is that like a man of sense? Poor Audley! how puzzledhe looks! Well, I'll try and talk sense to oblige you. And first" (hereHarley raised himself on his elbow), --"first, is it true, as I haveheard vaguely, that you are paying court to the sister of that infamousItalian traitor?"

"Madame di Negra? No: I am not paying court to her, " answered Audley, with a cold smile. "But she is very handsome; she is very clever; she isuseful to me, --I need not say how or why; that belongs to my metier as apolitician. But I think, if you will take my advice, or get your friendto take it, I could obtain from her brother, through my influence withher, some liberal concessions to your exile. She is very anxious to knowwhere he is. "

"You have not told her?"

"No; I promised you I would keep that secret. "

"Be sure you do; it is only for some mischief, some snare, that shecould desire such information. Concessions! pooh! This is no question ofconcessions, but of rights. "

"I think you should leave your friend to judge of that. "

"Well, I will write to him. Meanwhile, beware of this woman. I haveheard much of her abroad, and she has the character of her brother forduplicity and--"

"Beauty, " interrupted Audley, turning the conversation with practisedadroitness. "I am told that the count is one of the handsomest men inEurope, much handsomer than his sister still, though nearly twice herage. Tut, tut, Harley; fear not for me. I am proof against all feminineattractions. This heart is dead. "

"Nay, nay; it is not for you to speak thus, --leave that to me. But evenI will not say it. The heart never dies. And you; what have you lost?--awife; true: an excellent, noble-hearted woman. But was it love that youfelt for her? Enviable man, have you ever loved?"

"Perhaps not, Harley, " said Audley, with a sombre aspect and in dejectedaccents; "very few men ever have loved, at least as you mean by theword. But there are other passions than love that kill the heart, andreduce us to mechanism. "

While Egerton spoke, Harley turned aside, and his breast heaved. Therewas a short silence; Audley was the first to break it. 

"Speaking of my lost wife, I am sorry that you do not approve what Ihave done for her young kinsman, Randal Leslie. "

HARLEY (recovering himself with an effort). --"Is it true kindness tobid him exchange manly independence for the protection of an officialpatron?"

AUDLEV. --"I did not bid him. I gave him his choice. At his age, I shouldhave chosen as he has done. "

HARLEY. --"I trust not; I think better of you. But answer me one questionfrankly, and then I will ask another. Do you mean to make this young manyour heir?"

AUDLEY (with a slight embarrassment). --"Heir, pooh! I am young still. Imay live as long as he--time enough to think of that. "

HARLEY. --"Then now to my second question. Have you told this youthplainly that he may look to you for influence, but not for wealth?"

AUDLEY (firmly). --"I think I have; but I shall repeat it moreemphatically. "

HARLEY. --"Then I am satisfied as to your conduct, but not as to his. For he has too acute an intellect not to know what it is to forfeitindependence; and, depend on it, he has made his calculations, and wouldthrow you into the bargain in any balance that he could strike in hisfavour. You go by your experience in judging men; I by my instincts. Nature warns us as it does the inferior animals, --only we are tooconceited, we bipeds, to heed her. My instincts of soldier and gentlemanrecoil from that old young man. He has the soul of the Jesuit. I seeit in his eye, I hear it in the tread of his foot; volto sciolto he hasnot; _i pensieri stretti_ he has. Hist! I hear now his step in the hall. I should know it from a thousand. That's his very touch on the handle ofthe door. "

Randal Leslie entered. Harley--who, despite his disregard for forms, andhis dislike to Randal, was too high-bred not to be polite to his juniorin age or inferior in rank-rose and bowed. But his bright piercing eyesdid not soften as they caught and bore down the deeper and more latentfire in Randal's. Harley did not resume his seat, but moved to themantelpiece, and leaned against it. 

RANDAL. --"I have fulfilled your commissions, Mr. Egerton. I went firstto Maida Hill, and saw Mr. Burley. I gave him the check, but he said itwas too much, and he should return half to the banker; he will write thearticle as you suggested. I then--"

AUDLEY. --"Enough, Randal! we will not fatigue Lord L'Estrange with theselittle details of a life that displeases him, --the life political. "

HARLEY. --"But these details do not displease me; they reconcile me to myown life. Go on, pray, Mr. Leslie. "

Randal had too much tact to need the cautioning glance of Mr. Egerton. He did not continue, but said with a soft voice, "Do you think, LordL'Estrange, that the contemplation of the mode of life pursued by otherscan reconcile a man to his own, if he had before thought it needed areconciler?" Harley looked pleased, for the question was ironical; andif there was a thing in the world be abhorred, it was flattery. 

"Recollect your Lucretius, Mr. Leslie, the Suave mare, etc. , 'pleasantfrom the cliff to see the mariners tossed on the ocean. ' Faith, I thinkthat sight reconciles one to the cliff, though, before, one might havebeen teased by the splash from the spray, and deafened by the screamof the sea-gulls. But I leave you, Audley. Strange that I have heard nomore of my soldier! Remember I have your promise when I come to claimit. Good-by, Mr. Leslie, I hope that Burley's article will be worth thecheck. "

Lord L'Estrange mounted his horse, which was still at the door, and rodethrough the Park. But he was no longer now unknown by sight. Bows andnods saluted him on every side. 

"Alas, I am found out, then, " said he to himself. "That terrible Duchessof Knaresborough, too--I must fly my country. " He pushed his horse intoa canter, and was soon out of the Park. As he dismounted at hisfather's sequestered house, you would have hardly supposed him the samewhimsical, fantastic, but deep and subtle humourist that delighted inperplexing the material Audley, for his expressive face was unutterablyserious. But the moment he came into the presence of his parents, thecountenance was again lighted and cheerful. It brightened the whole roomlike sunshine. 

CHAPTER XI. 

"Mr. Leslie, " said Egerton, when Harley had left the library, "you didnot act with your usual discretion in touching upon matters connectedwith politics in the presence of a third party. "

"I feel that already, sir; my excuse is, that I held Lord L'Estrange tobe your most intimate friend. "

"A public man, Mr. Leslie, would ill serve his country if he were notespecially reserved towards his private friends--when they do not belongto his party. "

"But pardon me my ignorance. Lord Lansmere is so well known to be one ofyour supporters, that I fancied his son must share his sentiments, andbe in your confidence. "

Egerton's brows slightly contracted, and gave a stern expression to acountenance always firm and decided. He however answered in a mild tone, "At the entrance into political life, Mr. Leslie, there is nothingin which a young man of your talents should be more on his guard thanthinking for himself; he will nearly always think wrong. And I believethat is one reason why young men of talent disappoint their friends, andremain so long out of office. "

A haughty flush passed over Randal's brow, and faded away quickly; hebowed in silence. 

Egerton resumed, as if in explanation, and even in kindly apology, "Look at Lord L'Estrange himself. What young man could come into lifewith brighter auspices? Rank, wealth, high animal spirits (a greatadvantage those same spirits, Mr. Leslie), courage, self-possession, scholarship as brilliant perhaps as your own; and now see how his lifeis wasted! Why? He always thought fit to think for himself. He couldnever be broken into harness, and never will be. The state coach, Mr. Leslie, requires that all the horses should pull together. "

"With submission, sir, " answered Randal, "I should think that there wereother reasons why Lord L'Estrange, whatever be his talents--and of theseyou must be indeed an adequate judge--would never do anything in publiclife. "

"Ay, and what?" said Egerton, quickly. 

"First, " said Randal, shrewdly, "private life has done too much for him. What could public life give to one who needs nothing? Born at the topof the social ladder, why should he put himself voluntarily at the laststep, for the sake of climbing up again? And secondly, Lord L'Estrangeseems to me a man in whose organization sentiment usurps too large ashare for practical existence. "

"You have a keen eye, " said Audley, with some admiration, --"keen for oneso young. Poor Harley!"

Mr. Egerton's last words were said to himself. He resumed quickly, "There is something on my mind, my young friend. Let us be frank witheach other. I placed before you fairly the advantages and disadvantagesof the choice I gave you. To take your degree with such honours as nodoubt you would have won, to obtain your fellowship, to go to the Bar, with those credentials in favour of your talents, --this was one career. To come at once into public life, to profit by my experience, availyourself of my interest, to take the chances of rise or fall with aparty, --this was another. You chose the last. But in so doing, therewas a consideration which might weigh with you, and on which, in statingyour reasons for your option, you were silent. "

"What is that, sir?"

"You might have counted on my fortune, should the chances of party failyou: speak, and without shame if so; it would be natural in a young man, who comes from the elder branch of the House whose heiress was my wife. "

"You wound me, Mr. Egerton, " said Randal, turning away. 

Mr. Egerton's cold glance followed Randal's movements; the face was hidfrom the glance, and the statesman's eye rested on the figure, which isoften as self-betraying as the countenance itself. Randal baffled Mr. Egerton's penetration, --the young man's emotion might be honest prideand pained and generous feeling, or it might be something else. Egertoncontinued slowly, "Once for all, then, distinctly and emphatically, I say, never countupon that; count upon all else that I can do for you, and forgive mewhen I advise harshly or censure coldly; ascribe this to my interest inyour career. Moreover, before decision becomes irrevocable, I wish youto know practically all that is disagreeable or even humiliating in thefirst subordinate steps of him who, without wealth or station, wouldrise in public life. I will not consider your choice settled till theend of a year at least, --your name will be kept on the college bookstill then; if on experience you should prefer to return to Oxford, andpursue the slower but surer path to independence and distinction, youcan. And now give me your hand, Mr. Leslie, in sign that you forgive mybluntness: it is time to dress. "

Randal, with his face still averted, extended his hand. Mr. Egerton heldit a moment, then dropping it, left the room. Randal turned as the doorclosed; and there was in his dark face a power of sinister passion, thatjustified all Harley's warnings. His lips moved, but not audibly; thenas if struck by a sudden thought, he followed Egerton into the hall. 

"Sir, " said he, "I forgot to say, that on returning from Maida Hill, I took shelter from the rain under a covered passage, and there I metunexpectedly with your nephew, Frank Hazeldean. "

"Ah!" said Egerton, indifferently, "a fine young man; in the Guards. It is a pity that my brother has such antiquated political notions; heshould put his son into parliament, and under my guidance; I could pushhim. Well, and what said Frank?"

"He invited me to call on him. I remember that you once rather cautionedme against too intimate an acquaintance with those who have not gottheir fortunes to make. "

"Because they are idle, and idleness is contagious. Right, --better notto be too intimate with a young Guardsman. "

"Then you would not have me call on him, sir? We were rather friendsat Eton; and if I wholly reject his overtures, might he not think thatyou--"

"I!" interrupted Egerton. "Ah, true; my brother might think I bore hima grudge; absurd. Call then, and ask the young man here. Yet still, I donot advise intimacy. " Egerton turned into his dressing-room. "Sir, "said his valet, who was in waiting, "Mr. Levy is here, --he says byappointment; and Mr. Grinders is also just come from the country. "

"Tell Mr. Grinders to come in first, " said Egerton, seating himself. "You need not wait; I can dress without you. Tell Mr. Levy I will seehim in five minutes. "

Mr. Grinders was steward to Audley Egerton. 

Mr. Levy was a handsome man, who wore a camellia in his button-hole;drove, in his cabriolet, a high-stepping horse that had cost L200; waswell known to young men of fashion, and considered by their fathers avery dangerous acquaintance. 

CHAPTER XII. 

As the company assembled in the drawing-rooms, Mr. Egerton introducedRandal Leslie to his eminent friends in a way that greatly contrastedthe distant and admonitory manner which he had exhibited to him inprivate. The presentation was made with that cordiality and thatgracious respect, by which those who are in station command notice forthose who have their station yet to win. 

"My dear lord, let me introduce to you a kinsman of my late wife's" (ina whisper), --"the heir to the elder branch of her family. Stanmore, thisis Mr. Leslie, of whom I spoke to you. You, who were so distinguishedat Oxford, will not like him the worse for the prizes he gained there. Duke, let me present to you Mr. Leslie. The duchess is angry with me fordeserting her balls; I shall hope to make my peace, by providing myselfwith a younger and livelier substitute. Ah, Mr. Howard, here is a younggentleman just fresh from Oxford, who will tell us all about the newsect springing up there. He has not wasted his time on billiards andhorses. "

Leslie was received with all that charming courtesy which is the ToKalon of an aristocracy. 

After dinner, conversation settled on politics. Randal listened withattention, and in silence, till Egerton drew him gently out; justenough, and no more, --just enough to make his intelligence evident, andwithout subjecting him to the charge of laying down the law. Egertonknew how to draw out young men, --a difficult art. It was one reason whyhe was so peculiarly popular with the more rising members of his party. 

The party broke up early. 

"We are in time for Almack's, " said Egerton, glancing at the clock, "andI have a voucher for you; come. "

Randal followed his patron into the carriage. By the way Egerton thusaddressed him, "I shall introduce you to the principal leaders of society; know themand study them: I do not advise you to attempt to do more, --that is, toattempt to become the fashion. It is a very expensive ambition: some menit helps, most men it ruins. On the whole, you have better cards in yourhands. Dance or not as it pleases you; don't flirt. If you flirt peoplewill inquire into your fortune, --an inquiry that will do you littlegood; and flirting entangles a young man into marrying. That would neverdo. Here we are. "

In two minutes more they were in the great ballroom, and Randal's eyeswere dazzled with the lights, the diamonds, the blaze of beauty. Audley presented him in quick succession to some dozen ladies, and thendisappeared amidst the crowd. Randal was not at a loss: he was withoutshyness; or if he had that disabling infirmity, he concealed it. Heanswered the languid questions put to him with a certain spiritthat kept up talk, and left a favourable impression of his agreeablequalities. But the lady with whom he got on the best was one who had nodaughters out, a handsome and witty woman of the world, --Lady FrederickConiers. 

"It is your first ball at Almack's then, Mr. Leslie?"

"My first. "

"And you have not secured a partner? Shall I find you one? What do youthink of that pretty girl in pink?"

"I see her--but I cannot think of her. "

"You are rather, perhaps, like a diplomatist in a new court, and yourfirst object is to know who is who. "

"I confess that on beginning to study the history of my own day I shouldlike to distinguish the portraits that illustrate the memoir. "

"Give me your arm, then, and we will come into the next room. We shallsee the different notabilites enter one by one, and observe withoutbeing observed. This is the least I can do for a friend of Mr. Egerton's. "

"Mr. Egerton, then, " said Randal, --as they threaded their way throughthe space without the rope that protected the dancers, --"Mr. Egerton hashad the good fortune to win your esteem even for his friends, howeverobscure?"

"Why, to say truth, I think no one whom Mr. Egerton calls his friendneed long remain obscure, if he has the ambition to be otherwise; forMr. Egerton holds it a maxim never to forget a friend nor a service. "

"Ah, indeed!" said Randal, surprised. 

"And therefore, " continued Lady Frederick, "as he passes through life, friends gather round him. He will rise even higher yet. Gratitude, Mr. Leslie, is a very good policy. "

"Hem, " muttered Mr. Leslie. 

They had now gained the room where tea and bread and butter were thehomely refreshments to the habitues of what at that day was the mostexclusive assembly in London. They ensconced themselves in a corner bya window, and Lady Frederick performed her task of cicerone withlively ease, accompanying each notice of the various persons whopassed panoramically before them with sketch and anecdote, sometimesgood-natured, generally satirical, always graphic and amusing. 

By and by Frank Hazeldean, having on his arm a young lady of haughty airand with high though delicate features, came to the tea-table. 

"The last new Guardsman, " said Lady Frederick; "very handsome, and notyet quite spoiled. But he has got into a dangerous set. "

RANDAL. --"The young lady with him is handsome enough to be dangerous. "

LADY FREDERICK (laughing). --"No danger for him there, --as yet at least. Lady Mary (the Duke of Knaresborough's daughter) is only in her secondyear. The first year, nothing under an earl; the second, nothing undera baron. It will be full four years before she comes down to a commoner. Mr. Hazeldean's danger is of another kind. He lives much with men whoare not exactly mauvais ton, but certainly not of the best taste. Yethe is very young; he may extricate himself, --leaving half his fortunebehind him. What, he nods to you! You know him?"

"Very well; he is nephew to Mr. Egerton. "

"Indeed! I did not know that. Hazeldean is a new name in London. I heardhis father was a plain country gentleman, of good fortune, but not thathe was related to Mr. Egerton. "

"Half-brother. "

"Will Mr. Egerton pay the young gentleman's debts? He has no sonshimself. "

RANDAL. --"Mr. Egerton's fortune comes from his wife, from myfamily, --from a Leslie, not from a Hazeldean. " Lady Frederick turnedsharply, looked at Randal's countenance with more attention than she hadyet vouchsafed to it, and tried to talk of the Leslies. Randal was veryshort there. 

An hour afterwards, Randal, who had not danced, was still in therefreshment-room, but Lady Frederick had long quitted him. He wastalking with some old Etonians who had recognized him, when thereentered a lady of very remarkable appearance, and a murmur passedthrough the room as she appeared. 

She might be three or four and twenty. She was dressed in black velvet, which contrasted with the alabaster whiteness of her throat and theclear paleness of her complexion, while it set off the diamonds withwhich she was profusely covered. Her hair was of the deepest jet, and worn simply braided. Her eyes, too, were dark and brilliant, herfeatures regular and striking; but their expression, when in repose, wasnot prepossessing to such as love modesty and softness in the looksof woman. But when she spoke and smiled, there was so much spirit andvivacity in the countenance, so much fascination in the smile, that allwhich might before have marred the effect of her beauty strangely andsuddenly disappeared. 

"Who is that very handsome woman?" asked Randal. "An Italian, --aMarchesa something, " said one of the Etonians. 

"Di Negra, " suggested another, who had been abroad: "she is a widow; herhusband was of the great Genoese family of Negra, --a younger branch ofit. "

Several men now gathered thickly around the fair Italian. A few ladiesof the highest rank spoke to her, but with a more distant courtesy thanladies of high rank usually show to foreigners of such quality as Madamedi Negra. Ladies of rank less elevated seemed rather shy of her, --thatmight be from jealousy. As Randal gazed at the marchesa with moreadmiration than any woman, perhaps, had before excited in him, he hearda voice near him say, "Oh, Madame di Negra is resolved to settle amongst us, and marry anEnglishman. "

"If she can find one sufficiently courageous, " returned a female voice. 

"Well, she's trying hard for Egerton, and he has courage enough foranything. "

The female voice replied, with a laugh, "Mr Egerton knows the world toowell, and has resisted too many temptations to be--"

"Hush! there he is. "

Egerton came into the room with his usual firm step and erect mien. Randal observed that a quick glance was exchanged between him and themarchesa; but the minister passed her by with a bow. 

Still Randal watched, and, ten minutes afterwards, Egerton and themarchesa were seated apart in the very same convenient nook that Randaland Lady Frederick had occupied an hour or so before. 

"Is this the reason why Mr. Egerton so insultingly warns me againstcounting on his fortune?" muttered Randal. "Does he mean to marryagain?"

Unjust suspicion!--for, at that moment, these were the words that AudleyEgerton was dropping forth from his lips of bronze, "Nay, dear madam, do not ascribe to my frank admiration more gallantrythan it merits. Your conversation charms me, your beauty delights me;your society is as a holiday that I look forward to in the fatigues ofmy life. But I have done with love, and I shall never marry again. "

"You almost pique me into trying to win, in order to reject you, " saidthe Italian, with a flash from her bright eyes. 

"I defy even you, " answered Audley, with his cold hard smile. "But toreturn to the point. You have more influence, at least, over this subtleambassador; and the secret we speak of I rely on you to obtain me. Ah, Madam, let us rest friends. You see I have conquered the unjustprejudices against you; you are received and feted everywhere, asbecomes your birth and your attractions. Rely on me ever, as I on you. But I shall excite too much envy if I stay here longer, and am vainenough to think that I may injure you if I provoke the gossip of theill-natured. As the avowed friend, I can serve you; as the supposedlover, No--" Audley rose as he said this, and, standing by the chair, added carelessly, "--propos, the sum you do me the honour to borrow willbe paid to your bankers to-morrow. "

"A thousand thanks! my brother will hasten to repay you. "

Audley bowed. "Your brother, I hope, will repay me in person, notbefore. When does he come?"

"Oh, he has again postponed his visit to London; he is so much needed inVienna. But while we are talking of him, allow me to ask if your friend, Lord L'Estrange, is indeed still so bitter against that poor brother ofmine?"

"Still the same. "

"It is shameful!" cried the Italian, with warmth; "what has my brotherever done to him that he should actually intrigue against the count inhis own court?"

"Intrigue! I think you wrong Lord L'Estrange; he but represented what hebelieved to be the truth, in defence of a ruined exile. "

"And you will not tell me where that exile is, or if his daughter stilllives?"

"My dear marchesa, I have called you friend, therefore I will not aidL'Estrange to injure you or yours. But I call L'Estrange a friend also;and I cannot violate the trust that--" Audley stopped short, and bithis lip. "You understand me, " he resumed, with a more genial smile thanusual; and he took his leave. 

The Italian's brows met as her eye followed him; then, as she too rose, that eye encountered Randal's. 

"That young man has the eye of an Italian, " said the marchesa toherself, as she passed by him into the ballroom. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Leonard and Helen settled themselves in two little chambers in a smalllane. The neighbourhood was dull enough, the accommodation humble; buttheir landlady had a smile. That was the reason, perhaps, why Helenchose the lodgings: a smile is not always found on the face of alandlady when the lodger is poor. And out of their windows theycaught sight of a green tree, an elm, that grew up fair and tall in acarpenter's yard at the rear. That tree was like another smile to theplace. They saw the birds come and go to its shelter; and they evenheard, when a breeze arose, the pleasant murmur of its boughs. 

Leonard went the same evening to Captain Digby's old lodgings, but hecould learn there no intelligence of friends or protectors for Helen. The people were rude and surly, and said that the captain still owedthem L1 17s. The claim, however, seemed very disputable, and was stoutlydenied by Helen. The next morning Leonard set out in search of Dr. Morgan. He thought his best plan was to inquire the address of thedoctor at the nearest chemist's, and the chemist civilly looked intothe "Court Guide, " and referred him to a house in Bulstrode Street, Manchester Square. To this street Leonard contrived to find his way, much marvelling at the meanness of London: Screwstown seemed to him thehandsomer town of the two. 

A shabby man-servant opened the door, and Leonard remarked that thenarrow passage was choked with boxes, trunks, and various articles offurniture. He was shown into a small room containing a very large roundtable, whereon were sundry works on homoeopathy, Parry's "CymbrianPlutarch, " Davies's "Celtic Researches, " and a Sunday news paper. Anengraved portrait of the illustrious Hahnemann occupied the place ofhonour over the chimneypiece. In a few minutes the door to an inner roomopened, and Dr. Morgan appeared, and said politely, "Come in, sir. "

The doctor seated himself at a desk, looked hastily at Leonard, and thenat a great chronometer lying on the table. "My time's short, sir, --goingabroad: and now that I am going, patients flock to me. Too late. Londonwill repent its apathy. Let it!"

The doctor paused majestically, and not remarking on Leonard's face theconsternation he had anticipated, he repeated peevishly, "I am goingabroad, sir, but I will make a synopsis of your case, and leave it to mysuccessor. Hum!

"Hair chestnut; eyes--what colour? Look this way, --blue, dark blue. Hem!Constitution nervous. What are the symptoms?"

"Sir, " began Leonard, "a little girl--"

DR. MORGAN (impatiently). --"Little girl; never mind the history of yoursufferings; stick to the symptoms, --stick to the symptoms. "

LEONARD. --"YOU mistake me, Doctor, I have nothing the matter with me. Alittle girl--"

DR. MORGAN. --"Girl again! I understand! it is she who is ill. Shall Igo to her? She must describe her own symptoms, --I can't judge from yourtalk. You'll be telling me she has consumption, or dyspepsia, or somesuch disease that don't exist: mere allopathic inventions, --symptoms, sir, symptoms. "

LEONARD (forcing his way). --"You attended her poor father, CaptainDigby, when he was taken ill in the coach with you. He is dead, and hischild is an orphan. "

DR. MORGAN (fumbling in his medical pocket-book). --"Orphan! nothing fororphans, especially if inconsolable, like aconite and chamomilla. "

 [It may be necessary to observe that homoeopathy professes to deal with our moral affections as well as with our physical maladies, and has a globule for every sorrow. ]

With some difficulty Leonard succeeded in bringing Helen to therecollection of the homoeopathist, stating how he came in charge of her, and why he sought Dr. Morgan. 

The doctor was much moved. 

"But, really, " said he, after a pause, "I don't see how I can help thepoor child. I know nothing of her relations. This Lord Les--whatever hisname is--I know of no lords in London. I knew lords, and physickedthem too, when I was a blundering allopathist. There was the Earl ofLansmere, --has had many a blue pill from me, sinner that I was. Hisson was wiser; never would take physic. Very clever boy was LordL'Estrange--"

"Lord L'Estrange! that name begins with Les--"

"Stuff! He's always abroad, --shows his sense. I'm going abroad too. Nodevelopment for science in this horrid city, --full of prejudices, sir, and given up to the most barbarous allopathical and phlebotomicalpropensities. I am going to the land of Hahnemann, sir, --sold mygood-will, lease, and furniture, and have bought in on the Rhine. Natural life there, sir, --homeeopathy needs nature: dine at one o'clock, get up at four, tea little known, and science appreciated. But I forget. Cott! what can I do for the orphan?"

"Well, sir, " said Leonard, rising, "Heaven will give me strength tosupport her. "

The doctor looked at the young man attentively. "And yet, " said he, in agentler voice, "you, young man, are, by your account, a perfect strangerto her, or were so when you undertook to bring her to London. You have agood heart, always keep it. Very healthy thing, sir, a good heart, --thatis, when not carried to excess. But you have friends of your own intown?"

LEONARD. --"Not yet, sir; I hope to make them. "

DOCTOR. --"Pless me, you do? How?--I can't make any. "

Leonard coloured and hung his head. He longed to say, "Authors findfriends in their readers, --I am going to be an author. " But he felt thatthe reply would savour of presumption, and held his tongue. 

The doctor continued to examine him, and with friendly interest. "Yousay you walked up to London: was that from choice or economy?"

LEONARD. --"Both, sir. "

DOCTOR. --"Sit down again, and let us talk. I can give you a quarter ofan hour, and I'll see if I can help either of you, provided you tell meall the symptoms, --I mean all the particulars. "

Then, with that peculiar adroitness which belongs to experience in themedical profession, Dr. Morgan, who was really an acute and able man, proceeded to put his questions, and soon extracted from Leonard theboy's history and hopes. But when the doctor, in admiration at asimplicity which contrasted so evident an intelligence, finally askedhim his name and connections, and Leonard told them, the homoeopathistactually started. "Leonard Fairfield, grandson of my old friend, JohnAvenel of Lansmere! I must shake you by the hand. Brought up by Mrs. Fairfield!--

"Ah, now I look, strong family likeness, --very strong"

The tears stood in the doctor's eyes. "Poor Nora!" said he. 

"Nora! Did you know my aunt?"

"Your aunt! Ah! ah! yes, yes! Poor Nora! she died almost in thesearms, --so young, so beautiful. I remember it as if yesterday. "

The doctor brushed his hand across his eyes, and swallowed a globule;and before the boy knew what he was about, had, in his benevolence, thrust another between Leonard's quivering lips. 

A knock was heard at the door. 

"Ha! that 's my great patient, " cried the doctor, recoveringhis self-possession, --"must see him. A chronic case, excellentpatient, --tic, sir, tic. Puzzling and interesting. If I could takethat tic with me, I should ask nothing more from Heaven. Call again onMonday; I may have something to tell you then as to yourself. The littlegirl can't stay with you, --wrong and nonsensical! I will see after her. Leave me your address, --write it here. I think I know a lady who willtake charge of her. Good-by. Monday next, ten o'clock. " With this, thedoctor thrust out Leonard, and ushered in his grand patient, whom he wasvery anxious to take with him to the banks of the Rhine. 

Leonard had now only to discover the nobleman whose name had been sovaguely uttered by poor Captain Digby. He had again recourse to the"Court Guide;" and finding the address of two or three lords the firstsyllable of whose titles seemed similar to that repeated to him, andall living pretty near to each other, in the regions of Mayfair, heascertained his way to that quarter, and, exercising his mother-wit, inquired at the neighbouring shops as to the personal appearance ofthese noblemen. Out of consideration for his rusticity, he got verycivil and clear answers; but none of the lords in question correspondedwith the description given by Helen. One was old, another wasexceedingly corpulent, a third was bedridden, --none of them was known tokeep a great dog. It is needless to say that the name of L'Estrange(no habitant of London) was not in the "Court Guide. " And Dr. Morgan'sassertion that that person was always abroad unluckily dismissed fromLeonard's mind the name the homoeopathist had so casually mentioned. ButHelen was not disappointed when her young protector returned late in theday, and told her of his ill-success. Poor child! she was so pleasedin her heart not to be separated from her new brother; and Leonard wastouched to see how she had contrived, in his absence, to give a certaincomfort and cheerful grace to the bare room devoted to himself. She hadarranged his few books and papers so neatly, near the window, in sightof the one green elm. She had coaxed the smiling landlady out of one ortwo extra articles of furniture, especially a walnut-tree bureau, andsome odds and ends of ribbon, with which last she had looped up thecurtains. Even the old rush-bottom chairs had a strange air of elegance, from the mode in which they were placed. The fairies had given sweetHelen the art that adorns a home, and brings out a smile from thedingiest corner of hut and attic. 

Leonard wondered and praised. He kissed his blushing ministrantgratefully, and they sat down in joy to their abstemious meal;when suddenly his face was overclouded, --there shot through him theremembrance of Dr. Morgan's words, "The little girl can't stay withyou, --wrong and nonsensical. I think I know a lady who will take chargeof her. "

"Ah, " cried Leonard, sorrowfully, "how could I forget?" And he toldHelen what grieved him. Helen at first exclaimed that she would not go. Leonard, rejoiced, then began to talk as usual of his great prospects;and, hastily finishing his meal, as if there were no time to lose, satdown at once to his papers. Then Helen contemplated him sadly, as hebent over his delightful work. And when, lifting his radiant eyes fromhis manuscripts, he exclaimed, "No, no, you shall not go. This mustsucceed, --and we shall live together in some pretty cottage, where wecan see more than one tree, "--then Helen sighed, and did not answer thistime, "No, I will not go. "

Shortly after she stole from the room, and into her own; and there, kneeling down, she prayed, and her prayer was somewhat this, "Guard meagainst my own selfish heart; may I never be a burden to him who hasshielded me. "

Perhaps as the Creator looks down on this world, whose wondrous beautybeams on us more and more, in proportion as our science would take itfrom poetry into law, --perhaps He beholds nothing so beautiful as thepure heart of a simple loving child. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Leonard went out the next day with his precious manuscripts. He hadread sufficient of modern literature to know the names of the principalLondon publishers; and to these he took his way with a bold step, thougha beating heart. 

That day he was out longer than the last; and when he returned, and cameinto the little room, Helen uttered a cry, for she scarcely recognizedhim, --there was on his face so deep, so silent, and so concentrated adespondency. He sat down listlessly, and did not kiss her this time, asshe stole towards him. He felt so humbled. He was a king deposed. 

He take charge of another life! He!

She coaxed him at last into communicating his day's chronicle. Thereader beforehand knows too well what it must be to need detailedrepetition. Most of the publishers had absolutely refused to look athis manuscripts; one or two had good-naturedly glanced over and returnedthem at once with a civil word or two of flat rejection. One publisheralone--himself a man of letters, and who in youth had gone throughthe same bitter process of disillusion that now awaited the villagegenius--volunteered some kindly though stern explanation and counsel tothe unhappy boy. This gentleman read a portion of Leonard's principalpoem with attention, and even with frank admiration. He could appreciatethe rare promise that it manifested. He sympathized with the boy'shistory, and even with his hopes; and then he said, in bidding himfarewell, "If I publish this poem for you, speaking as a trader, I shall be aconsiderable loser. Did I publish all I admire, out of sympathy withthe author, I should be a ruined man. But suppose that, impressed asI really am with the evidence of no common poetic gifts in thismanuscript, I publish it, not as a trader, but a lover of literature, I shall in reality, I fear, render you a great disservice, and perhapsunfit your whole life for the exertions on which you must rely forindependence. "

"How, sir?" cried Leonard. "Not that I would ask you to injure yourselffor me, " he added, with proud tears in his eyes. 

"How, my young friend? I will explain. There is enough talent inthese verses to induce very flattering reviews in some of the literaryjournals. You will read these, find yourself proclaimed a poet, will cry'I am on the road to fame. ' You will come to me, 'And my poem, how doesit sell?' I shall point to some groaning shelf, and say, 'Not twentycopies! The journals may praise, but the public will not buy it. ''But you will have got a name, ' you say. Yes, a name as a poet justsufficiently known to make every man in practical business disinclinedto give fair trial to your talents in a single department of positivelife; none like to employ poets;--a name that will not put a penny inyour purse, --worse still, that will operate as a barrier against everyescape into the ways whereby men get to fortune. But having once tastedpraise, you will continue to sigh for it: you will perhaps never againget a publisher to bring forth a poem, but you will hanker round thepurlieus of the Muses, scribble for periodicals, fall at last into abookseller's drudge. Profits will be so precarious and uncertain, thatto avoid debt may be impossible; then, you who now seem so ingenuous andso proud, will sink deeper still into the literary mendicant, begging, borrowing--"

"Never! never! never!" cried Leonard, veiling his face with his hands. 

"Such would have been my career, " continued the publisher; "but Iluckily had a rich relative, a trader, whose calling I despised as aboy, who kindly forgave my folly, bound me as an apprentice, and here Iam; and now I can afford to write books as well as sell them. 

"Young man, you must have respectable relations, --go by their advice andcounsel; cling fast to some positive calling. Be anything in this cityrather than poet by profession. "

"And how, sir, have there ever been poets? Had they other callings?"

"Read their biography, and then--envy them!"

Leonard was silent a moment; but lifting his head, answered loudand quickly, "I have read their biography. True, their lot waspoverty, --perhaps hunger. Sir, I--envy them!"

"Poverty and hunger are small evils, " answered the bookseller, witha grave, kind smile. "There are worse, --debt and degradation, and--despair. "

"No, sir, no, you exaggerate; these last are not the lot of all poets. "

"Right, for most of our greatest poets had some private means of theirown. And for others--why, all who have put into a lottery have notdrawn blanks. But who could advise another man to set his whole hopeof fortune on the chance of a prize in a lottery? And such a lottery!"groaned the publisher, glancing towards sheets and reams of deadauthors, lying, like lead, upon his shelves. 

Leonard clutched his manuscripts to his heart, and hurried away. 

"Yes, " he muttered, as Helen clung to him, and tried to console, --"yes, you were right: London is very vast, very strong, and very cruel;" andhis head sank lower and lower yet upon his bosom. 

The door was flung widely open, and in, unannounced, walked Dr. Morgan. 

The child turned to him, and at the sight of his face she rememberedher father; and the tears that for Leonard's sake she had been trying tosuppress found way. 

The good doctor soon gained all the confidence of these two younghearts; and after listening to Leonard's story of his paradise lost in aday, he patted him on the shoulder and said, "Well, you will call onme on Monday, and we will see. Meanwhile, borrow these of me!"--andhe tried to slip three sovereigns into the boy's hand. Leonard wasindignant. The bookseller's warning flashed on him. Mendicancy! Oh, no, he had not yet come to that! He was almost rude and savage in hisrejection; and the doctor did not like him the less for it. 

"You are an obstinate mule, " said the homoeopathist, reluctantly puttingup his sovereigns. "Will you work at something practical and prosy, andlet the poetry rest a while?"

"Yes, " said Leonard, doggedly. "I will work. "

"Very well, then. I know an honest bookseller, and he shall give yousome employment; and meanwhile, at all events, you will be among books, and that will be some comfort. "

Leonard's eyes brightened. "A great comfort, sir. " He pressed the handhe had before put aside to his grateful heart. 

"But, " resumed the doctor, seriously, "you really feel a strongpredisposition to make verses?"

"I did, sir. "

"Very bad symptom indeed, and must be stopped before a relapse! Here, Ihave cured three prophets and ten poets with this novel specific. "

While thus speaking he had got out his book and a globule. "Agaricusmuscarius dissolved in a tumbler of distilled water, --teaspoonfulwhenever the fit comes on. Sir, it would have cured Milton himself. "

"And now for you, my child, " turning to Helen, "I have found a lady whowill be very kind to you. Not a menial situation. She wants some one toread to her and tend on her; she is old and has no children. She wantsa companion, and prefers a girl of your age to one older. Will this suityou?"

Leonard walked away. 

Helen got close to the doctor's ear, and whispered, "No, I cannot leavehim now, --he is so sad. "

"Cott!" grunted the doctor, "you two must have been reading 'Paul andVirginia. ' If I could but stay in England, I would try what ignatiawould do in this case, --interesting experiment! Listen to me, littlegirl, and go out of the room, you, sir. "

Leonard, averting his face, obeyed. Helen made an involuntary step afterhim; the doctor detained and drew her on his knee. 

"What's your Christian name?--I forget. "

"Helen. "

"Helen, listen. In a year or two you will be a young woman, and it wouldbe very wrong then to live alone with that young man. Meanwhile you haveno right to cripple all his energies. He must not have you leaning onhis right arm, --you would weigh it down. I am going away, and when I amgone there will be no one to help you, if you reject the friend I offeryou. Do as I tell you, for a little girl so peculiarly susceptible (athorough pulsatilla constitution) cannot be obstinate and egotistical. "

"Let me see him cared for and happy, sir, " said she, firmly, "and I willgo where you wish. "

"He shall be so; and to-morrow, while he is out, I will come and fetchyou. Nothing so painful as leave-taking, shakes the nervous system, andis a mere waste of the animal economy. "

Helen sobbed aloud; then, writhing from the doctor, she exclaimed, "Buthe may know where I am? We may see each other sometimes? Ah, sir, it wasat my father's grave that we first met, and I think Heaven sent him tome. Do not part us forever. "

"I should have a heart of stone if I did, " cried the doctor, vehemently;"and Miss Starke shall let him come and visit you once a week. I'll giveher something to make her. She is naturally indifferent to others. Iwill alter her whole constitution, and melt her into sympathy--withrhododendron and arsenic!"

CHAPTER XV. 

Before he went the doctor wrote a line to "Mr. Prickett, Bookseller, Holborn, " and told Leonard to take it the next morning, as addressed. "Iwill call on Prickett myself tonight and prepare him for your visit. ButI hope and trust you will only have to stay there a few days. "

He then turned the conversation, to communicate his plans for Helen. Miss Starke lived at Highgate, --a worthy woman, stiff and prim, as oldmaids sometimes are; but just the place for a little girl like Helen, and Leonard should certainly be allowed to call and see her. 

Leonard listened and made no opposition, --now that his day-dream wasdispelled, he had no right to pretend to be Helen's protector. He couldhave prayed her to share his wealth and his fame; his penury and hisdrudgery--no. 

It was a very sorrowful evening, --that between the adventurer andthe child. They sat up late, till their candle had burned down to thesocket; neither did they talk much; but his hand clasped hers all thetime, and her head pillowed it self on his shoulder. I fear when theyparted it was not for sleep. 

And when Leonard went forth the next morning, Helen stood at the streetdoor watching him depart--slowly, slowly. No doubt, in that humble lanethere were many sad hearts; but no heart so heavy as that of the still, quiet child, when the form she had watched was to be seen no more, and, still standing on the desolate threshold, she gazed into space, and allwas vacant. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Mr. Prickett was a believer in homeeopathy, and declared, to theindignation of all the apothecaries round Holborn, that he had beencured of a chronic rheumatism by Dr. Morgan. The good doctor had, ashe promised, seen Mr. Prickett when he left Leonard, and asked him as afavour to find some light occupation for the boy, that would serve as anexcuse for a modest weekly salary. "It will not be for long, " said thedoctor: "his relations are respectable and well off. I will write to hisgrandparents, and in a few days I hope to relieve you of the charge. Ofcourse, if you don't want him, I will repay what he costs meanwhile. "

Mr. Prickett, thus prepared for Leonard, received him very graciously;and, after a few questions, said Leonard was just the person he wantedto assist him in cataloguing his books, and offered him most handsomelyL1 a week for the task. 

Plunged at once into a world of books vaster than he had ever before wonadmission to, that old divine dream of knowledge, out of which poetryhad sprung, returned to the village student at the very sight of thevenerable volumes. The collection of Mr. Prickett was, however, inreality by no means large; but it comprised not only the ordinarystandard works, but several curious and rare ones. And Leonard pausedin making the catalogue, and took many a hasty snatch of the contentsof each tome, as it passed through his hands. The bookseller, who wasan enthusiast for old books, was pleased to see a kindred feeling (whichhis shop-boy had never exhibited) in his new assistant; and he talkedabout rare editions and scarce copies, and initiated Leonard into manyof the mysteries of the bibliographist. 

Nothing could be more dark and dingy than the shop. There was a boothoutside, containing cheap books and odd volumes, round which there wasalways an attentive group; within, a gas-lamp burned night and day. 

But time passed quickly to Leonard. He missed not the green fields, heforgot his disappointments, he ceased to remember even Helen. O strangepassion of knowledge! nothing like thee for strength and devotion!

Mr. Prickett was a bachelor, and asked Leonard to dine with him on acold shoulder of mutton. During dinner the shop-boy kept the shop, and Mr. Prickett was really pleasant, as well as loquacious. He tooka liking to Leonard, and Leonard told him his adventures with thepublishers, at which Mr. Prickett rubbed his hands and laughed, as at acapital joke. "Oh, give up poetry, and stick to a shop, " cried he; "andto cure you forever of the mad whim to be author, I'll just lend you the'Life and Works of Chatterton. ' You may take it home with you and readbefore you go to bed. You'll come back quite a new man to-morrow. "

Not till night, when the shop was closed, did Leonard return to hislodging. And when he entered the room, he was struck to the soul by thesilence, by the void. Helen was gone!

There was a rose-tree in its pot on the table at which he wrote, and byit a scrap of paper, on which was written, DEAR, dear brother Leonard, God bless you. I will let you know when we can meet again. Take care of this rose, Brother, and don't forget poor

 HELEN. 

Over the word "forget" there was a big round blistered spot that nearlyeffaced the word. 

Leonard leaned his face on his hands, and for the first time in his lifehe felt what solitude really is. He could not stay long in the room. He walked out again, and wandered objectless to and fro the streets. Hepassed that stiller and humbler neighbourhood, he mixed with the throngthat swarmed in the more populous thoroughfares. Hundreds and thousandspassed him by, and still--still such solitude. 

He came back, lighted his candle, and resolutely drew forth the"Chatterton" which the bookseller had lent him. It was an old edition, in one thick volume. It had evidently belonged to some contemporaryof the poet's, --apparently an inhabitant of Bristol, --some one whohad gathered up many anecdotes respecting Chatterton's habits, and whoappeared even to have seen him, nay, been in his company; for the bookwas interleaved, and the leaves covered with notes and remarks, ina stiff clear hand, --all evincing personal knowledge of the mournfulimmortal dead. At first, Leonard read with an effort; then the strangeand fierce spell of that dread life seized upon him, --seized with painand gloom and terror, --this boy dying by his own hand, about the ageLeonard had attained himself. This wondrous boy, of a genius beyond allcomparison the greatest that ever yet was developed and extinguishedat the age of eighteen, --self-taught, self-struggling, self-immolated. Nothing in literature like that life and that death!

With intense interest Leonard perused the tale of the brilliantimposture, which had been so harshly and so absurdly construed into thecrime of a forgery, and which was (if not wholly innocent) so akin tothe literary devices always in other cases viewed with indulgence, and exhibiting, in this, intellectual qualities in themselves soamazing, --such patience, such forethought, such labour, such courage, such ingenuity, --the qualities that, well directed, make men great, not only in books, but action. And, turning from the history of theimposture to the poems themselves, the young reader bent before theirbeauty, literally awed and breathless. How this strange Bristol boytamed and mastered his rude and motley materials into a music thatcomprehended every tune and key, from the simplest to the sublimest!He turned back to the biography; he read on; he saw the proud, daring, mournful spirit alone in the Great City, like himself. He followed itsdismal career, he saw it falling with bruised and soiled wings intothe mire. He turned again to the later works, wrung forth as tasks forbread, --the satires without moral grandeur, the politics without honestfaith. He shuddered and sickened as he read. True, even here his poetmind appreciated (what perhaps only poets can) the divine fire thatburned fitfully through that meaner and more sordid fuel, --he stilltraced in those crude, hasty, bitter offerings to dire Necessity thehand of the young giant who had built up the stately verse of Rowley. But alas! how different from that "mighty line. " How all serenityand joy had fled from these later exercises of art degraded intojourney-work! Then rapidly came on the catastrophe, --the closed doors, the poison, the suicide, the manuscripts torn by the hands of despairingwrath, and strewed round the corpse upon the funereal floors. It wasterrible! The spectre of the Titan boy (as described in the noteswritten on the margin), with his haughty brow, his cynic smile, hislustrous eyes, haunted all the night the baffled and solitary child ofsong. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

It will often happen that what ought to turn the human mind from somepeculiar tendency produces the opposite effect. One would think that theperusal in the newspaper of some crime and capital punishment wouldwarn away all who had ever meditated the crime, or dreaded the chanceof detection. Yet it is well known to us that many a criminal is madeby pondering over the fate of some predecessor in guilt. There is afascination in the Dark and Forbidden, which, strange to say, is onlylost in fiction. No man is more inclined to murder his nephews, orstifle his wife, after reading "Richard the Third" or "Othello. " It isthe reality that is necessary to constitute the danger of contagion. Now, it was this reality in the fate and life and crowning suicide ofChatterton that forced itself upon Leonard's thoughts, and sat therelike a visible evil thing, gathering evil like cloud around it. Therewas much in the dead poet's character, his trials, and his doom, thatstood out to Leonard like a bold and colossal shadow of himself and hisfate. Alas! the book seller, in one respect, had said truly. Leonardcame back to him the next day a new man; and it seemed even to himselfas if he had lost a good angel in losing Helen. "Oh, that she had beenby my side!" thought he. "Oh, that I could have felt the touch of herconfiding hand; that, looking up from the scathed and dreary ruin ofthis life, that had sublimely lifted itself from the plain, andsought to tower aloft from a deluge, her mild look had spoken to meof innocent, humble, unaspiring childhood! Ah! If indeed I were stillnecessary to her, --still the sole guardian and protector, --then could Isay to myself; 'Thou must not despair and die! Thou hast her to liveand to strive for. ' But no, no! Only this vast and terrible London, --thesolitude of the dreary garret, and those lustrous eyes, glaring alikethrough the throng and through the solitude. "

CHAPTER XVIII. 

On the following Monday Dr. Morgan's shabby man-servant opened the doorto a young man in whom he did not at first remember a former visitor. A few days before, embrowned with healthful travel, serene light in hiseye, simple trust on his careless lip, Leonard Fairfield had stood atthat threshold. Now again he stood there, pale and haggard, with a cheekalready hollowed into those deep anxious lines that speak of workingthoughts and sleepless nights; and a settled sullen gloom restingheavily on his whole aspect. 

"I call by appointment, " said the boy, testily, as the servant stoodirresolute. The man gave way. "Master is just gone out to a patient:please to wait, sir;" and he showed him into the little parlour. In afew moments, two other patients were admitted. These were women, and they began talking very loud. They disturbed Leonard's unsocialthoughts. He saw that the door into the doctor's receiving-room was halfopen, and, ignorant of the etiquette which holds such penetralia assacred, he walked in to escape from the gossips. He threw himself intothe doctor's own wellworn chair, and muttered to himself, "Why didhe tell me to come? What new can he think of for me? And if a favour, should I take it? He has given me the means of bread by work: that isall I have a right to ask from him, from any man, --all I should accept. "

While thus soliloquizing, his eye fell on a letter lying open on thetable. He started. He recognized the handwriting, --the same as that ofthe letter which had inclosed. L50 to his mother, --the letter of hisgrandparents. He saw his own name: he saw something more, --words thatmade his heart stand still, and his blood seem like ice in his veins. Ashe thus stood aghast, a hand was laid on the letter, and a voice, in anangry growl, muttered, "How dare you come into my room, and pe readingmy letters? Er-r-r!"

Leonard placed his own hand on the doctor's firmly, and said, in afierce tone, "This letter relates to me, belongs to me, crushes me. Ihave seen enough to know that. I demand to read all, --learn all. "

The doctor looked round, and seeing the door into the waiting-room stillopen, kicked it to with his foot, and then said, under his breath, "Whathave you read? Tell me the truth. "

"Two lines only, and I am called--I am called--" Leonard's frame shookfrom head to foot, and the veins on his forehead swelled like cords. Hecould not complete the sentence. It seemed as if an ocean was rolling upthrough his brain, and roaring in his ears. The doctor saw at a glancethat there was physical danger in his state, and hastily and soothinglyanswered, "Sit down, sit down; calm yourself; you shall know all, --readall; drink this water;" and he poured into a tumbler of the pure liquida drop or two from a tiny phial. 

Leonard obeyed mechanically, for he was no longer able to stand. Heclosed his eyes, and for a minute or two life seemed to pass from him;then he recovered, and saw the good doctor's gaze fixed on him withgreat compassion. He silently stretched forth his hand towards theletter. "Wait a few moments, " said the physician, judiciously, "and hearme meanwhile. It is very unfortunate you should have seen a letter nevermeant for your eye, and containing allusions to a secret you were neverto have known. But if I tell you more, will you promise me, on your wordof honour, that you will hold the confidence sacred from Mrs. Fairfield, the Avenels, --from all? I myself am pledged to conceal a secret, which Ican only share with you on the same condition. "

"There is nothing, " announced Leonard, indistinctly, and with a bittersmile on his lip, --"nothing, it seems, that I should be proud to boastof. Yes, I promise; the letter, the letter!"

The doctor placed it in Leonard's right hand, and quietly slipped to thewrist of the left his forefinger and thumb, as physicians are said to dowhen a victim is stretched on the rack. "Pulse decreasing, " he muttered;"wonderful thing, aconite!" Meanwhile Leonard read as follows, faults inspelling and all:--

 DR. MORGAN

 SIR, --I received your favur duly, and am glad to hear that the pore boy is safe and Well. But he has been behaving ill, and ungrateful to my good son Richard, who is a credit to the whole Famuly and has made himself a Gentleman and Was very kind and good to the boy, not knowing who and What he is--God forbid! I don't want never to see him again--the boy. Pore John was ill and Restless for days afterwards. John is a pore cretur now, and has had paralyticks. And he Talked of nothing but Nora--the boy's eyes were so like his Mother's. I cannot, cannot see the Child of Shame. He can't cum here--for our Lord's sake, sir, don't ask it--he can't, so Respectable as we've always been!--and such disgrace! Base born! base born! Keep him where he is, bind him prentis, I'll pay anything for That. You says, sir, he's clever, and quick at learning; so did Parson Dale, and wanted him to go to Collidge and make a Figur, --then all would cum out. It would be my death, sir; I could not sleep in my grave, sir. Nora, that we were all so proud of. Sinful creturs that we are! Nora's good name that we've saved, now gone, gone. And Richard, who is so grand, and who was so fond of pore, pore Nora! He would not hold up his Head again. Don't let him make a Figur in the world; let him be a tradesman, as we were afore him, --any trade he takes to, --and not cross us no more while he lives. Then I shall pray for him, and wish him happy. And have not we had enuff of bringing up children to be above their birth? Nora, that I used to say was like the first lady o' the land-oh, but we were rightly punished! So now, sir, I leave all to you, and will Pay all you want for the boy. And be sure that the secret's kept. For we have never heard from the father, and, at leest, no one knows that Nora has a living son but I and my daughter Jane, and Parson Dale and you--and you Two are good Gentlemen--and Jane will keep her word, and I am old, and shall be in my grave Soon, but I hope it won't be while pore John needs me. What could he do without me? And if that got wind, it would kill me straght, sir. Pore John is a helpless cretur, God bless him. So no more from your servant in all dooty, M. AVENEL. 

Leonard laid down this letter very calmly, and, except by a slightheaving at his breast, and a deathlike whiteness of his lips, theemotions he felt were undetected. And it is a proof how much exquisitegoodness there was in his heart that the first words he spoke were, "Thank Heaven!"

The doctor did not expect that thanksgiving, and he was so startled thathe exclaimed, "For what?"

"I have nothing to pity or excuse in the woman I knew and honoured as amother. I am not her son--her-" He stopped short. 

"No: but don't be hard on your true mother, --poor Nora!"

Leonard staggered, and then burst into a sudden paroxysm of tears. 

"Oh, my own mother! my dead mother! Thou for whom I felt so mysterious alove, --thou from whom I took this poet soul! pardon me, pardon me! Hardon thee! Would that thou wert living yet, that I might comfort thee!What thou must have suffered!"

These words were sobbed forth in broken gasps from the depth of hisheart. Then he caught up the letter again, and his thoughts were changedas his eyes fell upon the writer's shame and fear, as it were, of hisvery existence. All his native haughtiness returned to him. His crestrose, his tears dried. "Tell her, " he said, with astern, unfalteringvoice, "tell Mrs. Avenel that she is obeyed; that I will never seek herroof, never cross her path, never disgrace her wealthy son. But tellher, also, that I will choose my own way in life, --that I will not takefrom her a bribe for concealment. Tell her that I am nameless, and willyet make a name. "

A name! Was this but an idle boast, or was it one of those flashes ofconviction which are never belied, lighting up our future for one luridinstant, and then fading into darkness?

"I do not doubt it, my prave poy, " said Dr. Morgan, growing exceedinglyWelsh in his excitement; "and perhaps you may find a father, who--"

"Father! who is he, what is he? He lives, then! But he has desertedme, --he must have betrayed her! I need him not. The law gives me nofather. "

The last words were said with a return of bitter anguish: then, in acalmer tone, he resumed, "But I should know who he is--as another onewhose path I may not cross. "

Dr. Morgan looked embarrassed, and paused in deliberation. "Nay, " saidhe, at length, "as you know so much, it is surely best that you shouldknow all. "

The doctor then proceeded to detail, with some circumlocution, what wewill here repeat from his account more succinctly. 

Nora Avenel, while yet very young, left her native village, or ratherthe house of Lady Lansinere, by whom she had been educated and broughtup, in order to accept the place of companion to a lady in London. Oneevening she suddenly presented herself at her father's house, and atthe first sight of her mother's face she fell down insensible. She wascarried to bed. Dr. Morgan (then the chief medical practitioner of thetown) was sent for. That night Leonard came into the world, and hismother died. She never recovered her senses, never spoke intelligiblyfrom the time she entered the house. "And never, therefore, named yourfather, " said Dr. Morgan. "We knew not who he was. "

"And how, " cried Leonard, fiercely, --"how have they dared to slanderthis dead mother? How knew they that I--was--was--was not the child ofwedlock?"

"There was no wedding-ring on Nora's finger, never any rumour of hermarriage; her strange and sudden appearance at her father's house; heremotions on entrance, so unlike those natural to a wife returning to aparent's home, --these are all the evidence against her. But Mrs. Aveneldeemed them strong, and so did I. You have a right to think we judgedtoo harshly, --perhaps we did. "

"And no inquiries were ever made?" said Leonard, mournfully, and aftera long silence, --"no inquiries to learn who was the father of themotherless child?"

"Inquiries! Mrs. Avenel would have died first. Your grandmother's natureis very rigid. Had she come from princes, from Cadwallader himself, "said the Welshman, "she could not more have shrunk from the thought ofdishonour. Even over her dead child, the child she had loved the best, she thought but how to save that child's name and memory from suspicion. There was luckily no servant in the house, only Mark Fairfield and hiswife (Nora's sister): they had arrived the same day on a visit. 

"Mrs. Fairfield was nursing her own infant two or three months old; shetook charge of you; Nora was buried and the secret kept. None out of thefamily knew of it but myself and the curate of the town, --Mr. Dale. Theday after your birth, Mrs. Fairfield, to prevent discovery, moved to avillage at some distance. There her child died; and when she returned toHazeldean, where her husband was settled, you passed as the son she hadlost. Mark, I know, was as a father to you, for he had loved Nora: theyhad been children together. "

"And she came to London, --London is strong and cruel, " muttered Leonard. "She was friendless and deceived. I see all, --I desire to know no more. This father--he must in deed have been like those whom I have read of inbooks. To love, to wrong her, --that I can conceive; but then to leave, to abandon; no visit to her grave, no remorse, no search for his ownchild. Well, well; Mrs. Avenel was right. Let us think of him no more. "

The man-servant knocked at the door, and then put in his head. "Sir, theladies are getting very impatient, and say they'll go. "

"Sir, " said Leonard, with a strange calm return to the things about him, "I ask your pardon for taking up your time so long. I go now. I willnever mention to my moth--I mean to Mrs. Fairfield--what I have learned, nor to any one. I will work my way somehow. If Mr. Prickett will keepme, I will stay with him at present; but I repeat, I cannot take Mrs. Avenel's money and be bound apprentice. Sir, you have been good andpatient with me, --Heaven reward you. "

The doctor was too moved to answer. He wrung Leonard's hand, and inanother minute the door closed upon the nameless boy. He stood alonein the streets of London; and the sun flashed on him, red and menacing, like the eye of a foe!

CHAPTER XIX. 

Leonard did not appear at the shop of Mr. Prickett that day. Needless itis to say where he wandered, what he suffered, what thought, what felt. All within was storm. Late at night he returned to his solitary lodging. On his table, neglected since the morning, was Helen's rose-tree. Itlooked parched and fading. His heart smote him: he watered the poorplant, --perhaps with his tears. 

Meanwhile Dr. Morgan, after some debate with himself whether or notto apprise Mrs. Avenel of Leonard's discovery and message, resolved tospare her an uneasiness and alarm that might be dangerous to her health, and unnecessary in itself. He replied shortly, that she need not fearLeonard's coming to her house; that he was disinclined to bind himselfan apprentice, but that he was provided for at present; and in a fewweeks, when Dr. Morgan heard more of him through the tradesman by whomhe was employed, the doctor would write to her from Germany. He thenwent to Mr. Prickett's, told the willing bookseller to keep the youngman for the present, --to be kind to him, watch over his habits andconduct, and report to the doctor in his new home, on the Rhine, whatavocation he thought Leonard would be best suited for, and most inclinedto adopt. The charitable Welshman divided with the bookseller the salarygiven to Leonard, and left a quarter of his moiety in advance. It istrue that he knew he should be repaid on applying to Mrs. Avenel;but being a man of independent spirit himself, he so sympathized withLeonard's present feelings, that he felt as if he should degrade the boydid he maintain him, even secretly, out of Mrs. Avenel's money, --moneyintended not to raise, but keep him down in life. At the worst, it was asum the doctor could afford, and he had brought the boy into the world. Having thus, as he thought, safely provided for his two young charges, Helen and Leonard, the doctor then gave himself up to his finalpreparations for departure. He left a short note for Leonard with Mr. Prickett, containing some brief advice, some kind cheering; apostscript to the effect that he had not communicated to Mrs. Avenel theinformation Leonard had acquired, and that it were best to leave her inthat ignorance; and six small powders to be dissolved in water, anda teaspoonful every fourth hour, --"Sovereign against rage and sombrethoughts, " wrote the doctor. 

By the evening of the next day Dr. Morgan, accompanied by his petpatient with the chronic tic, whom he had talked into exile, was on thesteamboat on his way to Ostend. 

Leonard resumed his life at Mr. Prickett's; but the change in him didnot escape the bookseller. All his ingenuous simplicity had desertedhim. He was very distant and very taciturn; he seemed to have grown mucholder. I shall not attempt to analyze metaphysically this change. Bythe help of such words as Leonard may himself occasionally let fall, thereader will dive into the boy's heart, and see how there the change hadworked, and is working still. The happy, dreamy peasant-genius gazing onGlory with inebriate, undazzled eyes is no more. It is a man, suddenlycut off from the old household holy ties, --conscious of great powers, and confronted on all sides by barriers of iron, alone with hard Realityand scornful London; and if he catches a glimpse of the lost Helicon, hesees, where he saw the Muse, a pale melancholy spirit veiling its facein shame, --the ghost of the mournful mother, whose child has no name, not even the humblest, among the family of men. 

On the second evening after Dr. Morgan's departure, as Leonard was justabout to leave the shop, a customer stepped in with a book in his hand, which he had snatched from the shop-boy, who was removing the volumesfor the night from the booth without. 

"Mr. Prickett, Mr. Prickett!" said the customer, "I am ashamed of you. You presume to put upon this work, in two volumes, the sum of eightshillings. "

Mr. Prickett stepped forth from the Cimmerian gloom of some recess, andcried, "What! Mr. Burley, is that you? But for your voice, I should nothave known you. "

"Man is like a book, Mr. Prickett; the commonalty only look to hisbinding. I am better bound, it is very true. " Leonard glanced towardsthe speaker, who now stood under the gas-lamp, and thought he recognizedhis face. He looked again. Yes; it was the perch-fisher whom he had meton the banks of the Brent, and who had warned him of the lost fish andthe broken line. 

MR. BURLEY (continuing). --"But the 'Art of Thinking'!--you charge eightshillings for the 'Art of Thinking. '"

MR. PRICKETT. --"Cheap enough, Mr. Burley. A very clean copy. "

MR. BURLEY. --"Usurer! I sold it to you for three shillings. It is morethan one hundred and fifty per cent you propose to gain from my 'Art ofThinking. '"

MR. PRICKETT (stuttering and taken aback). --"You sold it to me! Ah, now I remember. But it was more than three shillings I gave. Youforget, --two glasses of brandy-and-water. "

MR. BURLEY. --"Hospitality, sir, is not to be priced. If you sell yourhospitality, you are not worthy to possess my 'Art of Thinking. ' Iresume it. There are three shillings, and a shilling more for interest. No; on second thoughts, instead of that shilling, I will return yourhospitality: and the first time you come my way you shall have twoglasses of brandy-and-water. "

Mr. Prickett did not look pleased, but he made no objection; and Mr. Burley put the book into his pocket, and turned to examine theshelves. He bought an old jest-book, a stray volume of the Comediesof Destouches, paid for them, put them also into his pocket, and wassauntering out, when he perceived Leonard, who was now standing at thedoorway. 

"Hem! who is that?" he asked, whispering Mr. Prickett. "A youngassistant of mine, and very clever. "

Mr. Burley scanned Leonard from top to toe. 

"We have met before, sir. But you look as if you had returned to theBrent, and been fishing for my perch. "

"Possibly, sir, " answered Leonard. "But my line is tough, and is not yetbroken, though the fish drags it amongst the weeds, and buries itself inthe mud. "

He lifted his hat, bowed slightly, and walked on. 

"He is clever, " said Mr. Burley to the bookseller: "he understandsallegory. "

MR. PRICKETT. --"Poor youth! He came to town with the idea of turningauthor: you know what that is, Mr. Burley. "

MR. BURLEY (with an air of superb dignity). --"Bibliopole, yes! An authoris a being between gods and men, who ought to be lodged in a palace, andentertained at the public charge upon ortolans and Tokay. He should bekept lapped in down, and curtained with silken awnings from the caresof life, have nothing to do but to write books upon tables of cedar, andfish for perch from a gilded galley. And that 's what will come topass when the ages lose their barbarism and know their benefactors. Meanwhile, sir, I invite you to my rooms, and will regale you uponbrandy-and-water as long as I can pay for it; and when I cannot--youshall regale me. "

Mr. Prickett muttered, "A very bad bargain indeed, " as Mr. Burley, withhis chin in the air, stepped into the street. 

CHAPTER XX. 

At first Leonard had always returned home through the crowdedthoroughfares, --the contact of numbers had animated his spirits. But thelast two days, since the discovery of his birth, he had taken his waydown the comparatively unpeopled path of the New Road. 

He had just gained that part of this outskirt in which the statuariesand tomb-makers exhibit their gloomy wares, furniture alike for gardensand for graves, --and, pausing, contemplated a column, on which wasplaced an urn, half covered with a funeral mantle, when his shoulder waslightly tapped, and, turning quickly, he saw Mr. Burley standing behindhim. 

"Excuse me, sir, but you understand perch-fishing; and since we findourselves on the same road, I should like to be better acquainted withyou. I hear you once wished to be an author. I am one. "

Leonard had never before, to his knowledge, seen an author, and amournful smile passed his lips as he surveyed the perch-fisher. 

Mr. Burley was indeed very differently attired since the first interviewby the brooklet. He looked much less like an author, --but more perhapslike a perch-fisher. He had a new white hat, stuck on one side of hishead, a new green overcoat, new gray trousers, and new boots. In hishand was a whalebone stick, with a silver handle. Nothing could be morevagrant, devil-me-Garish, and, to use a slang word, tigerish, thanhis whole air. Yet, vulgar as was his costume, he did not himself seemvulgar, but rather eccentric, lawless, --something out of the pale ofconvention. His face looked more pale and more puffed than before, the tip of his nose redder; but the spark in his eye was of a livelierlight, and there was self-enjoyment in the corners of his sensual, humorous lip. 

"You are an author, sir, " repeated Leonard. "Well; and what is yourreport of the calling? Yonder column props an urn. The column is tall, and the urn is graceful. But it looks out of place by the roadside: whatsay you?"

MR. BURLEY. --"It would look better in the churchyard. "

LEONARD. --"So I was thinking. And you are an author!"

MR. BURLEY. --"Ah, I said you had a quick sense of allegory. And so youthink an author looks better in a churchyard, when you see him but as amuffled urn under the moonshine, than standing beneath the gas-lamp in awhite hat, and with a red tip to his nose. Abstractedly, you are right. But, with your leave, the author would rather be where he is. Let uswalk on. " The two men felt an interest in each other, and they walkedsome yards in silence. 

"To return to the urn, " said Mr. Burley, --"you think of fame andchurchyards. Natural enough, before illusion dies; but I think of themoment, of existence, --and I laugh at fame. Fame, sir--not worth aglass of cold-without! And as for a glass of warm, with sugar--and fiveshillings in one's pocket to spend as one pleases--what is there inWestminster Abbey to compare with it?"

"Talk on, sir, --I should like to hear you talk. Let me listen and holdmy tongue. " Leonard pulled his hat over his brows, and gave up hismoody, questioning, turbulent mind to his new acquaintance. 

And John Burley talked on. A dangerous and fascinating talk it was, --thetalk of a great intellect fallen; a serpent trailing its length on theground, and showing bright, shifting, glorious hues, as it grovelled, --aserpent, yet without the serpent's guile. If John Burley deceived andtempted, he meant it not, --he crawled and glittered alike honestly. Nodove could be more simple. 

Laughing at fame, he yet dwelt with an eloquent enthusiasm on the joyof composition. "What do I care what men without are to say and thinkof the words that gush forth on my page?" cried he. "If you think of thepublic, of urns, and laurels, while you write, you are no genius; youare not fit to be an author. I write because it rejoices me, because itis my nature. Written, I care no more what becomes of it than the larkfor the effect that the song has on the peasant it wakes to the plough. The poet, like the lark, sings 'from his watch-tower in the skies. ' Isthis true?"

"Yes, very true!"

"What can rob us of this joy? The bookseller will not buy; thepublic will not read. Let them sleep at the foot of the ladder of theangels, --we climb it all the same. And then one settles down into suchgood-tempered Lucianic contempt for men. One wants so little from them, when one knows what one's self is worth, and what they are. They arejust worth the coin one can extract from them, in order to live. 

"Our life--that is worth so much to us. And then their joys, so vulgarto them, we can make them golden and kingly. Do you suppose Burnsdrinking at the alehouse, with his boors around him, was drinking, likethem, only beer and whiskey? No, he was drinking nectar; he was imbibinghis own ambrosial thoughts, --shaking with the laughter of the gods. The coarse human liquid was just needed to unlock his spirit from theclay, --take it from jerkin and corduroys, and wrap it in the 'singingrobes' that floated wide in the skies: the beer or the whiskey neededbut for that, and then it changed at once into the drink of Hebe. Butcome, you have not known this life, --you have not seen it. Come, giveme this night. I have moneys about me, --I will fling them abroad asliberally as Alexander himself, when he left to his share but hope. Come!"

"Whither?"

"To my throne. On that throne last sat Edmund Kean, mighty mime! I amhis successor. We will see whether in truth these wild sons of genius, who are cited but 'to point a moral and adorn a tale, ' were objects ofcompassion. Sober-suited tits to lament over a Savage or a Morland, aPorson and a Burns!"

"Or a Chatterton, " said Leonard, gloomily. 

"Chatterton was an impostor in all things; he feigned excesses that henever knew. He a bacchanalian, a royster! HE! No. We will talk of him. Come!"

Leonard went. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

The Room! And the smoke-reek, and the gas glare of it! The whitewash ofthe walls, and the prints thereon of the actors in their mime-robes, andstage postures, --actors as far back as their own lost Augustan era, whenthe stage was a real living influence on the manners and the age! Therewas Betterton, in wig and gown, --as Cato, moralizing on the soul'seternity, and halting between Plato and the dagger. There was Woodwardas "The Fine Gentleman, " with the inimitable rake-hell in which theheroes of Wycherly and Congreve and Farquhar live again. There wasjovial Quin as Falstaff, with round buckler and "fair round belly. "There was Colley Cibber in brocade, taking snuff as with "his Lord, "the thumb and forefinger raised in air, and looking at you for applause. There was Macklin as Shylock, with knife in hand: and Kemble in thesolemn weeds of the Dane; and Kean in the place of honour over thechimneypiece. 

When we are suddenly taken from practical life, with its real workdaymen, and presented to the portraits of those sole heroes of a worldFantastic and Phantasmal, in the garments wherein they did "strut andfret their hour upon the stage, " verily there is something in the sightthat moves an inner sense within ourselves, --for all of us have an innersense of some existence, apart from the one that wears away our days:an existence that, afar from St. James's and St. Giles's, the Law Courtsand Exchange, goes its way in terror or mirth, in smiles or in tears, through a vague magic-land of the poets. There, see those actors--theyare the men who lived it--to whom our world was the false one, to whomthe Imaginary was the Actual! And did Shakspeare himself, in his life, ever hearken to such applause as thundered round the personators of hisairy images? Vague children of the most transient of the arts, fleetshadows on running waters, though thrown down from the steadfast stars, were ye not happier than we who live in the Real? How strange youmust feel in the great circuit that ye now take through eternity! Noprompt-books, no lamps, no acting Congreve and Shakspeare there! Forwhat parts in the skies have your studies on the earth fitted you? Yourultimate destinies are very puzzling. Hail to your effigies, and pass weon!

There, too, on the whitewashed walls, were admitted the portraits ofruder rivals in the arena of fame, --yet they, too, had known anapplause warmer than his age gave to Shakspeare; the Champions of theRing, --Cribb and Molyneux and Dutch Sam. Interspersed with these was anold print of Newmarket in the early part of the last century, and sundryengravings from Hogarth. But poets, oh, they were there too! poets whomight be supposed to have been sufficiently good fellows to be at homewith such companions, --Shakspeare, of course, with his placid forehead;Ben Jonson, with his heavy scowl; Burns and Byron cheek by jowl. Butthe strangest of all these heterogeneous specimens of graphic art wasa full-length print of William Pitt!--William Pitt, the austere andimperious. What the deuce did he do there amongst prize-fighters andactors and poets? It seemed an insult to his grand memory. Neverthelessthere he was, very erect, and with a look of ineffable disgust in hisupturned nostrils. The portraits on the sordid walls were very like thecrambo in the minds of ordinary men, --very like the motley picturesof the FAMOUS hung up in your parlour, O my Public! Actors andprize-fighters, poets and statesmen, all without congruity and fitness, all whom you have been to see or to hear for a moment, and whose nameshave stared out in your newspapers, O my public!

And the company? Indescribable! Comedians, from small theatres, out ofemploy; pale, haggard-looking boys, probably the sons of worthy traders, trying their best to break their fathers' hearts; here and there themarked features of a Jew. Now and then you might see the curious puzzledface of some greenhorn about town, or perhaps a Cantab; and men of graveage, and grayhaired, were there, and amongst them a wondrous proportionof carbuncled faces and bottle-noses. And when John Burley entered, there was a shout that made William Pitt shake in his frame. Suchstamping and hallooing, and such hurrahs for "Burley John. " And thegentleman who had filled the great high leathern chair in his absencegave it up to John Burley; and Leonard, with his grave, observant eye, and lip half sad and half scornful, placed himself by the side of hisintroducer. There was a nameless, expectant stir through the assembly, as there is in the pit of the opera when some great singer advances tothe lamps, and begins, "Di tanti palpiti. " Time flies. Look at the Dutchclock over the door. Half-an-hour. John Burley begins to warm. A yetquicker light begins to break from his Eye; his voice has a mellowluscious roll in it. 

"He will be grand to-night, " whispered a thin man, who looked like atailor, seated on the other side of Leonard. Time flies, --an hour. Lookagain at the Dutch clock. John Burley is grand, he is in his zenith, athis culminating point. What magnificent drollery! what luxuriant humour!How the Rabelais shakes in his easy-chair! Under the rush and the roarof this fun (what word else shall describe it?) the man's intellect isas clear as gold sand under a river. Such wit and such truth, and, attimes, such a flood of quick eloquence! All now are listeners, --silent, save in applause. 

And Leonard listened too. Not, as he would some nights ago, in innocentunquestioning delight. No; his mind has passed through great sorrow, great passion, and it comes out unsettled, inquiring, eager, broodingover joy itself as over a problem. And the drink circulates, and faceschange; and there are gabbling and babbling; and Burley's head sinksin his bosom, and he is silent. And up starts a wild, dissolute, bacchanalian glee for seven voices. And the smoke-reek grows denserand thicker, and the gaslight looks dizzy through the haze. And JohnBurley's eyes reel. 

Look again at the Dutch clock. Two hours have gone. John Burley hasbroken out again from his silence, his voice thick and husky, and hislaugh cracked; and he talks, O ye gods! such rubbish and ribaldry; andthe listeners roar aloud, and think it finer than before. And Leonard, who had hitherto been measuring himself in his mind against the giant, and saying inly, "He soars out of my reach, " finds the giant shrinksmaller and smaller, and saith to himself, "He is but of man's commonstandard after all!"

Look again at the Dutch clock. Three hours have passed. Is John Burleynow of man's common standard? Man himself seems to have vanished fromthe scene, --his soul stolen from him, his form gone away with the fumesof the smoke, and the nauseous steam from that fiery bowl. And Leonardlooked round, and saw but the swine of Circe, --some on the floor, somestaggering against the walls, some hugging each other on the tables, some fighting, some bawling, some weeping. The divine spark had fledfrom the human face; the Beast is everywhere growing more and more outof the thing that had been Man. And John Burley, still unconquered, butclean lost to his senses, fancies himself a preacher, and drawls forththe most lugubrious sermon upon the brevity of life that mortal everbeard, accompanied with unctuous sobs; and now and then in the midst ofbalderdash gleams out a gorgeous sentence, that Jeremy Taylor might haveenvied, drivelling away again into a cadence below the rhetoric ofa Muggletonian. And the waiters choked up the doorway, listening andlaughing, and prepared to call cabs and coaches; and suddenly some oneturned off the gaslight, and all was dark as pitch, --howls and laughter, as of the damned, ringing through the Pandemonium. Out from the blackatmosphere stepped the boy-poet; and the still stars rushed on hissight, as they looked over the grimy roof-tops. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Well, Leonard, this is the first time thou hast shown that thou hast inthee the iron out of which true manhood is forged and shaped. Thou hastthe power to resist. Forth, unebriate, unpolluted, he came from theorgy, as yon star above him came from the cloud. 

He had a latch-key to his lodgings. He let himself in and walkednoiselessly up the creaking wooden stair. It was dawn. He passed on tohis window and threw it open. The green elm-tree from the carpenter'syard looked as fresh and fair as if rooted in solitude, leagues awayfrom the smoke of Babylon. 

"Nature, Nature!" murmured Leonard, "I hear thy voice now. This stills, this strengthens. But the struggle is very dread. Here, despair oflife, --there, faith in life. Nature thinks of neither, and livesserenely on. "

By and by a bird slid softly from the heart of the tree, and dropped onthe ground below out of sight. But Leonard heard its carol. It awoke itscompanions; wings began to glance in the air, and the clouds grew redtowards the east. 

Leonard sighed and left the window. On the table, near Helen'srose-tree, which he bent over wistfully, lay a letter. He had notobserved it before. It was in Helen's hand. He took it to the light, andread it by the pure, healthful gleams of morn:--

 IVY LODGE. 

 Oh, my dear brother Leonard, will this find you well, and (more happy I dare not say, but) less sad than when we parted? I write kneeling, so that it seems to me as if I wrote and prayed at the same time. You may come and see me to-morrow evening, Leonard. Do come, do, --we shall walk together in this pretty garden; and there is an arbour all covered with jessamine and honeysuckle, from which we can look down on London. I have looked from it so many times, -- so many--trying if I can guess the roofs in our poor little street, and fancying that I do see the dear elm-tree. 

 Miss Starke is very kind to me; and I think after I have seen you, that I shall be happy here, --that is, if you are happy. 

 Your own grateful sister, HELEN. 

 P. S. --Any one will direct you to our house; it lies to the left near the top of the hill, a little way down a lane that is overhung on one side with chestnut-trees and lilacs. I shall be watching for you at the gate. 

Leonard's brow softened, he looked again like his former self. Up fromthe dark sea at his heart smiled the meek face of a child, and the waveslay still as at the charm of a spirit. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

"And what is Mr. Burley, and what has he written?" asked Leonard of Mr. Prickett, when he returned to the shop. 

Let us reply to that question in our own words, for we know more aboutMr. Burley than Mr. Prickett does. 

John Burley was the only son of a poor clergyman, in a village nearEaling, who had scraped and saved and pinched, to send his son to anexcellent provincial school in a northern county, and thence to college. At the latter, during his first year, young Burley was remarked by theundergraduates for his thick shoes and coarse linen, and remarkable tothe authorities for his assiduity and learning. The highest hopes wereentertained of him by the tutors and examiners. At the beginning of thesecond year his high animal spirits, before kept down by study, brokeout. Reading had become easy to him. He knocked off his tasks with afacile stroke, as it were. He gave up his leisure hours to Symposia byno means Socratical. He fell into an idle, hard-drinking set. He gotinto all kinds of scrapes. The authorities were at first kind andforbearing in their admonitions, for they respected his abilities, andstill hoped he might become an honour to the University. But at lasthe went drunk into a formal examination, and sent in papers, afterthe manner of Aristophanes, containing capital jokes upon the Dons andBig-wigs themselves. The offence was the greater and seemed the morepremeditated for being clothed in Greek. John Burley was expelled. Hewent home to his father's a miserable man, for, with all his follies, he had a good heart. Removed from ill example, his life for a year wasblameless. He got admitted as usher into the school in which he hadreceived instruction as a pupil. This school was in a large town. JohnBurley became member of a club formed among the tradesmen, andspent three evenings a week there. His astonishing convivial andconversational powers began to declare themselves. He grew the oracleof the club; and, from being the most sober, peaceful assembly in whichgrave fathers of a family ever smoked a pipe or sipped a glass, itgrew under Mr. Burley's auspices the parent of revels as frolicking andfrantic as those out of which the old Greek Goat Song ever tipsily rose. This would not do. There was a great riot in the streets one night, andthe next morning the usher was dismissed. Fortunately for John Burley'sconscience, his father had died before this happened, --died believingin the reform of his son. During his ushership Mr. Burley had scrapedacquaintance with the editor of the county newspaper, and given himsome capital political articles; for Burley was, like Parr and Porson, a notable politician. The editor furnished him with letters to thejournalists in London, and John came to the metropolis and got employedon a very respectable newspaper. At college he had known Audley Egerton, though but slightly: that gentleman was then just rising into repute inparliament. Burley sympathized with some question on which Audleyhad distinguished himself, and wrote a very good article thereon, --anarticle so good that Egerton inquired into the authorship, found outBurley, and resolved in his own mind to provide for him whenever hehimself came into office. But Burley was a man whom it was impossible toprovide for. He soon lost his connection with the news paper. First, hewas so irregular that he could never be depended upon. Secondly, he hadstrange, honest, eccentric twists of thinking, that could coalescewith the thoughts of no party in the long run. An article of his, inadvertently admitted, had horrified all the proprietors, staff, andreaders of the paper. It was diametrically opposite to the principlesthe paper advocated, and compared its pet politician to Catiline. ThenJohn Burley shut himself up and wrote books. He wrote two or threebooks, very clever, but not at all to the popular taste, --abstract andlearned, full of whims that were caviare to the multitude, and lardedwith Greek. Nevertheless they obtained for him a little money, and amongliterary men some reputation. Now Audley Egerton came into power, andgot him, though with great difficulty, --for there were many prejudicesagainst this scampish, harum-scarum son of the Muses, --a place in apublic office. He kept it about a month, and then voluntarily resignedit. "My crust of bread and liberty!" quoth John Burley, and he vanishedinto a garret. From that time to the present he lived--Heaven knows how!Literature is a business, like everything else; John Burley grew moreand more incapable of business. "He could not do task-work, " he said; hewrote when the whim seized him, or when the last penny was in his pouch, or when he was actually in the spunging-house or the Fleet, --migrationswhich occurred to him, on an average, twice a year. He could generallysell what he had actually written, but no one would engage himbeforehand. Editors of magazines and other periodicals were very gladto have his articles, on the condition that they were anonymous; andhis style was not necessarily detected, for he could vary it withthe facility of a practised pen. Audley Egerton continued his bestsupporter, for there were certain questions on which no one wrote withsuch force as John Burley, --questions connected with the metaphysics ofpolitics, such as law reform and economical science. And Audley Egertonwas the only man John Burley put himself out of the way to serve, andfor whom he would give up a drinking bout and do task-work; for JohnBurley was grateful by nature, and he felt that Egerton had really triedto befriend him. Indeed, it was true, as he had stated to Leonard by theBrent, that even after he had resigned his desk in the London office, he had had the offer of an appointment in Jamaica, and a place in India, from the minister. But probably there were other charms then than thoseexercised by the one-eyed perch that kept him to the neighbourhood ofLondon. With all his grave faults of character and conduct, John Burleywas not without the fine qualities of a large nature. He was mostresolutely his own enemy, it is true, but he could hardly be said to beany one else's. Even when he criticised some more fortunate writer, hewas good-humoured in his very satire: he had no bile, no envy. And asfor freedom from malignant personalities, he might have been a model toall critics. I must except politics, however, for in these he couldbe rabid and savage. He had a passion for independence, which, thoughpushed to excess, was not without grandeur. No lick-platter, noparasite, no toad-eater, no literary beggar, no hunter after patronageand subscriptions; even in his dealings with Audley Egerton, he insistedon naming the price for his labours. He took a price, because, as thepapers required by Audley demanded much reading and detail, whichwas not at all to his taste, he considered himself entitled fairlyto something more than the editor of the journal wherein the papersappeared was in the habit of giving. But he assessed this extra pricehimself, and as he would have done to a bookseller. And when in debt andin prison, though he knew a line to Egerton would have extricated him, he never wrote that line. He would depend alone on his pen, --dipped ithastily in the ink, and scrawled himself free. The most debased pointabout him was certainly the incorrigible vice of drinking, and with itthe usual concomitant of that vice, --the love of low company. To be Kingof the Bohemians, to dazzle by his wild humour, and sometimes to exaltby his fanciful eloquence, the rude, gross natures that gathered roundhim, --this was a royalty that repaid him for all sacrifice of soliddignity; a foolscap crown that he would not have changed for anemperor's diadem. Indeed, to appreciate rightly the talents of JohnBurley, it was necessary to hear him talk on such occasions. As awriter, after all, he was now only capable of unequal desultory efforts;but as a talker, in his own wild way, he was original and matchless. Andthe gift of talk is one of the most dangerous gifts a man can possessfor his own sake, --the applause is so immediate, and gained with solittle labour. Lower and lower and lower had sunk John Burley, not onlyin the opinion of all who knew his name, but in the habitual exercise ofhis talents. And this seemed wilfully--from choice. He would write forsome unstamped journal of the populace, out of the pale of the law, forpence, when he could have got pounds from journals of high repute. Hewas very fond of scribbling off penny ballads, and then standing in thestreet to hear them sung. He actually once made himself the poet of anadvertising tailor, and enjoyed it excessively. But that did not lastlong, for John Burley was a Pittite, --not a Tory, he used to say, buta Pittite. And if you had heard him talk of Pitt, you would never haveknown what to make of that great statesman. He treated him as the Germancommentators do Shakspeare, and invested him with all imaginary meaningsand objects, that would have turned the grand practical man into asibyl. Well, he was a Pittite; the tailor a fanatic for Thelwall andCobbett. Mr. Burley wrote a poem wherein Britannia appeared to thetailor, complimented him highly on the art he exhibited in adorning thepersons of her sons; and bestowing upon him a gigantic mantle, said thathe, and he alone, might be enabled to fit it to the shoulders of livingmen. The rest of the poem was occupied in Mr. Snip's unavailing attemptsto adjust this mantle to the eminent politicians of the day, when, just as he had sunk down in despair, Britannia reappeared to him, andconsoled him with the information that he had done all mortal man coulddo, and that she had only desired to convince pigmies that no human artcould adjust to THEIR proportions the mantle of William Pitt. Sic iturad astra, --she went back to the stars, mantle and all! Mr. Snip wasexceedingly indignant at this allegorical effusion, and with wrathfulshears cut the tie between himself and his poet. 

Thus, then, the reader has, we trust, a pretty good idea of JohnBurley, --a specimen of his genus not very common in any age, and nowhappily almost extinct, since authors of all degrees share in thegeneral improvement in order, economy, and sober decorum, which hasobtained in the national manners. Mr. Prickett, though enteringinto less historical detail than we have done, conveyed to Leonard atolerably accurate notion of the man, representing him as a person ofgreat powers and learning, who had thoroughly thrown himself away. 

Leonard did not, however, see how much Mr. Burley himself was to beblamed for his waste of life; he could not conceive a man of geniusvoluntarily seating himself at the lowest step in the social ladder. Herather supposed he had been thrust down there by Necessity. 

And when Mr. Prickett, concluding, said, "Well, I should think Burleywould cure you of the desire to be an author even more than Chatterton, "the young man answered gloomily, "Perhaps, " and turned to thebook-shelves. 

With Mr. Prickett's consent, Leonard was released earlier than usualfrom his task, and a little before sunset he took his way to Highgate. He was fortunately directed to take the new road by the Regent's Park, and so on through a very green and smiling country. The walk, thefreshness of the air, the songs of the birds, and, above all, when hehad got half-way, the solitude of the road, served to rouse him from hisstern and sombre meditations. And when he came into the lane overhungwith chestnut-trees, and suddenly caught sight of Helen's watchful andthen brightening face, as she stood by the wicket, and under the shadowof cool, murmurous boughs, the blood rushed gayly through his veins, andhis heart beat loud and gratefully. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

She drew him into the garden with such true childlike joy. Now beholdthem seated in the arbour, --a perfect bower of sweets and blossoms;the wilderness of roof-tops and spires stretching below, broad and far;London seen dim and silent, as in a dream. 

She took his hat from his brows gently, and looked him in the face withtearful penetrating eyes. 

She did not say, "You are changed. " She said, "Why, why did I leaveyou?" and then turned away. 

"Never mind me, Helen. I am man, and rudely born; speak of yourself. This lady is kind to you, then?"

"Does she not let me see you? Oh, very kind, --and look here. "

Helen pointed to fruits and cakes set out on the table. "A feast, brother. "

And she began to press her hospitality with pretty winning ways, moreplayful than was usual to her, and talking very fast, and with forced, but silvery, laughter. 

By degrees she stole him from his gloom and reserve; and though he couldnot reveal to her the cause of his bitterest sorrow, he owned that hehad suffered much. He would not have owned that to another living being. And then, quickly turning from this brief confession, with assurancesthat the worst was over, he sought to amuse her by speaking of his newacquaintance with the perch-fisher. But when he spoke of this man witha kind of reluctant admiration, mixed with compassionate yet gloomyinterest, and drew a grotesque, though subdued, sketch of the wild scenein which he had been spectator, Helen grew alarmed and grave. 

"Oh, brother, do not go there again, --do not see more of this bad man. "

"Bad!--no! Hopeless and unhappy, he has stooped to stimulants andoblivion--but you cannot understand these things, my pretty preacher. "

"Yes, I do, Leonard. What is the difference between being good and bad?The good do not yield to temptations, and the bad do. "

The definition was so simple and so wise that Leonard was more struckwith it than he might have been by the most elaborate sermon by ParsonDale. 

"I have often murmured to myself since I lost you, 'Helen was my goodangel; '--say on. For my heart is dark to myself, and while you speaklight seems to dawn on it. "

This praise so confused Helen that she was long before she could obeythe command annexed to it. But, by little and little, words came toboth more frankly. And then he told her the sad tale of Chatterton, andwaited, anxious to hear her comments. 

"Well, " he said, seeing that she remained silent, "how can I hope, whenthis mighty genius laboured and despaired? What did he want, save birthand fortune and friends and human justice?"

"Did he pray to God?" asked Helen, drying her tears. Again Leonard wasstartled. In reading the life of Chatterton he had not much notedthe scepticism, assumed or real, of the ill-fated aspirer to earthlyimmortality. At Helen's question, that scepticism struck him forcibly. "Why do you ask that, Helen?"

"Because, when we pray often, we grow so very, very patient, " answeredthe child. "Perhaps, had he been patient a few months more, all wouldhave been won by him, as it will be by you, brother, for you pray, andyou will be patient. "

Leonard bowed his head in deep thought, and this time the thought wasnot gloomy. Then out from that awful life there glowed another passage, which before he had not heeded duly, but regarded rather as one of thedarkest mysteries in the fate of Chatterton. 

At the very time the despairing poet had locked himself up in hisgarret, to dismiss his soul from its earthly ordeal, his genius had justfound its way into the light of renown. Good and learned and powerfulmen were preparing to serve and save him. Another year--nay, perchanceanother month--and he might have stood acknowledged sublime in theforemost ranks of his age. 

"Oh, Helen!" cried Leonard, raising his brows, from which the cloud hadpassed, "why, indeed, did you leave me?"

Helen started in her turn as he repeated this regret, and in her turngrew thoughtful. At length she asked him if he had written for the boxwhich had belonged to her father and been left at the inn. 

And Leonard, though a little chafed at what he thought a childishinterruption to themes of graver interest, owned, with self-reproach, that he had forgotten to do so. Should he not write now to order the boxto be sent to her at Miss Starke's?

"No; let it be sent to you. Take care of it. I should like to know thatsomething of mine is with you; and perhaps I may not stay here long. "

"Not stay here? That you must, my dear Helen, --at least as long asMiss Starke will keep you, and is kind. By and by" (added Leonard, withsomething of his former sanguine tone) "I may yet make my way, and weshall have our cottage to ourselves. But--oh, Helen!--I forgot--youwounded me; you left your money with me. I only found it in my drawersthe other day. Fie! I have brought it back. "

"It was not mine, --it is yours. We were to share together, --you paidall; and how can I want it here, too?" But Leonard was obstinate; andas Helen mournfully received back all that of fortune her father hadbequeathed to her, a tall female figure stood at the entrance of thearbour, and said, in a voice that scattered all sentiment to the winds, "Young man, it is time to go. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

"Already?" said Helen, with faltering accents, as she crept to MissStarke's side while Leonard rose and bowed. "I am very grateful to you, madam, " said he, with the grace that comes from all refinement of idea, "for allowing me to see Miss Helen. Do not let me abuse your kindness. "

Miss Starke seemed struck with his look and manner, and made a stiffhalf courtesy. 

A form more rigid than Miss Starke's it was hard to conceive. She waslike the Grim White Woman in the nursery ballads. Yet, apparently, therewas a good-nature in allowing the stranger to enter her trim garden, and providing for him and her little charge those fruits and cakes whichbelied her aspect. "May I go with him to the gate?" whispered Helen, asLeonard had already passed up the path. 

"You may, child; but do not loiter. And then come back, and lock up thecakes and cherries, or Patty will get at them. "

Helen ran after Leonard. 

"Write to me, brother, --write to me; and do not, do not be friends withthis man, who took you to that wicked, wicked place. "

"Oh, Helen, I go from you strong enough to brave worse dangers thanthat, " said Leonard, almost gayly. 

They kissed each other at the little wicket gate, and parted. 

Leonard walked home under the summer moonlight, and on entering hischamber looked first at his rose-tree. The leaves of yesterday's flowerslay strewn around it; but the tree had put forth new buds. 

"Nature ever restores, " said the young man. He paused a moment, andadded, "Is it that Nature is very patient?" His sleep that night was notbroken by the fearful dreams he had lately known. He rose refreshed, and went his way to his day's work, --not stealing along the lesscrowded paths, but with a firm step, through the throng of men. Be bold, adventurer, --thou hast more to suffer! Wilt thou sink? I look into thyheart, and I cannot answer. 

BOOK SEVENTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

MR. CAXTON UPON COURAGE AND PATIENCE. 

"What is courage?" said my uncle Roland, rousing himself from a reveryinto which he had fallen, after the Sixth Book in this history had beenread to our family circle. 

"What is courage?" he repeated more earnestly. "Is it insensibility tofear? That may be the mere accident of constitution; and if so, there isno more merit in being courageous than in being this table. "

"I am very glad to hear you speak thus, " observed Mr. Caxton, "for Ishould not like to consider myself a coward; yet I am very sensible tofear in all dangers, bodily and moral. "

"La, Austin, how can you say so?" cried my mother, firing up; "was itnot only last week that you faced the great bull that was rushing afterBlanche and the children?"

Blanche at that recollection stole to my father's chair, and, hangingover his shoulder, kissed his forehead. 

MR. CAXTON (sublimely unmoved by these flatteries). --"I don't deny thatI faced the bull, but I assert that I was horribly frightened. "

ROLAND. --"The sense of honour which conquers fear is the true courageof chivalry: you could not run away when others were looking on, --nogentleman could. "

MR. CAXTON. --"Fiddledee! It was not on my gentility that I stood, Captain. I should have run fast enough, if it had done any good. I stoodupon my understanding. As the bull could run faster than I could, theonly chance of escape was to make the brute as frightened as myself. "

BLANCHE. --"Ah, you did not think of that; your only thought was to saveme and the children. "

MR. CAXTON. --"Possibly, my dear, very possibly, I might have been afraidfor you too; but I was very much afraid for myself. However, luckily Ihad the umbrella, and I sprang it up and spread it forth in the animal'sstupid eyes, hurling at him simultaneously the biggest lines I couldthink of in the First Chorus of the 'Seven against Thebes. ' I began withELEDEMNAS PEDIOPLOKTUPOS; and when I came to the grand howl of [A linein Greek], the beast stood appalled as at the roar of a lion. I shallnever forget his amazed snort at the Greek. Then he kicked up his hindlegs, and went bolt through the gap in the hedge. Thus, armed withAEschylus and the umbrella, I remained master of the field; but"(continued Mr. Caxton ingenuously) "I should not like to go through thathalf-minute again. "

"No man would, " said the captain, kindly. "I should be very sorry toface a bull myself, even with a bigger umbrella than yours, and eventhough I had AEschylus, and Homer to boot, at my fingers' ends. "

MR. CAXTON. --"You would not have minded if it had been a Frenchman witha sword in his hand?"

CAPTAIN. --"Of course not. Rather liked it than otherwise, " he addedgrimly. 

MR. CAXTON. --"Yet many a Spanish matador, who does n't care a buttonfor a bull, would take to his heels at the first lunge en carte from aFrenchman. Therefore, in fact, if courage be a matter of constitution, it is also a matter of custom. We face calmly the dangers we arehabituated to, and recoil from those of which we have no familiarexperience. I doubt if Marshal Turenue himself would have been quiteat his ease on the tight-rope; and a rope-dancer, who seems disposed toscale the heavens with Titanic temerity, might possibly object to chargeon a cannon. "

CAPTAIN ROLAND. --"Still, either this is not the courage I mean, or it isanother kind of it. I mean by courage that which is the especial forceand dignity of the human character, without which there is no relianceon principle, no constancy in virtue, --a something, " continued my uncle, gallantly, and with a half bow towards my mother, "which your sex shareswith our own. When the lover, for instance, clasps the hand of hisbetrothed, and says, 'Wilt thou be true to me, in spite of absence andtime, in spite of hazard and fortune, though my foes malign me, thoughthy friends may dissuade thee, and our lot in life may be rough andrude?' and when the betrothed answers, 'I will be true, ' does not thelover trust to her courage as well as her love?"

"Admirably put, Roland, " said my father. "But a propos of what do youpuzzle us with these queries on courage?"

CAPTAIN ROLAND (with a slight blush). --"I was led to the inquiry (thoughperhaps it may be frivolous to take so much thought of what, no doubt, costs Pisistratus so little) by the last chapters in my nephew's story. I see this poor boy Leonard, alone with his fallen hopes (though veryirrational they were) and his sense of shame. And I read his heart, Idare say, better than Pisistratus does, for I could feel like thatboy if I had been in the same position; and conjecturing what he andthousands like him must go through, I asked myself, 'What can save himand them?' I answered, as a soldier would answer, 'Courage. ' Very well. But pray; Austin, what is courage?"

MR. CAXTON (prudently backing out of a reply). --"Papae!' Brother, sinceyou have just complimented the ladies on that quality, you had betteraddress your question to them. "

Blanche here leaned both hands on my father's chair, and said, lookingdown at first bashfully, but afterwards warming with the subject, "Doyou not think, sir, that little Helen has already suggested, if notwhat is courage, what at least is the real essence of all courage thatendures and conquers, that ennobles and hallows and redeems? Is it notPATIENCE, Father? And that is why we women have a courage of our own. Patience does not affect to be superior to fear, but at least it neveradmits despair. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Kiss me, my Blanche, for you have come near to the truthwhich perplexed the soldier and puzzled the sage. "

MR. CAXTON (tartly). --"If you mean me by the sage, I was not puzzled atall. Heaven knows you do right to inculcate patience, --it is a virtuevery much required--in your readers. Nevertheless, " added my father, softening with the enjoyment of his joke, --"nevertheless Blanche andHelen are quite right. Patience is the courage of the conqueror; it isthe virtue, par excellence, of Man against Destiny, --of the One againstthe World, and of the Soul against Matter. Therefore this is the courageof the Gospel; and its importance in a social view--its importance toraces and institutions--cannot be too earnestly inculcated. What is itthat distinguishes the Anglo-Saxon from all other branches of the humanfamily, --peoples deserts with his children and consigns to them theheritage of rising worlds? What but his faculty to brave, to suffer, toendure, --the patience that resists firmly and innovates slowly? Comparehim with the Frenchman. The Frenchman has plenty of valour, --that thereis no denying; but as for fortitude, he has not enough to cover thepoint of a pin. He is ready to rush out of the world if he is bitten bya flea. "

CAPTAIN ROLAND. --"There was a case in the papers the other day, Austin, of a Frenchman who actually did destroy himself because he was so teasedby the little creatures you speak of. He left a paper on his table, saying that 'life was not worth having at the price of such torments. '"

MR. CAXTON (solemnly). --"Sir, their whole political history, since thegreat meeting of the Tiers Etat, has been the history of men who wouldrather go to the devil than be bitten by a flea. It is the record ofhuman impatience that seeks to force time, and expects to grow forestsfrom the spawn of a mushroom. Wherefore, running through all extremes ofconstitutional experiment, when they are nearest to democracy theyare next door to a despot; and all they have really done is to destroywhatever constitutes the foundation of every tolerable government. A constitutional monarchy cannot exist without aristocracy, nor ahealthful republic endure with corruption of manners. The cry ofequality is incompatible with civilization, which, of necessity, contrasts poverty with wealth; and, in short, whether it be an emperoror a mob I that is to rule, Force is the sole hope of order, and thegovernment is but an army. "

 [Published more than a year before the date of the French empire under Louis Napoleon. ]

"Impress, O Pisistratus! impress the value of patience as regards manand men. You touch there on the kernel of the social system, --the secretthat fortifies the individual and disciplines the million. I care not, for my part, if you are tedious so long as you are earnest. Be minuteand detailed. Let the real Human Life, in its war with Circumstance, stand out. Never mind if one can read you but slowly, --better chanceof being less quickly forgotten. Patience, patience! By the soul ofEpictetus, your readers shall set you an example. "

CHAPTER II. 

Leonard had written twice to Mrs. Fairfield, twice to Riccabocca, andonce to Mr. Dale; and the poor proud boy could not bear to betrayhis humiliation. He wrote as with cheerful spirits, --as if perfectlysatisfied with his prospects. He said that he was well employed, in themidst of books, and that he had found kind friends. Then he turned fromhimself to write about those whom he addressed, and the affairs andinterests of the quiet world wherein they lived. He did not give hisown address, nor that of Mr. Prickett. He dated his letters from a smallcoffee-house near the bookseller's, to which he occasionally went forhis simple meals. He had a motive in this. He did not desire to befound out. Mr. Dale replied for himself and for Mrs. Fairfield, to theepistles addressed to these two. Riccabocca wrote also. 

Nothing could be more kind than the replies of both. They came toLeonard in a very dark period in his life, and they strengthened him inthe noiseless battle with despair. 

If there be a good in the world that we do without knowing it, withoutconjecturing the effect it may have upon a human soul; it is when weshow kindness to the young in the first barren footpath up the mountainof life. 

Leonard's face resumed its serenity in his intercourse with hisemployer; but he did not recover his boyish ingenuous frankness. Theunder-currents flowed again pure from the turbid soil and the splinteredfragments uptorn from the deep; but they were still too strong and toorapid to allow transparency to the surface. And now he stood in thesublime world of books, still and earnest as a seer who invokes thedead; and thus, face to face with knowledge, hourly he discovered howlittle he knew. Mr. Prickett lent him such works as he selected andasked to take home with him. He spent whole nights in reading, and nolonger desultorily. He read no more poetry, no more Lives of Poets. Heread what poets must read if they desire to be great--Sapere principiumet fons, --strict reasonings on the human mind; the relations betweenmotive and conduct, thought and action; the grave and solemn truths ofthe past world; antiquities, history, philosophy. He was taken out ofhimself; he was carried along the ocean of the universe. In that ocean, O seeker, study the law of the tides; and seeing Chance nowhere, Thought presiding over all, Fate, that dread phantom, shall vanish fromcreation, and Providence alone be visible in heaven and on earth!

CHAPTER III. 

There was to be a considerable book-sale at a country house one day'sjourney from London. Mr. Prickett meant to have attended it on his ownbehalf, and that of several gentlemen who had given him commissions forpurchase; but on the morning fixed for his departure, he was seized witha severe return of his old foe the rheumatism. He requested Leonard toattend instead of himself. Leonard went, and was absent for the threedays during which the sale lasted. He returned late in the evening, andwent at once to Mr. Prickett's house. The shop was closed; he knockedat the private entrance; a strange person opened the door to him, and inreply to his question if Mr. Prickett was at home, said, with a long andfunereal face, "Young man, Mr. Prickett senior is gone to his long home, but Mr. Richard Prickett will see you. "

At this moment a very grave-looking man, with lank hair, looked forthfrom the side-door communicating between the shop and the passage, andthen stepped forward. "Come in, sir; you are my late uncle's assistant, Mr. Fairfield, I suppose?"

"Your late uncle! Heavens, sir, do I understand aright, can Mr. Prickettbe dead since I left London?"

"Died, sir, suddenly, last night. It was an affection of the heart. Thedoctor thinks the rheumatism attacked that organ. He had small time toprovide for his departure, and his account-books seem in sad disorder: Iam his nephew and executor. "

Leonard had now--followed the nephew into the shop. There still burnedthe gas-lamp. The place seemed more dingy and cavernous than before. Death always makes its presence felt in the house it visits. 

Leonard was greatly affected, --and yet more, perhaps, by the utter wantof feeling which the nephew exhibited. In fact the deceased had notbeen on friendly terms with this person, his nearest relative andheir-at-law, who was also a bookseller. 

"You were engaged but by the week, I find, young man, on reference tomy late uncle's papers. He gave you L1 a week, --a monstrous sum! I shallnot require your services any further. I shall move these books to myown house. You will be good enough to send me a list of those you boughtat the sale, and your account of travelling expenses, etc. What may bedue to you shall be sent to your address. Good-evening. "

Leonard went home, shocked and saddened at the sudden death of his kindemployer. He did not think much of himself that night; but when he rosethe next day, he suddenly felt that the world of London lay before him, without a friend, without a calling, without an occupation for bread. 

This time it was no fancied sorrow, no poetic dream disappointed. Before him, gaunt and palpable, stood Famine. Escape!--yes. Back to thevillage: his mother's cottage; the exile's garden; the radishes and thefount. Why could he not escape? Ask why civilization cannot escape itsills, and fly back to the wild and the wigwam. 

Leonard could not have returned to the cottage, even if the Famine thatfaced had already seized him with her skeleton hand. London releases notso readily her fated step-sons. 

CHAPTER IV. 

One day three persons were standing before an old bookstall in apassage leading from Oxford Street into Tottenham Court Road. Two weregentlemen; the third, of the class and appearance of those who morehabitually halt at old bookstalls. 

"Look, " said one of the gentlemen to the other, "I have discovered herewhat I have searched for in vain the last ten years, --the Horace of1580, the Horace of the Forty Commentators, a perfect treasury oflearning, and marked only fourteen shillings!"

"Hush, Norreys, " said the other, "and observe what is yet more worthyour study;" and he pointed to the third bystander, whose face, sharpand attenuated, was bent with an absorbed, and, as it were, with ahungering attention over an old worm-eaten volume. 

"What is the book, my lord?" whispered Mr. Norreys. His companionsmiled, and replied by another question, "What is the man who reads thebook?"

Mr. Norreys moved a few paces, and looked over the student's shoulder. "Preston's translation of Boethius's 'The Consolations of Philosophy, '"he said, coming back to his friend. 

"He looks as if he wanted all the consolations Philosophy can give him, poor boy. "

At this moment a fourth passenger paused at the bookstall, and, recognizing the pale student, placed his hand on his shoulder, and said, "Aha, young sir, we meet again. So poor Prickett is dead. But you arestill haunted by associations. Books, books, --magnets to which all ironminds move insensibly. What is this? Boethius! Ah, a book written inprison, but a little time before the advent of the only philosopher whosolves to the simplest understanding every mystery of life--"

"And that philosopher?"

"Is death!" said Mr. Burley. "How can you be dull enough to ask? PoorBoethius, rich, nobly born, a consul, his sons consuls, the world onesmile to the Last Philosopher of Rome. Then suddenly, against this typeof the old world's departing WISDOM stands frowning the new world'sgrim genius, FORCE, --Theodoric the Ostrogoth condemning Boethius theschoolman; and Boethius in his Pavian dungeon holding a dialogue withthe shade of Athenian Philosophy. It is the finest picture upon whichlingers the glimmering of the Western golden day, before night rushesover time. "

"And, " said Mr. Norreys, abruptly, "Boethius comes back to us with thefaint gleam of returning light, translated by Alfred the Great; and, again, as the sun of knowledge bursts forth in all its splendour byQueen Elizabeth. Boethius influences us as we stand in this passage;and that is the best of all the Consolations of Philosophy, --eh, Mr. Burley?"

Mr. Burley turned and bowed. 

The two men looked at each other; you could not see a greatercontrast, --Mr. Burley, his gay green dress already shabby and soiled, with a rent in the skirts and his face speaking of habitual night-cups;Mr. Norreys, neat and somewhat precise in dress, with firm, lean figure, and quiet, collected, vigorous energy in his eye and aspect. 

"If, " replied Mr. Burley, "a poor devil like me may argue with agentleman who may command his own price with the booksellers, I shouldsay it is no consolation at all, Mr. Norreys. And I should like to seeany man of sense accept the condition of Boethius in his prison, withsome strangler or headsman waiting behind the door, upon the promisedproviso that he should be translated, centuries afterwards, by kingsand queens, and help indirectly to influence the minds of Northernbarbarians, babbling about him in an alley, jostled by passers-bywho never heard the name of Boethius, and who don't care a fig forphilosophy. Your servant, sir, young man, come and talk. "

Burley hooked his arm within Leonard's, and led the boy passively away. 

"That is a clever man, " said Harley L'Estrange. "But I am sorry to seeyon young student, with his bright earnest eyes, and his lip that hasthe quiver of passion and enthusiasm, leaning on the arm of a guidewho seems disenchanted of all that gives purpose to learning, and linksphilosophy with use to the world. Who and what is this clever man whomyou call Burley?"

"A man who might have been famous, if he had condescended to berespectable! The boy listening to us both so attentively interestedme too, --I should like to have the making of him. But I must buy thisHorace. "

The shopman, lurking within his hole like a spider for flies, was nowcalled out. And when Mr. Norreys had bought the Horace, and given anaddress where to send it, Harley asked the shopman if he knew the youngman who had been reading Boethius. 

"Only by sight. He has come here every day the last week, and spendshours at the stall. When once he fastens on a book, he reads itthrough. "

"And never buys?" said Mr. Norreys. 

"Sir, " said the shopman, with a good-natured smile, "they who buy seldomread. The poor boy pays me twopence a day to read as long as he pleases. I would not take it, but he is proud. "

"I have known men amass great learning in that way, " said Mr. Norreys. "Yes, I should like to have that boy in my hands. And now, my lord, I amat your service, and we will go to the studio of your artist. "

The two gentlemen walked on towards one of the streets out of FitzroySquare. 

In a few minutes more Harley L'Estrange was in his element, seatedcarelessly on a deal table smoking his cigar, and discussing art withthe gusto of a man who honestly loved, and the taste of a man whothoroughly understood it. The young artist, in his dressing robe, addingslow touch upon touch, paused often to listen the better. And HenryNorrey s, enjoying the brief respite from a life of great labour, wasgladly reminded of idle hours under rosy skies; for these three menhad formed their friendship in Italy, where the bands of friendship arewoven by the hands of the Graces. 

CHAPTER V. 

Leonard and Mr. Burley walked on into the suburbs round the north roadfrom London, and Mr. Burley offered to find literary employment forLeonard, --an offer eagerly accepted. 

Then they went into a public-house by the wayside. Burley demandeda private room, called for pen, ink, and paper; and placing theseimplements before Leonard, said, "Write what you please, in prose, fivesheets of letter-paper, twenty-two lines to a page, --neither more norless. "

"I cannot write so. "

"Tut, 't is for bread. "

The boy's face crimsoned. 

"I must forget that, " said he. 

"There is an arbour in the garden, under a weeping-ash, " returnedBurley. "Go there, and fancy yourself in Arcadia. "

Leonard was too pleased to obey. He found out the little arbour at oneend of a deserted bowling-green. All was still, --the hedgerow shutout the sight of the inn. The sun lay warm on the grass, and glintedpleasantly through the leaves of the ash. And Leonard there wrote thefirst essay from his hand as Author by profession. What was it that hewrote? His dreamy impressions of London, an anathema on its streets andits hearts of stone, murmurs against poverty, dark elegies on fate?

Oh, no! little knowest thou true genius, if thou askest such questions, or thinkest that there under the weeping-ash the task-work for bread wasremembered; or that the sunbeam glinted but over the practical world, which, vulgar and sordid, lay around. Leonard wrote a fairy tale, --oneof the loveliest you can conceive, with a delicate touch of playfulhumour, in a style all flowered over with happy fancies. He smiled ashe wrote the last word, --he was happy. In rather more than an hour Mr. Burley came to him, and found him with that smile on his lips. 

Mr. Burley had a glass of brandy-and-water in his hand; it was histhird. He too smiled, he too looked happy. He read the paper aloud, and well. He was very complimentary. "You will do!" said he, clappingLeonard on the back. "Perhaps some day you will catch my one-eyedperch. " Then he folded up the manuscript, scribbled off a note, put thewhole in one envelope, and they returned to London. 

Mr. Burley disappeared within a dingy office near Fleet Street, on whichwas inscribed, "Office of the 'Beehive, '" and soon came forth with agolden sovereign in his hand, Leonard's first-fruits. Leonard thoughtPeru lay before him. He accompanied Mr. Burley to that gentleman'slodging in Maida Hill. The walk had been very long; Leonard was notfatigued. He listened with a livelier attention than before to Burley'stalk. And when they reached the apartments of the latter, and Mr. Burleysent to the cookshop, and their joint supper was taken out of the goldensovereign, Leonard felt proud, and for the first time for weeks helaughed the heart's laugh. The two writers grew more and more intimateand cordial. And there was a vast deal in Burley by which any young manmight be made the wiser. There was no apparent evidence of poverty inthe apartments, --clean, new, well-furnished; but all things in the mosthorrible litter, --all speaking of the huge literary sloven. 

For several days Leonard almost lived in those rooms. He wrotecontinuously, save when Burley's conversation fascinated him intoidleness. Nay, it was not idleness, --his knowledge grew larger as helistened; but the cynicism of the talker began slowly to work its way. That cynicism in which there was no faith, no hope, no vivifying breathfrom Glory, from Religion, --the cynicism of the Epicurean, more degradedin his sty than ever was Diogenes in his tub; and yet presented withsuch ease and such eloquence, with such art and such mirth, so adornedwith illustration and anecdote, so unconscious of debasement!

Strange and dread philosophy, that made it a maxim to squander the giftsof mind on the mere care for matter, and fit the soul to live but asfrom day to day, with its scornful cry, "A fig for immortality andlaurels!" An author for bread! Oh, miserable calling! was theresomething grand and holy, after all, even in Chatterton's despair?

CHAPTER VI. 

The villanous "Beehive"! Bread was worked out of it, certainly; butfame, but hope for the future, --certainly not. Milton's Paradise Lostwould have perished without a sound had it appeared in the "Beehive. "

Fine things were there in a fragmentary crude state, composed by Burleyhimself. At the end of a week they were dead and forgotten, --neverread by one man of education and taste; taken simultaneously andindifferently with shallow politics and wretched essays, yet selling, perhaps, twenty or thirty thousand copies, --an immense sale; and nothinggot out of them but bread and brandy!

"What more would you have?" cried John Burley. "Did not stern old SamJohnson say he could never write but from want?"

"He might say it, " answered Leonard; "but he never meant posterity tobelieve him. And he would have died of want, I suspect, rather than havewritten 'Rasselas' for the 'Beehive'! Want is a grand thing, " continuedthe boy, thoughtfully, --"a parent of grand things. Necessity is strong, and should give us its own strength; but Want should shatter asunder, with its very writhings, the walls of our prison-house, and not sitcontented with the allowance the jail gives us in exchange for ourwork. "

"There is no prison-house to a man who calls upon Bacchus; stay, I willtranslate to you Schiller's Dithyramb. 'Then see I Bacchus; then up comeCupid and Phoebus, and all the Celestials are filling my dwelling. '"

Breaking into impromptu careless rhymes, Burley threw off a rude butspirited translation of that divine lyric. "O materialist!" cried theboy, with his bright eyes suffused. "Schiller calls on the gods totake him to their heaven with them; and you would debase the gods to aginpalace. "

"Ho, ho!" cried Burley, with his giant laugh. "Drink, and you willunderstand the Dithyramb. "

CHAPTER VII. 

Suddenly one morning, as Leonard sat with Burley, a fashionablecabriolet, with a very handsome horse, stopped at the door. A loudknock, a quick step on the stairs, and Randal Leslie entered. Leonardrecognized him, and started. Randal glanced at him in surprise, andthen, with a tact that showed he had already learned to profit by Londonlife, after shaking hands with Burley, approached, and said, with somesuccessful attempt at ease, "Unless I am not mistaken, sir, we have metbefore. If you remember me, I hope all boyish quarrels are forgotten?"

Leonard bowed, and his heart was still good enough to be softened. 

"Where could you two ever have met?" asked Burley. "In a village green, and in single combat, " answered Randal, smiling; and he told the storyof the Battle of the Stocks, with a well-bred jest on himself. Burleylaughed at the story. "But, " said he, when this laugh was over, "myyoung friend had better have remained guardian of the village stocksthan come to London in search of such fortune as lies at the bottom ofan inkhorn. "

"Ah, " said Randal, with the secret contempt which men elaboratelycultivated are apt to feel for those who seek to educatethemselves, --"ah, you make literature your calling, sir? At what schooldid you conceive a taste for letters? Not very common at our greatpublic schools. "

"I am at school now for the first time, " answered Leonard, dryly. 

"Experience is the best schoolmistress, " said Burley; "and that was themaxim of Goethe, who had book-learning enough, in all conscience. "

Randal slightly shrugged his shoulders, and without wasting anotherthought on Leonard, peasant-born and self-taught, took his seat, andbegan to talk to Burley upon a political question, which made then thewar-cry between the two great parliamentary parties. It was a subjectin which Burley showed much general knowledge; and Randal, seeming todiffer from him, drew forth alike his information and his argumentativepowers. The conversation lasted more than an hour. 

"I can't quite agree with you, " said Randal, taking his leave; "but youmust allow me to call again, --will the same hour tomorrow suit you?"

"Yes, " said Burley. 

Away went the young man in his cabriolet. Leonard watched him from thewindow. 

For five days, consecutively, did Randal call and discuss the questionin all its bearings; and Burley, after the second day, got interestedin the matter, looked up his authorities, refreshed his memory, and evenspent an hour or two in the Library of the British Museum. 

By the fifth day, Burley had really exhausted all that could well besaid on his side of the question. 

Leonard, during these colloquies, had sat apart seemingly absorbed inreading, and secretly stung by Randal's disregard of his presence. Forindeed that young man, in his superb self-esteem, and in the absorptionof his ambitious projects, scarce felt even curiosity as to Leonard'srise above his earlier station, and looked on him as a mere journeymanof Burley's. 

But the self-taught are keen and quick observers; and Leonard hadremarked that Randal seemed more as one playing a part for some privatepurpose, than arguing in earnest; and that, when he rose, and said, "Mr. Burley, you have convinced me, " it was not with the modesty of a sincerereasoner, but the triumph of one who has gained his end. But so struck, meanwhile, was our unheeded and silent listener with Burley's power ofgeneralization and the wide surface over which his informationextended, that when Randal left the room the boy looked at the slovenly, purposeless man, and said aloud, "True; knowledge is not power. "

"Certainly not, " said Burley, dryly, --"the weakest thing in the world. "

"Knowledge is power, " muttered Randal Leslie, as, with a smile on hislip, he drove from the door. 

Not many days after this last interview there appeared a short pamphlet;anonymous, but one which made a great impression on the town. It was onthe subject discussed between Randal and Burley. It was quoted at greatlength in the newspapers. And Burley started to his feet one morning, and exclaimed, "My own thoughts! my very words! Who the devil is thispamphleteer?"

Leonard took the newspaper from Burley's hand. The most flatteringencomiums preceded the extracts, and the extracts were as stereotypes ofBurley's talk. 

"Can you doubt the author?" cried Leonard, in deep disgust and ingenuousscorn. "The young man who came to steal your brains, and turn yourknowledge--"

"Into power, " interrupted Burley, with a laugh, --but it was a laugh ofpain. "Well, this was very mean; I shall tell him so when he comes. "

"He will come no more, " said Leonard. Nor did Randal come again. But hesent Mr. Burley a copy of the pamphlet with a polite note, saying, withcandid but careless acknowledgment, that he "had profited much by Mr. Burley's hints and remarks. "

And now it was in all the papers that the pamphlet which had made sogreat a noise was by a very young man, Mr. Audley Egerton's relation. And high hopes were expressed of the future career of Mr. Randal Leslie. 

Burley still attempted to laugh, and still his pain was visible. Leonardmost cordially despised and hated Randal Leslie, and his heart moved toBurley with noble but perilous compassion. In his desire to sootheand comfort the man whom he deemed cheated out of fame, he forgot thecaution he had hitherto imposed on himself, and yielded more and moreto the charm of that wasted intellect. He accompanied Burley now tothe haunts to which his friend went to spend his evenings; and more andmore--though gradually, and with many a recoil and self-rebuke--therecrept over him the cynic's contempt for glory, and miserable philosophyof debased content. 

Randal had risen into grave repute upon the strength of Burley'sknowledge. But, had Burley written the pamphlet, would the samerepute have attended him? Certainly not. Randal Leslie brought to thatknowledge qualities all his own, --a style simple, strong, and logical;a certain tone of good society, and allusions to men and to parties thatshowed his connection with a Cabinet minister, and proved that he hadprofited no less by Egerton's talk than Burley's. 

Had Burley written the pamphlet, it would have showed more genius, itwould have had humour and wit, but have been so full of whims and quips, sins against taste, and defects in earnestness, that it would havefailed to create any serious sensation. Here, then, there was somethingelse be sides knowledge, by which knowledge became power. Knowledge mustnot smell of the brandy-bottle. 

Randal Leslie might be mean in his plagiarism, but he turned the uselessinto use. And so far he was original. But one's admiration, after all, rests where Leonard's rested, --with the poor, riotous, lawless, big, fallen man. Burley took himself off to the Brent, and fished again forthe one-eyed perch. Leonard accompanied him. His feelings were indeeddifferent from what they had been when he had reclined under the oldtree, and talked with Helen of the future. But it was almost pathetic tosee how Burley's nature seemed to alter, as he strayed along the banksof the rivulet, and discoursed of his own boyhood. The man then seemedrestored to something of the innocence of the child. He cared, in truth, little for the perch, which continued intractable, but he enjoyed theair and the sky, the rustling grass and the murmuring waters. Theseexcursions to the haunts of youth seemed to rebaptize him, and then hiseloquence took a pastoral character, and Izaak Walton himself would haveloved to hear him. But as he got back into the smoke of the metropolis, and the gas-lamps made him forget the ruddy sunset and the soft eveningstar, the gross habits reassumed their sway; and on he went with hisswaggering, reckless step to the orgies in which his abused intellectflamed forth, and then sank into the socket quenched and rayless. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Helen was seized with profound and anxious sadness. Leonard had beenthree or four times to see her, and each time she saw a change in himthat excited all her fears. He seemed, it is true, more shrewd, moreworldly-wise, more fitted, it might be, for coarse daily life; but, onthe other hand, the freshness and glory of his youth were waning slowly. His aspirings drooped earthward. He had not mastered the Practical, andmoulded its uses with the strong hand of the Spiritual Architect, ofthe Ideal Builder; the Practical was overpowering himself. She grew palewhen he talked of Burley, and shuddered, poor little Helen? when shefound he was daily, and almost nightly, in a companionship which, withher native honest prudence, she saw so unsuited to strengthen him inhis struggles, and aid him against temptation. She almost groaned when, pressing him as to his pecuniary means, she found his old terror of debtseemed fading away, and the solid healthful principles he had taken fromhis village were loosening fast. Under all, it is true, there was whata wiser and older person than Helen would have hailed as the redeemingpromise. But that something was grief, --a sublime grief in his own senseof falling, in his own impotence against the Fate he had provoked andcoveted. The Sublimity of that grief Helen could not detect; she sawonly that it was grief, and she grieved with it, letting it excuse everyfault, --making her more anxious to comfort, in order that she mightsave. Even from the first, when Leonard had exclaimed, "Ah, Helen, whydid you ever leave me?" she had revolved the idea of return to him;and when in the boy's last visit he told her that Burley, persecutedby duns, was about to fly from his present lodgings, and take his abodewith Leonard, in the room she had left vacant, all doubt was over. Sheresolved to sacrifice the safety and shelter of the home assured her. She resolved to come back and share Leonard's penury and struggles, andsave the old room, wherein she had prayed for him, from the tempter'sdangerous presence. Should she burden him? No; she had assisted herfather by many little female arts in needle and fancy work. She hadimproved herself in these during her sojourn with Miss Starke. Shecould bring her share to the common stock. Possessed with this idea, shedetermined to realize it before the day on which Leonard had told herBurley was to move his quarters. Accordingly she rose very early onemorning; she wrote a pretty and grateful note to Miss Starke, who wasfast asleep, left it on the table, and before any one was astir, stolefrom the house, her little bundle on her arm. 

She lingered an instant at the garden-gate, with a remorsefulsentiment, --a feeling that she had ill-repaid the cold and primprotection that Miss Starke had shown her. But sisterly love carried allbefore it. She closed the gate with a sigh, and went on. 

She arrived at the lodging-house before Leonard was up, took possessionof her old chamber, and presenting herself to Leonard, as he was aboutto go forth, said (story-teller that she was), "I am sent away, brother, and I have come to you to take care of me. Do not let us part again. But you must be very cheerful and very happy, or I shall think that I amsadly in your way. "

Leonard at first did look cheerful, and even happy; but then he thoughtof Burley, and then of his own means of supporting Helen, and wasembarrassed, and began questioning her as to the possibilityof reconciliation with Miss Starke. And Helen said gravely, "Impossible, --do not ask it, and do not go near her. "

Then Leonard thought she had been humbled and insulted, and rememberedthat she was a gentleman's child, and felt for her wounded pride, he wasso proud himself. Yet still he was embarrassed. 

"Shall I keep the purse again, Leonard?" said Helen, coaxingly. 

"Alas!" replied Leonard, "the purse is empty. "

"That is very naughty in the purse, " said Helen, "since you put so muchinto it. "

"Did not you say that you made, at least, a guinea a week?"

"Yes; but Burley takes the money; and then, poor fellow! as I owe all tohim, I have not the heart to prevent him spending it as he likes. "

"Please, I wish you could settle the month's rent, " said the landlady, suddenly showing herself. She said it civilly, but with firmness. 

Leonard coloured. "It shall be paid to-day. "

Then he pressed his hat on his head, and putting Helen gently aside, went forth. 

"Speak to me in future, kind Mrs. Smedley, " said Helen, with the air ofa housewife. "He is always in study, and must not be disturbed. "

The landlady--a good woman, though she liked her rent--smiled benignly. She was fond of Helen, whom she had known of old. 

"I am so glad you are come back; and perhaps now the young man will notkeep such late hours. I meant to give him warning, but--"

"But he will be a great man one of these days, and you must bear withhim now. " And Helen kissed Mrs. Smedley, and sent her away half inclinedto cry. 

Then Helen busied herself in the rooms. She found her father's box, which had been duly forwarded. She re-examined its contents, and wept asshe touched each humble and pious relic. But her father's memory itselfthus seemed to give this home a sanction which the former had not; andshe rose quietly and began mechanically to put things in order, sighingas she saw all so neglected, till she came to the rosetree, and thatalone showed heed and care. "Dear Leonard!" she murmured, and the smileresettled on her lips. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Nothing, perhaps, could have severed Leonard from Burley but Helen'sreturn to his care. It was impossible for him, even had there beenanother room in the house vacant (which there was not), to installthis noisy, riotous son of the Muse by Bacchus, talking at random andsmelling of spirits, in the same dwelling with an innocent, delicate, timid, female child. And Leonard could not leave her alone all thetwenty-four hours. She restored a home to him and imposed its duties. He therefore told Mr. Burley that in future he should write and studyin his own room, and hinted, with many a blush, and as delicately ashe could, that it seemed to him that whatever he obtained from hispen ought to be halved with Burley, to whose interest he owed theemployment, and from whose books or whose knowledge he took what helpedto maintain it; but that the other half, if his, he could no longerafford to spend upon feasts or libations. He had another life to providefor. 

Burley pooh-poohed the notion of taking half his coadjutor's earningwith much grandeur, but spoke very fretfully of Leonard's soberappropriation of the other half; and though a good-natured, warm-heartedman, felt extremely indignant at the sudden interposition of poor Helen. However, Leonard was firm; and then Burley grew sullen, and so theyparted. But the rent was still to be paid. How? Leonard for thefirst time thought of the pawnbroker. He had clothes to spare, andRiccabocca's watch. No; that last he shrank from applying to such baseuses. 

He went home at noon, and met Helen at the street-door. She too hadbeen out, and her soft cheek was rosy red with unwonted exercise and thesense of joy. She had still preserved the few gold pieces which Leonardhad taken back to her on his first visit to Miss Starke's. She had nowgone out and bought wool and implements for work; and meanwhile she hadpaid the rent. 

Leonard did not object to the work, but he blushed deeply when he knewabout the rent, and was very angry. He paid back to her that night whatshe had advanced; and Helen wept silently at his pride, and wept morewhen she saw the next day a woful hiatus in his wardrobe. 

But Leonard now worked at home, and worked resolutely; and Helen satby his side, working too; so that next day, and the next, slippedpeacefully away, and in the evening of the second he asked her to walkout in the fields. She sprang up joyously at the invitation, when bangwent the door, and in reeled John Burley, --drunk, --and so drunk!

CHAPTER X. 

And with Burley there reeled in another man, --a friend of his, a man whohad been a wealthy trader and once well to do, but who, unluckily, hadliterary tastes, and was fond of hearing Burley talk. So, since hehad known the wit, his business had fallen from him, and he had passedthrough the Bankrupt Court. A very shabby-looking dog he was, indeed, and his nose was redder than Burley's. 

John made a drunken dash at poor Helen. "So you are the Pentheus inpetticoats who defies Bacchus, " cried he; and therewith he roared out averse from Euripides. Helen ran away, and Leonard interposed. 

"For shame, Burley!"

"He's drunk, " said Mr. Douce, the bankrupt trader, "very drunk; don'tmind him. I say, sir, I hope we don't intrude. Sit still, Burley, sit still, and talk, do, --that's a good man. You should hearhim--ta--ta--talk, sir. " Leonard meanwhile had got Helen out of theroom into her own, and begged her not to be alarmed, and keep the doorlocked. He then returned to Burley, who had seated himself on thebed, trying wondrous hard to keep himself upright; while Mr. Doucewas striving to light a short pipe that he carried in hisbutton-hole--without having filled it--and, naturally failing in thatattempt, was now beginning to weep. 

Leonard was deeply shocked and revolted for Helen's sake; but it washopeless to make Burley listen to reason. And how could the boy turn outof his room the man to whom he was under obligations?

Meanwhile there smote upon Helen's shrinking ears loud jarring talk andmaudlin laughter, and cracked attempts at jovial songs. Then she heardMrs. Smedley in Leonard's room, remonstrating; and Burley's laugh waslouder than before, and Mrs. Smedley, who was a meek woman, evidentlygot frightened, and was heard in precipitate retreat. Long and loud talkrecommenced, Burley's great voice predominant, Mr. Douce chiming in withhiccoughy broken treble. Hour after hour this lasted, for want ofthe drink that would have brought it to a premature close. And Burleygradually began to talk himself somewhat sober. Then Mr. Douce was hearddescending the stairs, and silence followed. At dawn, Leonard knocked atHelen's door. She opened it at once, for she had not gone to bed. 

"Helen, " said he, very sadly, "you cannot continue here. I must findout some proper home for you. This man has served me when all London wasfriendless, and he tells me that he has nowhere else to go, --that thebailiffs are after him. He has now fallen asleep. I will go and find yousome lodging close at hand, for I cannot expel him who has protected me;and yet you cannot be under the same roof with him. My own good angel, Imust lose you. "

He did not wait for her answer, but hurried down stairs. The morninglooked through the shutterless panes in Leonard's garret, and the birdsbegan to chirp from the elmtree, when Burley rose and shook himself, andstared round. He could not quite make out where he was. He got holdof the water-jug, which he emptied at three draughts, and felt greatlyrefreshed. He then began to reconnoitre the chamber, --looked atLeonard's manuscripts, peeped into the drawers, wondered where the devilLeonard himself had gone to, and finally amused himself by throwing downthe fireirons, ringing the bell, and making all the noise he could, in the hopes of attracting the attention of somebody or other, andprocuring himself his morning dram. 

In the midst of this charivari the door opened softly, but as if witha resolute hand, and the small quiet form of Helen stood before thethreshold. Burley turned round, and the two looked at each other forsome moments with silent scrutiny. 

BURLEY (composing his features into their most friendlyexpression). --"Come hither, my dear. So you are the little girl whom Isaw with Leonard on the banks of the Brent, and you have come back tolive with him, --and I have come to live with him too. You shall be ourlittle housekeeper, and I will tell you the story of Prince Pettyman, and a great many others not to be found in 'Mother Goose. ' Meanwhile, mydear little girl, here's sixpence, --just run out and change this for itsworth in rum. "

HELEN (coming slowly up to Mr. Burley, and still gazing earnestly intohis face). --"Ah, sir, Leonard says you have a kind heart, and that youhave served him; he cannot ask you to leave the house; and so I, whohave never served him, am to go hence and live alone. "

BURLEY (moved). --"You go, my little lady; and why? Can we not all livetogether?"

HELEN. --"No, sir. I left everything to come to Leonard, for we had metfirst at my father's grave; but you rob me of him, and I have no otherfriend on earth. "

BURLEY (discomposed). --"Explain yourself. Why must you leave him becauseI come?"

Helen looked at Mr. Burley again, long and wistfully, but made noanswer. 

BURLEY (with a gulp). --"Is it because he thinks I am not fit company foryou?"

Helen bowed her head. 

Burley winced, and after a moment's pause said, "He is right. "

HELEN (obeying the impulse of her heart, springs forward and takesBurley's hand). --"Ah, sir, " she cried, "before he knew you he wasso different; then he was cheerful, then, even when his firstdisappointment came, I grieved and wept but I felt he would conquerstill, for his heart was so good and pure. Oh, sir, don't think Ireproach you; but what is to become of him if--if--No, it is not formyself I speak. I know that if I was here, that if he had me to carefor, he would come home early, and work patiently, and--and--that Imight save him. But now when I am gone, and you live with him, --you towhom he is grateful, you whom he would follow against his own conscience(you must see that, sir), what is to become of him?"

Helen's voice died in sobs. 

Burley took three or four long strides through the room; he was greatlyagitated. "I am a demon, " he murmured. "I never saw it before; but it istrue, I should be this boy's ruin. " Tears stood in his eyes, he pausedabruptly, made a clutch at his hat, and turned to the door. 

Helen stopped the way, and taking him gently by the arm, said, "Oh, sir, forgive me, --I have pained you;" and looked up at him with acompassionate expression, that indeed made the child's sweet face asthat of an angel. 

Burley bent down as if to kiss her, and then drew back, perhaps with asentiment that his lips were not worthy to touch that innocent brow. 

"If I had had a sister, --a child like you, little one, " he muttered, "perhaps I too might have been saved in time. Now--"

"Ah, now you may stay, sir; I don't fear you any more. "

"No, no; you would fear me again ere night-time, and I might not bealways in the right mood to listen to a voice like yours, child. YourLeonard has a noble heart and rare gifts. He should rise yet, and heshall. I will not drag him into the mire. Good-by, --you will see me nomore. " He broke from Helen, cleared the stairs with a bound, and was outof the house. 

When Leonard returned he was surprised to hear his unwelcome guest wasgone, --but Helen did not venture to tell him of her interposition. Sheknew instinctively how such officiousness would mortify and offend thepride of man; but she never again spoke harshly of poor Burley. Leonardsupposed that he should either see or hear of the humourist in thecourse of the day. Finding he did not, he went in search of him at hisold haunts; but no trace. He inquired at the "Beehive" if they knewthere of his new address, but no tidings of Burley could be obtained. 

As he came home disappointed and anxious, for he felt uneasy as to thedisappearance of his wild friend, Mrs. Smedley met him at the door. 

"Please, sir, suit yourself with another lodging, " said she. "I can haveno such singings and shoutings going on at night in my house. And thatpoor little girl, too! you should be ashamed of yourself. "

Leonard frowned, and passed by. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Meanwhile, on leaving Helen, Burley strode on; and, as if by some betterinstinct, for he was unconscious of his own steps, he took his waytowards the still green haunts of his youth. When he paused at length, he was already before the door of a rural cottage, standing alone in themidst of fields, with a little farmyard at the back; and far through thetrees in front was caught a glimpse of the winding Brent. 

With this cottage Burley was familiar; it was inhabited by a good oldcouple who had known him from a boy. There he habitually left his rodsand fishing-tackle; there, for intervals in his turbid, riotous life, he had sojourned for two or three days together, fancying the first daythat the country was a heaven, and convinced before the third that itwas a purgatory. 

An old woman, of neat and tidy exterior, came forth to greet him. 

"Ah, Master John, " said she, clasping his nerveless hand, "well, thefields be pleasant now; I hope you are come to stay a bit? Do; it willfreshen you; you lose all the fine colour you had once, in Lunnon town. "

"I will stay with you, my kind friend, " said Burley, with unusualmeekness; "I can have the old room, then?"

"Oh, yes, come and look at it. I never let it now to any one butyou, --never have let it since the dear beautiful lady with the angel'sface went away. Poor thing, what could have become of her?"

Thus speaking, while Burley listened not, the old woman drew him withinthe cottage, and led him up the stairs into a room that might havewell become a better house, for it was furnished with taste, and evenelegance. A small cabinet pianoforte stood opposite the fireplace, andthe window looked upon pleasant meads and tangled hedgerows, and thenarrow windings of the blue rivulet. Burley sank down exhausted, andgazed wistfully from the casement. 

"You have not breakfasted?" said the hostess, anxiously. 

"No. "

"Well, the eggs are fresh laid, and you would like a rasher of bacon, Master John? And if you will have brandy in your tea, I have some thatyou left long ago in your own bottle. "

Burley shook his head. "No brandy, Mrs. Goodyer; only fresh milk. I willsee whether I can yet coax Nature. "

Mrs. Goodyer did not know what was meant by coaxing Nature, but shesaid, "Pray do, Master John, " and vanished. That day Burley went outwith his rod, and he fished hard for the one-eyed perch; but in vain. Then he roved along the stream with his hands in his pockets, whistling. He returned to the cottage at sunset, partook of the fare provided forhim, abstained from the brandy, and felt dreadfully low. 

He called for pen, ink, and paper, and sought to write, but could notachieve two lines. He summoned Mrs. Goodyer. "Tell your husband to comeand sit and talk. "

Up came old Jacob Goodyer, and the great wit bade him tell him all thenews of the village. Jacob obeyed willingly, and Burley at last fellasleep. The next day it was much the same, only at dinner he had up thebrandy-bottle, and finished it; and he did not have up Jacob, but hecontrived to write. 

The third day it rained incessantly. "Have you no books, Mrs. Goodyer?"asked poor John Burley. 

"Oh, yes, some that the dear lady left behind her; and perhaps you wouldlike to look at some papers in her own writing?"

"No, not the papers, --all women scribble, and all scribble the samethings. Get me the books. "

The books were brought up, --poetry and essays--John knew them by heart. He looked out on the rain, and at evening the rain had ceased. He rushedto his hat and fled. 

"Nature, Nature!" he exclaimed, when he was out in the air and hurryingby the dripping hedgerows, "you are not to be coaxed by me! I havejilted you shamefully, I own it; you are a female, and unforgiving. Idon't complain. You may be very pretty, but you are the stupidest andmost tire some companion that ever I met with. Thank Heaven, I am notmarried to you!"

Thus John Burley made his way into town, and paused at the firstpublic-house. Out of that house he came with a jovial air, and on hestrode towards the heart of London. Now he is in Leicester Square, andhe gazes on the foreigners who stalk that region, and hums a tune; andnow from yonder alley two forms emerge, and dog his careless footsteps;now through the maze of passages towards St. Martin's he threads hispath, and, anticipating an orgy as he nears his favourite haunts, jingles the silver in his pockets; and now the two forms are at hisheels. 

"Hail to thee, O Freedom!" muttered John Burley, "thy dwelling is incities, and thy palace is the tavern. "

"In the king's name, " quoth a gruff voice; and John Burley feels thehorrid and familiar tap on the shoulder. 

The two bailiffs who dogged have seized their prey. "At whose suit?"asked John Burley, falteringly. "Mr. Cox, the wine-merchant. "

"Cox! A man to whom I gave a check on my bankers not three months ago!"

"But it war n't cashed. "

"What does that signify?--the intention was the same. A good heart takesthe will for the deed. Cox is a monster of ingratitude, and I withdrawmy custom. "

"Sarve him right. Would your honour like a jarvey?"

"I would rather spend the money on something else, " said John Burley. "Give me your arm, I am not proud. After all, thank Heaven, I shall notsleep in the country. "

And John Burley made a night of it in the Fleet. 

CHAPTER XII. 

Miss Starke was one of those ladies who pass their lives in the direstof all civil strife, --war with their servants. She looked upon themembers of that class as the unrelenting and sleepless enemies of theunfortunate householders condemned to employ them. She thought they ateand drank to their villanous utmost, in order to ruin their benefactors;that they lived in one constant conspiracy with one another and thetradesmen, the object of which was to cheat and pilfer. Miss Starke wasa miserable woman. As she had no relations or friends who cared enoughfor her to share her solitary struggle against her domestic foes; andher income, though easy, was an annuity that died with herself, therebyreducing various nephews, nieces, or cousins to the strict bounds of anatural affection, --that did not exist; and as she felt the want of somefriendly face amidst this world of distrust and hate, --so she had triedthe resource of venal companions. But the venal companions had neverstayed long, either they disliked Miss Starke, or Miss Starke dislikedthem. Therefore the poor woman had resolved upon bringing up somelittle girl, whose heart, as she said to herself, would be fresh anduncorrupted, and from whom she might expect gratitude. She had beencontented, on the whole, with Helen, and had meant to keep that child inher house as long as she (Miss Starke) remained upon the earth, --perhapssome thirty years longer; and then, having carefully secluded her frommarriage and other friendship, to leave her nothing but the regret ofhaving lost so kind a benefactress. Conformably with this notion, and inorder to secure the affections of the child, Miss Starke had relaxedthe frigid austerity natural to her manner and mode of thought, and beenkind to Helen in an iron way. She had neither slapped nor pinched her, neither had she starved. She had allowed her to see Leonard, accordingto the agreement made with Dr. Morgan, and had laid out tenpenceon cakes, besides contributing fruit from her garden for the firstinterview, --a hospitality she did not think it fit to renew onsubsequent occasions. In return for this, she conceived she hadpurchased the right to Helen bodily and spiritually, and nothing couldexceed her indignation when she rose one morning and found the child hadgone. As it never had occurred to her to ask Leonard's address, thoughshe suspected Helen had gone to him, she was at a loss what to do, andremained for twenty-four hours in a state of inane depression. But thenshe began to miss the child so much that her energies woke, and shepersuaded herself that she was actuated by the purest benevolence intrying to reclaim this poor creature from the world into which Helen hadthus rashly plunged. 

Accordingly she put an advertisement into the "Times, " to the followingeffect, liberally imitated from one by which in former years she hadrecovered a favourite Blenheim:--

 TWO GUINEAS' REWARD. 

 STRAYED, from Ivy Cottage, Highgate, a Little Girl, --answers to the name of Helen; with blue eyes and brown hair; white muslin frock, and straw hat with blue ribbons. Whoever will bring the same to Ivy Cottage, shall receive the above Reward. 

 N. B. --Nothing more will be offered. 

Now it so happened that Mrs. Smedley had put an advertisement in the"Times" on her own account, relative to a niece of hers who was comingfrom the country, and for whom she desired to find a situation. So, contrary to her usual habit, she sent for the newspaper, and close byher own advertisement, she saw Miss Starke's. 

It was impossible that she could mistake the description of Helen; andas this advertisement caught her eye the very day after the whole househad been disturbed and scandalized by Burley's noisy visit, and on whichshe had resolved to get rid of a lodger who received such visitors, thegood-hearted woman was delighted to think that she could restore Helento some safe home. While thus thinking, Helen herself entered thekitchen where Mrs. Smedley sat, and the landlady had the imprudence topoint out the advertisement, and talk, as she called it, "seriously, " tothe little girl. 

Helen in vain and with tears entreated her to take no step in reply tothe advertisement. Mrs. Smedley felt that it was an affair of duty, and was obdurate, and shortly afterwards put on her bonnet and left thehouse. Helen conjectured that she was on her way to Miss Starke's, andher whole soul was bent on flight. Leonard had gone to the office ofthe "Beehive" with his manuscripts; but she packed up all their jointeffects, and just as she had done so, he returned. She communicatedthe news of the advertisement, and said she should be so miserable ifcompelled to go back to Miss Starke's, and implored him so patheticallyto save her from such sorrow, that he at once assented to her proposalof flight. Luckily, little was owing to the landlady, --that little wasleft with the maid-servant; and, profiting by Mrs. Smedley's absence, they escaped without scene or conflict. Their effects were taken byLeonard to a stand of hackney vehicles, and then left at a coach-officewhile they went in search of lodgings. It was wise to choose an entirelynew and remote district; and before night they were settled in an atticin Lambeth. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

As the reader will expect, no trace of Burley could Leonard find: thehumourist had ceased to communicate with the "Beehive. " But Leonardgrieved for Burley's sake; and, indeed, he missed the intercourse of thelarge, wrong mind. But he settled down by degrees to the simple, lovingsociety of his child companion, and in that presence grew more tranquil. The hours in the daytime that he did not pass at work, he spent asbefore, picking up knowledge at book-stalls; and at dusk he and Helenwould stroll out, --sometimes striving to escape from the long suburbinto fresh rural air; more often wandering to and fro the bridge thatled to glorious Westminster--London's classic land--and watching thevague lamps reflected on the river. This haunt suited the musing, melancholy boy. He would stand long and with wistful silence by thebalustrade, seating Helen thereon, that she too might look along thedark mournful waters, which, dark though they be, still have their charmof mysterious repose. 

As the river flowed between the world of roofs, and the roar of humanpassions on either side, so in those two hearts flowed Thought--and allthey knew of London was its shadow. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

There appeared in the "Beehive" certain very truculent politicalpapers, --papers very like the tracts in the tinker's bag. Leonard didnot heed them much, but they made far more sensation in the public thatread the "Beehive" than Leonard's papers, full of rare promise thoughthe last were. They greatly increased the sale of the periodical in themanufacturing towns, and began to awake the drowsy vigilance of theHome Office. Suddenly a descent was made upon the "Beehive" and allits papers and plant. The editor saw himself threatened with a criminalprosecution, and the certainty of two years' imprisonment: he didnot like the prospect, and disappeared. One evening, when Leonard, unconscious of these mischances, arrived at the door of the office, hefound it closed. An agitated mob was before it, and a voice that wasnot new to his ear was haranguing the bystanders, with many imprecationsagainst "tyrants. " He looked, and, to his amaze, recognized in theorator Mr. Sprott the Tinker. 

The police came in numbers to disperse the crowd, and Mr. Sprottprudently vanished. Leonard learned, then, what had befallen, and againsaw himself without employment and the means of bread. 

Slowly he walked back. "O knowledge, knowledge!--powerless, indeed!" hemurmured. 

As he thus spoke, a handbill in large capitals met his eyes on a deadwall, "Wanted, a few smart young men for India. "

A crimp accosted him. "You would make a fine soldier, my man. You havestout limbs of your own. " Leonard moved on. 

"It has come back then to this, --brute physical force after all! OMind, despair! O Peasant, be a machine again!" He entered his atticnoiselessly, and gazed upon Helen as she sat at work, straining her eyesby the open window--with tender and deep compassion. She had not heardhim enter, nor was she aware of his presence. Patient and still she sat, and the small fingers plied busily. He gazed, and saw that her cheekwas pale and hollow, and the hands looked so thin! His heart was deeplytouched, and at that moment he had not one memory of the baffled Poet, one thought that proclaimed the Egotist. 

He approached her gently, laid his hand on her shoulder, "Helen, put onyour shawl and bonnet, and walk out, --I have much to say. "

In a few moments she was ready, and they took their way to theirfavourite haunt upon the bridge. Pausing in one of the recesses, ornooks, Leonard then began, "Helen, we must part!"

"Part?--Oh, brother!"

"Listen. All work that depends on mind is over for me, nothing remainsbut the labour of thews and sinews. I cannot go back to my village andsay to all, 'My hopes were self-conceit, and my intellect a delusion!' Icannot. Neither in this sordid city can I turn menial or porter. I mightbe born to that drudgery, but my mind has, it may be unhappily, raisedme above my birth. What, then, shall I do? I know not yet, --serve asa soldier, or push my way to some wilderness afar, as an emigrant, perhaps. But whatever my choice, I must henceforth be alone; I have ahome no more. But there is a home for you, Helen, a very humble one(for you too, so well born), but very safe, --the roof of--of--my peasantmother. She will love you for my sake, and--and--"

Helen clung to him trembling, and sobbed out, "Anything, anything youwill. But I can work; I can make money, Leonard. I do, indeed, makemoney, --you do not know how much, but enough for us both till bettertimes come to you. Do not let us part. "

"And I--a man, and born to labour--to be maintained by the work of aninfant! No, Helen, do not so degrade me. "

She drew back as she looked on his flushed brow, bowed her headsubmissively, and murmured, "Pardon. "

"Ah, " said Helen, after a pause, "if now we could but find my poorfather's friend! I never so much cared for it before. "

"Yes, he would surely provide for you. "

"For me!" repeated Helen, in a tone of soft, deep reproach, and sheturned away her head to conceal her tears. 

"You are sure you would remember him, if we met him by chance?"

"Oh, yes. He was so different from all we see in this terrible city, andhis eyes were like yonder stars, so clear and so bright; yet the lightseemed to come from afar off, as the light does in yours, when yourthoughts are away from all things round you. And then, too, his dog, whom he called Nero--I could not forget that. "

"But his dog may not be always with him. "

"But the bright clear eyes are! Ah, now you look up to heaven, and yoursseem to dream like his. "

Leonard did not answer, for his thoughts were indeed less on earth thanstruggling to pierce into that remote and mysterious heaven. 

Both were silent long; the crowd passed them by unheedingly. Nightdeepened over the river, but the reflection of the lamp-lights on itswaves was more visible than that of the stars. The beams showed thedarkness of the strong current; and the craft that lay eastward onthe tide, with sail-less spectral masts and black dismal hulks, lookeddeath-like in their stillness. 

Leonard looked down, and the thought of Chatterton's grim suicide cameback to his soul; and a pale, scornful face, with luminous hauntingeyes, seemed to look up from the stream, and murmur from livid lips, "Struggle no more against the tides on the surface, --all is calm andrest within the deep. "

Starting in terror from the gloom of his revery, the boy began to talkfast to Helen, and tried to soothe her with descriptions of the lowlyhome which he had offered. 

He spoke of the light cares which she would participate with hismother (for by that name he still called the widow), and dwelt, with aneloquence that the contrast round him made sincere and strong, on thehappy rural life, the shadowy woodlands, the rippling cornfields, thesolemn, lone churchspire soaring from the tranquil landscape. 

Flatteringly he painted the flowery terraces of the Italian exile, andthe playful fountain that, even as he spoke, was flinging up its sprayto the stars, through serene air untroubled by the smoke of cities, and untainted by the sinful sighs of men. He promised her the love andprotection of natures akin to the happy scene: the simple, affectionatemother, the gentle pastor, the exile wise and kind, Violante, withdark eyes full of the mystic thoughts that solitude calls fromchildhood, --Violante should be her companion. 

"And, oh!" cried Helen, "if life be thus happy there, return with me, return! return!"

"Alas!" murmured the boy, "if the hammer once strike the spark from theanvil, the spark must fly upward; it cannot fall back to earth untillight has left it. Upward still, Helen, --let me go upward still!"

CHAPTER XV. 

The next morning Helen was very ill, --so ill that, shortly after rising, she was forced to creep back to bed. Her frame shivered, her eyes wereheavy, her hand burned like fire. Fever had set in. Perhaps she mighthave caught cold on the bridge, perhaps her emotions had proved toomuch for her frame. Leonard, in great alarm, called in the nearestapothecary. The apothecary looked grave, and said there was danger. Anddanger soon declared itself, --Helen became delirious. For several daysshe lay in this state, be tween life and death. Leonard then felt thatall the sorrows of earth are light, compared with the fear of losingwhat we love. How valueless the envied laurel seemed beside the dyingrose!

Thanks, perhaps, more to his heed and tending than to medical skill, sherecovered sense at last. Immediate peril was over; but she was very weakand reduced, her ultimate recovery doubtful, convalescence, at best, likely to be very slow. 

But when she learned how long she had been thus ill, she lookedanxiously at Leonard's face as he bent over her, and faltered forth, "Give me my work; I am strong enough for that now, --it would amuse me. "

Leonard burst into tears. 

Alas! he had no work himself; all their joint money had melted away. Theapothecary was not like good Dr. Morgan; the medicines were to be paidfor, and the rent. Two days before, Leonard had pawned Riccabocca'swatch; and when the last shilling thus raised was gone, how should hesupport Helen? Nevertheless he conquered his tears, and assured her thathe had employment; and that so earnestly that she believed him, and sankinto soft sleep. He listened to her breathing, kissed her forehead, andleft the room. He turned into his own neighbouring garret, and leaninghis face on his hands, collected all his thoughts. 

He must be a beggar at last. He must write to Mr. Dale for money, --Mr. Dale, too, who knew the secret of his birth. He would rather have beggedof a stranger; it seemed to add a new dishonour to his mother's memoryfor the child to beg of one who was acquainted with her shame. Had hehimself been the only one to want and to starve, he would have sunk inchby inch into the grave of famine, before he would have so subdued hispride. But Helen, there on that bed, --Helen needing, for weeks perhaps, all support, and illness making luxuries themselves like necessaries!Beg he must. And when he so resolved, had you but seen the proud, bitter soul he conquered, you would have said, "This, which he thinksis degradation, --this is heroism. " Oh, strange human heart! no epic everwritten achieves the Sublime and the Beautiful which are graven, unreadby human eye, in thy secret leaves. 

Of whom else should he beg? His mother had nothing, Riccabocca was poor, and the stately Violante, who had exclaimed, "Would that I were a man!"--he could not endure the thought that she should pity him and despise. The Avenels! No, --thrice No. He drew towards him hastily ink and paper, and wrote rapid lines that were wrung from him as from the bleedingstrings of life. 

But the hour for the post had passed, the letter must wait till the nextday; and three days at least would elapse before he could receive ananswer. He left the letter on the table, and, stifling as for air, wentforth. He crossed the bridge, he passed on mechanically, and was bornealong by a crowd pressing towards the doors of parliament. A debate thatexcited popular interest was fixed for that evening, and many bystanderscollected in the street to see the members pass to and fro, or hear whatspeakers had yet risen to take part in the debate, or try to get ordersfor the gallery. 

He halted amidst these loiterers, with no interest, indeed, in commonwith them, but looking over their heads abstractedly towards the tallFuneral Abbey, --imperial Golgotha of Poets and Chiefs and Kings. 

Suddenly his attention was diverted to those around by the sound of aname, displeasingly known to him. "How are you, Randal Leslie? coming tohear the debate?" said a member, who was passing through the street. 

"Yes; Mr. Egerton promised to get me under the gallery. He is to speakhimself to-night, and I have never heard him. As you are going into theHouse, will you remind him of his promise to me?"

"I can't now, for he is speaking already, --and well too. I hurried fromthe Athenaeum, where I was dining, on purpose to be in time, as I heardthat his speech was making a great effect. "

"This is very unlucky, " said Randal. "I had no idea he would speak soearly. "

"C----- brought him up by a direct personal attack. But follow me;perhaps I can get you into the House; and a man like you, Leslie, fromwhom we expect great things some day, I can tell you, should notmiss any such opportunity of knowing what this House of ours is on afield-night. Come on!"

The member hurried towards the door; and as Randal followed him, a bystander cried, "That is the young man who wrote the famouspamphlet, --Egerton's relation. "

"Oh, indeed!" said another. "Clever man, Egerton, --I am waiting forhim. "

"So am I. "

"Why, you are not a constituent, as I am. "

"No; but he has been very kind to my nephew, and I must thank him. Youare a constituent--he is an honour to your town. "

"So he is: enlightened man!"

"And so generous!"

"Brings forward really good measures, " quoth the politician. 

"And clever young men, " said the uncle. 

Therewith one or two others joined in the praise of Audley Egerton, andmany anecdotes of his liberality were told. Leonard listened at firstlistlessly, at last with thoughtful attention. He had heard Burley, too, speak highly of this generous statesman, who, without pretending togenius himself, appreciated it in others. He suddenly remembered, too, that Egerton was half-brother to the squire. Vague notions of someappeal to this eminent person, not for charity, but employment to hismind, gleamed across him, --inexperienced boy that he yet was! Andwhile thus meditating, the door of the House opened and out came AudleyEgerton himself. A partial cheering, followed by a general murmur, apprised Leonard of the presence of the popular statesman. Egerton wascaught hold of by some five or six persons in succession; a shake ofthe hand, a nod, a brief whispered word or two, sufficed the practisedmember for graceful escape; and soon, free from the crowd, his tall, erect figure passed on, and turned towards the bridge. He paused at theangle and took out his watch, looking at it by the lamp-light. 

"Harley will be here soon, " he muttered, --"he is always punctual; andnow that I have spoken, I can give him an hour or so. That is well. "

As he replaced his watch in his pocket and re-buttoned his coat overhis firm, broad chest, he lifted his eyes, and saw a young man standingbefore him. 

"Do you want me?" asked the statesman, with the direct brevity of hispractical character. 

"Mr. Egerton, " said the young man, with a voice that slightly trembledand yet was manly amidst emotion, "you have a great name, and greatpower; I stand here in these streets of London without a friend, andwithout employment. I believe that I have it in me to do some noblerwork than that of bodily labour, had I but one friend, --one opening formy thoughts. And now I have said this, I scarcely know how, or why, butfrom despair, and the sudden impulse which that despair took from thepraise that follows your success, I have nothing more to add. "

Audley Egerton was silent for a moment, struck by the tone andaddress of the stranger; but the consummate and wary man of the world, accustomed to all manner of strange applications and all varieties ofimposture, quickly recovered from a passing and slight effect. 

"Are you a native of?" (naming the town which the statesmanrepresented). 

"No, sir. "

"Well, young man, I am very sorry for you; but the good sense youmust possess (for I judge of that by the education you have evidentlyreceived) must tell you that a public man, whatever be his patronage, has it too fully absorbed by claimants who have a right to demand it, tobe able to listen to strangers. "

He paused a moment, and as Leonard stood silent, added with morekindness than most public men so accosted would have shown, "You say you are friendless, --poor fellow! In early life that happensto many of us, who find friends enough before the close. Be honest, andwell-conducted: lean on yourself, not on strangers; work with the bodyif you can't with the mind; and, believe me, that advice is all I cangive you, unless this trifle"--and the minister held out a crown-piece. 

Leonard bowed, shook his head sadly, and walked away. Egerton lookedafter him with a slight pang. 

"Pooh!" said he to himself, "there must be thousands in the samestate in these streets of London. I cannot redress the necessities ofcivilization. Well educated! It is not from ignorance henceforth thatsociety will suffer, --it is from over-educating the hungry thousandswho, thus unfitted for manual toil, and with no career for mental, willsome day or other stand like that boy in our streets, and puzzle wiserministers than I am. "

As Egerton thus mused, and passed on to the bridge, a bugle-horn rangmerrily from the box of a gay four-in-hand. A drag-coach with superbblood-horses rattled over the causeway, and in the driver Egertonrecognized his nephew, Frank Hazeldean. 

The young Guardsman was returning with a lively party of men from diningat Greenwich, and the careless laughter of these children of pleasurefloated far over the still river; it vexed the ear of the carewornstatesman, --sad, perhaps, with all his greatness, lonely amidst all hiscrowd of friends. It reminded him, perhaps, of his own youth, when suchparties and companionships were familiar to him, though through them allhe had borne an ambitious, aspiring soul. "Le jeu vaut-il la chandelle?"said he, shrugging his shoulders. 

The coach rolled rapidly past Leonard, as he stood leaning against thecorner of the bridge, and the mire of the kennel splashed over himfrom the hoofs of the fiery horses. The laughter smote on his ear morediscordantly than on the minister's, but it begot no envy. 

"Life is a dark riddle, " said he, smiting his breast. 

And he walked slowly on, gained the recess where he had stood severalnights before with Helen, and, dizzy with want of food, and worn out forwant of sleep, he sank down into the dark corner; while the river thatrolled under the arch of stone muttered dirge-like in his ear, --as underthe social key-stone wails and rolls on forever the mystery of HumanDiscontent. Take comfort, O Thinker by the stream! 'T is the river thatfounded and gave pomp to the city; and, without the discontent, wherewere progress, what were Man? Take comfort, O THINKER! wherever thestream over which thou bendest, or beside which thou sinkest, wearyand desolate, frets the arch that supports thee, never dream that, bydestroying the bridge, thou canst silence the moan of the wave!

CHAPTER XVI. 

Before a table, in the apartments appropriated to him in his father'shouse at Knightsbridge, sat Lord L'Estrange, sorting or destroyingletters and papers, --an ordinary symptom of change of residence. Thereare certain trifles by which a shrewd observer may judge of a man'sdisposition. Thus, ranged on the table, with some elegance, but withsoldier-like precision, were sundry little relics of former days, hallowed by some sentiment of memory, or perhaps endeared solely bycustom; which, whether he was in Egypt, Italy, or England, always madepart of the furniture of Harley's room. Even the small, old-fashioned, and somewhat inconvenient inkstand into which he dipped the pen as helabelled the letters he put aside, belonged to the writing-desk whichhad been his pride as a schoolboy. Even the books that lay scatteredround were not new works, not those to which we turn to satisfy thecuriosity of an hour, or to distract our graver thoughts; they werechiefly either Latin or Italian poets, with many a pencil-mark on themargin; or books which, making severe demand on thought, require slowand frequent perusal, and become companions. Somehow or other, inremarking that even in dumb, inanimate things the man was averse tochange, and had the habit of attaching himself to whatever was connectedwith old associations, you might guess that he clung with pertinacity toaffections more important, and you could better comprehend the freshnessof his friendship for one so dissimilar in pursuits and character asAudley Egerton. An affection once admitted into the heart of HarleyL'Estrange seemed never to be questioned or reasoned with; it becametacitly fixed, as it were, into his own nature, and little less than arevolution of his whole system could dislodge or disturb it. 

Lord L'Estrange's hand rested now upon a letter in a stiff, legibleItalian character, and instead of disposing of it at once as he had donewith the rest, he spread it before him, and re-read the contents. It wasa letter from Riccabocca, received a few weeks since, and ran thus:--

 LETTER FROM SIGNOR RICCABOCCA TO LORD L'ESTRANGE. 

I thank you, my noble friend, for judging of me with faith in my honour, and respect for my reverses. 

No, and thrice no, to all concessions, all overtures, all treaty withGiulio Franzini. I write the name, and my emotions choke me. I mustpause, and cool back into disdain. It is over. Pass from that subject. But you have alarmed me. This sister! I have not seen her since herchildhood; but she was brought up under his influence, --she can but work as his agent. She wish to learn my residence! It canbe but for some hostile and malignant purpose. I may trust in you, --Iknow that. You say I may trust equally in the discretion of your friend. Pardon me, --my confidence is not so elastic. A word may give the clewto my retreat. But, if discovered, what harm can ensue? An English roofprotects me from Austrian despotism: true; but not the brazen towerof Danae could protect me from Italian craft. And, were there nothingworse, it would be intolerable to me to live under the eyes of arelentless spy. Truly saith our proverb, 'He sleeps ill for whom theenemy wakes. ' Look you, my friend, I have done with my old life, --I wishto cast it from me as a snake its skin. I have denied myself all thatexiles deem consolation. No pity for misfortune, no messages fromsympathizing friendship, no news from a lost and bereaved country followme to my hearth under the skies of the stranger. From all these I havevoluntarily cut thyself off. I am as dead to the life I once lived asif the Styx rolled between it and me. With that sternness whichis admissible only to the afflicted, I have denied myself even theconsolation of your visits. I have told you fairly and simply thatyour presence would unsettle all my enforced and infirm philosophy, andremind me only of the past, which I seek to blot from remembrance. Youhave complied on the one condition, that whenever I really want your aidI will ask it; and, meanwhile, you have generously sought to obtain mejustice from the cabinets of ministers and in the courts of kings. I didnot refuse your heart this luxury; for I have a child--Ah! I have taughtthat child already to revere your name, and in her prayers it isnot forgotten. But now that you are convinced that even your zeal isunavailing, I ask you to discontinue attempts which may but bring thespy upon my track, and involve me in new misfortunes. Believe me, Obrilliant Englishman, that I am satisfied and contented with my lot. I am sure it would not be for my happiness to change it, 'Chi non haprovato il male non conosce il bone. '

 ["One does not know when one is well off till one has known misfortune. "]

You ask me how I live, --I answer, alla giornata, --[To the day]--notfor the morrow, as I did once. I have accustomed myself to the calmexistence of a village. I take interest in its details. There is mywife, good creature, sitting opposite to me, never asking what I write, or to whom, but ready to throw aside her work and talk the moment thepen is out of my hand. Talk--and what about? Heaven knows! But I wouldrather hear that talk, though on the affairs of a hamlet, than babbleagain with recreant nobles and blundering professors about commonwealthsand constitutions. When I want to see how little those last influencethe happiness of wise men, have I not Machiavelli and Thucydides? Then, by and by, the parson will drop in, and we argue. He never knows when heis beaten, so the argument is everlasting. On fine days I ramble out bya winding rill with my Violante, or stroll to my friend the squire's, and see how healthful a thing is true pleasure; and on wet days I shutmyself up, and mope, perhaps till, hark! a gentle tap at the door, and in comes Violante, with her dark eyes, that shine out throughreproachful tears, --reproachful that I should mourn alone, while she isunder my roof; so she puts her arms round me, and in five minutes all issunshine within. What care we for your English gray clouds without?

Leave me, my dear Lord, --leave me to this quiet happy passage towardsold age, serener than the youth that I wasted so wildly; and guard wellthe secret on which my happiness depends. 

Now to yourself, before I close. Of that same yourself you speaktoo little, as of me too much. But I so well comprehend the profoundmelancholy that lies underneath the wild and fanciful humour with whichyou but suggest, as in sport, what you feel so in earnest. The laborioussolitude of cities weighs on you. You are flying back to the dolcefar niente, --to friends few, but intimate; to life monotonous, butunrestrained; and even there the sense of loneliness will againseize upon you; and you do not seek, as I do, the annihilation ofmemory, --your dead passions are turned to ghosts that haunt you, andunfit you for the living world. I see it all, --I see it still, in yourhurried fantastic lines, as I saw it when we two sat amidst the pinesand beheld the blue lake stretched below, I troubled by the shadow ofthe Future, you disturbed by that of the Past. 

Well, but you say, half seriously, half in jest, "I will escape fromthis prison-house of memory; I will form new ties, like other men, andbefore it be too late; I will marry. Ay, but I must love, --there is thedifficulty. " Difficulty, --yes, and Heaven be thanked for it! Recall allthe unhappy marriages that have come to your knowledge: pray, have noteighteen out of twenty been marriages for Love? It always has been so, and it always will; because, whenever we love deeply, we exact so muchand forgive so little. Be content to find some one with whom your hearthand your honour are safe. You will grow to love what never wounds yourheart, you will soon grow out of love with what must always disappointyour imagination. Cospetto! I wish my Jemima had a younger sister foryou. Yet it was with a deep groan that I settled myself to a--Jemima. 

Now, I have written you a long letter, to prove how little I needof your compassion or your zeal. Once more let there be long silencebetween us. It is not easy for me to correspond with a man of your rank, and not incur the curious gossip of my still little pool of a worldwhich the splash of a pebble can break into circles. I must take thisover to a post-town some ten miles off, and drop it into the box bystealth. Adieu, dear and noble friend, gentlest heart and subtlest fancythat I have met in my walk through life. Adieu. Write me word when youhave abandoned a day-dream and found a Jemima. 

 ALPHONSO. 

P. S. --For Heaven's sake, caution and recaution your friend the ministernot to drop a word to this woman that may betray my hiding-place. 

"Is he really happy?" murmured Harley, as he closed the letter; and hesank for a few moments into a revery. 

"This life in a village, this wife in a lady who puts down her work totalk about villagers--what a contrast to Audley's full existence! And Icannot envy nor comprehend either! yet my own existence--what is it?"

He rose, and moved towards the window, from which a rustic stairdescended to a green lawn, studded with larger trees than are oftenfound in the grounds of a suburban residence. There were calm andcoolness in the sight, and one could scarcely have supposed that Londonlay so near. 

The door opened softly, and a lady past middle age entered, andapproaching Harley, as he still stood musing by the window, laid herhand on his shoulder. What character there is in a hand! Hers was a handthat Titian would have painted with elaborate care! Thin, white, anddelicate, with the blue veins raised from the surface. Yet there wassomething more than mere patrician elegance in the form and texture. A true physiologist would have said at once, "There are intellect andpride in that hand, which seems to fix a hold where it rests; and lyingso lightly, yet will not be as lightly shaken off. "

"Harley, " said the lady--and Harley turned--"you do not deceive me bythat smile, " she continued sadly; "you were not smiling when I entered. "

"It is rarely that we smile to ourselves, my dear mother; and I havedone nothing lately so foolish as to cause me to smile at myself. "

"My son, " said Lady Lansmere, somewhat abruptly, but with greatearnestness, "you come from a line of illustrious ancestors; andmethinks they ask from their tombs why the last of their race has no aimand no object, no interest, no home, in the land which they served, andwhich rewarded them with its honours. "

"Mother, " said the soldier, simply, "when the land was in danger Iserved it as my forefathers served, --and my answer would be the scars onmy breast. "

"Is it only in danger that a country is served, only in war that dutyis fulfilled? Do you think that your father, in his plain, manly lifeof country gentleman, does not fulfil, though perhaps too obscurely, theobjects for which aristocracy is created, and wealth is bestowed?"

"Doubtless he does, ma'am, --and better than his vagrant son ever can. "

"Yet his vagrant son has received such gifts from nature, his youth wasso rich in promise, his boyhood so glowed at the dream of glory!"

"Ay, " said Harley, very softly, "it is possible, --and all to be buriedin a single grave!"

The countess started, and withdrew her hand from Harley's shoulder. 

Lady Lansmere's countenance was not one that much varied in expression. She had in this, as in her cast of feature, little resemblance to herson. 

Her features were slightly aquiline, --the eyebrows of that arch whichgives a certain majesty to the aspect; the lines round the mouth werehabitually rigid and compressed. Her face was that of one who had gonethrough great emotion and subdued it. There was something formal, and even ascetic, in the character of her beauty, which was stillconsiderable, in her air and in her dress. She might have suggestedto you the idea of some Gothic baroness of old, half chatelaine, half-abbess; you would see at a glance that she did not live in thelight world around her, and disdained its fashion and its mode ofthought; yet with all this rigidity it was still the face of the womanwho has known human ties and human affections. And now, as she gazedlong on Harley's quiet, saddened brow, it was the face of a mother. 

"A single grave, " she said, after a long pause. "And you were then buta boy, Harley! Can such a memory influence you even to this day? It isscarcely possible: it does not seem to me within the realities of man'slife, --though it might be of woman's. "

"I believe, " said Harley, half soliloquizing, "that I have a great dealof the woman in me. Perhaps men who live much alone, and care not formen's objects, do grow tenacious of impressions, as your sex does. Butoh, " he cried, aloud, and with a sudden change of countenance, "oh, thehardest and the coldest man would have felt as I do, had he known HER, had he loved HER. She was like no other woman I have ever met. Brightand glorious creature of another sphere! She descended on this earth anddarkened it when she passed away. It is no use striving. Mother, I haveas much courage as our steel-clad fathers ever had. I have dared inbattle and in deserts, against man and the wild beast, against the stormand the ocean, against the rude powers of Nature, --dangers as dread asever pilgrim or Crusader rejoiced to brave. But courage against that onememory! no, I have none!"

"Harley, Harley, you break my heart!" cried the countess, clasping herhands. 

"It is astonishing, " continued her son, so rapt in his own thoughts thathe did not, perhaps, hear her outcry. "Yea, verily, it is astonishing, that considering the thousands of women I have seen and spoken with, Inever see a face like hers, --never hear a voice so sweet. And all thisuniverse of life cannot afford me one look and one tone that can restoreme to man's privilege, --love. Well, well, well, life has other thingsyet; Poetry and Art live still; still smiles the heaven and still wavethe trees. Leave me to happiness in my own way. "

The countess was about to reply, when the door was thrown hastily open, and Lord Lansmere walked in. 

The earl was some years older than the countess, but his placid faceshowed less wear and tear, --a benevolent, kindly face, without anyevidence of commanding intellect, but with no lack of sense in itspleasant lines; his form not tall, but upright and with an air ofconsequence, --a little pompous, but good-humouredly so, --the pomposityof the Grand Seigneur who has lived much in provinces, whose willhas been rarely disputed, and whose importance has been so felt andacknowledged as to react insensibly on himself;--an excellent man; butwhen you glanced towards the high brow and dark eye of the countess, you marvelled a little how the two had come together, and, according tocommon report, lived so happily in the union. 

"Ho, ho! my dear Harley, " cried Lord Lansmere, rubbing his hands with anappearance of much satisfaction, "I have just been paying a visit to theduchess. "

"What duchess, my dear father?"

"Why, your mother's first cousin, to be sure, --the Duchess ofKnaresborough, whom, to oblige me, you condescended to call upon; anddelighted I am to hear that you admire Lady Mary--"

"She is very high bred, and rather--high-nosed, " answered Harley. Then, observing that his mother looked pained, and his father disconcerted, headded seriously, "But handsome certainly. "

"Well, Harley, " said the earl, recovering himself, "the duchess, takingadvantage of our connection to speak freely, has intimated to me thatLady Mary has been no less struck with yourself; and to come to thepoint, since you allow that it is time you should think of marrying, Ido not know a more desirable alliance. What do you say, Katherine?"

"The duke is of a family that ranks in history before the Wars of theRoses, " said Lady Lansmere, with an air of deference to her husband;"and there has never been one scandal in its annals, nor one blot on itsscutcheon. But I am sure my dear Lord must think that the duchess shouldnot have made the first overture, --even to a friend and a kinsman?"

"Why, we are old-fashioned people, " said the earl, rather embarrassed, "and the duchess is a woman of the world. "

"Let us hope, " said the countess, mildly, "that her daughter is not. "

"I would not marry Lady Mary, if all the rest of the female sex wereturned into apes, " said Lord L'Estrange, with deliberate fervour. 

"Good heavens!" cried the earl, "what extraordinary language is this?And pray why, sir?"

HARLEY. --"I can't say; there is no why in these cases. But, my dearfather, you are not keeping faith with me. "

LORD LANSMERE. --"HOW?"

HARLEY. --"You and my Lady, here, entreat me to marry; I promise to domy best to obey you, but on one condition, that I choose for myself, and take my time about it. Agreed on both sides. Whereon, off goesyour Lordship--actually before noon, at an hour when no lady, withouta shudder, could think of cold blonde and damp orange flowers--off goesyour Lordship, I say, and commits poor Lady Mary and your unworthy sonto a mutual admiration, --which neither of us ever felt. Pardon me, myfather, but this is grave. Again let me claim your promise, --full choicefor myself, and no reference to the Wars of the Roses. What War of theRoses like that between Modesty and Love upon the cheek of the virgin!"

LADY LANSMERE. --"Full choice for yourself, Harley: so be it. But we, too, named a condition, --did we not, Lansmere?"

THE EARL (puzzled). --"Eh, did we? Certainly we did. "

HARLEY. --"What was it?"

LADY LANSMERE. --"The son of Lord Lansmere can only marry the daughter ofa gentleman. "

THE EARL. --"Of course, of course. "

The blood rushed over Harley's fair face, and then as suddenly left itpale. 

He walked away to the window; his mother followed him, and again laidher hand on his shoulder. 

"You were cruel, " said he, gently, and in a whisper, as he winced underthe touch of the hand. Then turning to the earl, who was gazing at himin blank surprise, --it never occurred to Lord Lansmere that there couldbe a doubt of his son's marrying beneath the rank modestly stated bythe countess, --Harley stretched forth his hand, and said, in hissoft winning tone, "You have ever been most gracious to me, and mostforbearing; it is but just that I should sacrifice the habits of anegotist, to gratify a wish which you so warmly entertain. I agree withyou, too, that our race should not close in me, --Noblesse oblige. Butyou know I was ever romantic; and I must love where I marry; or, if notlove, I must feel that my wife is worthy of all the love I could oncehave bestowed. Now, as to the vague word 'gentleman' that my motheremploys--word that means so differently on different lips--I confessthat I have a prejudice against young ladies brought up in the'excellent foppery of the world, ' as the daughters of gentlemen of ourrank mostly are. I crave, therefore, the most liberal interpretation ofthis word 'gentleman. ' And so long as there be nothing mean or sordidin the birth, habits, and education of the father of this bride to be, I trust you will both agree to demand nothing more, --neither titles norpedigree. "

"Titles, no, assuredly, " said Lady Lansmere; "they do not makegentlemen. "

"Certainly not, " said the earl; "many of our best families areuntitled. "

"Titles--no, " repeated Lady Lansmere; "but ancestors yes. "

"Ah, my mother, " said Harley, with his most sad and quiet smile, "it isfated that we shall never agree. The first of our race is ever the onewe are most proud of; and pray, what ancestors had he? Beauty, virtue, modesty, intellect, --if these are not nobility enough for a man, he is aslave to the dead. "

With these words Harley took up his hat and made towards the door. 

"You said yourself, 'Noblesse oblige, '" said the countess, following himto the threshold; "we have nothing more to add. "

Harley slightly shrugged his shoulders, kissed his mother's hand;whistled to Nero, who started up from a doze by the window, and went hisway. 

"Does he really go abroad next week?" said the earl. "So he says. "

"I am afraid there is no chance for Lady Mary, " resumed Lord Lansmere, with a slight but melancholy smile. 

"She has not intellect enough to charm him. She is not worthy ofHarley, " said the proud mother. 

"Between you and me, " rejoined the earl, rather timidly, "I don't seewhat good his intellect does him. He could not be more unsettled anduseless if he were the merest dunce in the three kingdoms. And soambitious as he was when a boy! Katherine, I sometimes fancy that youknow what changed him. "

"I! Nay, my dear Lord, it is a common change enough with the young, whenof such fortunes, who find, when they enter life, that there is reallylittle left for them to strive for. Had Harley been a poor man's son, itmight have been different. "

"I was born to the same fortunes as Harley, " said the earl, shrewdly, "and yet I flatter myself I am of some use to old England. "

The countess seized upon the occasion, complimented her Lord, and turnedthe subject. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Harley spent his day in his usual desultory, lounging manner, --dinedin his quiet corner at his favourite club. Nero, not admitted into theclub, patiently waited for him outside the door. The dinner over, dog and man, equally indifferent to the crowd, sauntered down thatthoroughfare which, to the few who can comprehend the Poetry of London, has associations of glory and of woe sublime as any that the ruins ofthe dead elder world can furnish, --thoroughfare that traverses whatwas once the courtyard of Whitehall, having to its left the site ofthe palace that lodged the royalty of Scotland; gains, through a narrowstrait, that old isle of Thorney, in which Edward the Confessor receivedthe ominous visit of the Conqueror; and, widening once more by the Abbeyand the Hall of Westminster, then loses itself, like all memories ofearthly grandeur, amidst humble passages and mean defiles. 

Thus thought Harley L'Estrange--ever less amidst the actual world aroundhim than the images invoked by his own solitary soul-as he gained thebridge, and saw the dull, lifeless craft sleeping on the "Silent Way, "once loud and glittering with the gilded barks of the antique Seignorieof England. 

It was on that bridge that Audley Egerton had appointed to meetL'Estrange, at an hour when he calculated he could best steal a respitefrom debate. For Harley, with his fastidious dislike to all the resortsof his equals, had declined to seek his friend in the crowded regions ofBellamy's. 

Harley's eye, as he passed along the bridge, was attracted by a stillform, seated on the stones in one of the nooks, with its face coveredby its hands. "If I were a sculptor, " said he to himself, "Ishould remember that image whenever I wished to convey the idea ofDespondency!" He lifted his looks and saw, a little before him in themidst of the causeway, the firm, erect figure of Audley Egerton. Themoonlight was full on the bronzed countenance of the strong public man, with its lines of thought and care, and its vigorous but cold expressionof intense self-control. 

"And looking yonder, " continued Harley's soliloquy, "I should rememberthat form, when I wished to hew out from the granite the idea ofEndurance. "

"So you are come, and punctually, " said Egerton, linking his arm inHarley's. 

HARLEY--"Punctually, of course, for I respect your time, and I will notdetain you long. I presume you will speak to-night?"

EGERTON. --"I have spoken. "

HARLEY (with interest). --"And well, I hope?"

EGERTON. --"With effect, I suppose, for I have been loudly cheered, whichdoes not always happen to me. "

HARLEY. --"And that gave you pleasure?"

EGERTON (after a moment's thought). --"No, not the least. "

HARLEY. --"What, then, attaches you so much to this life, --constantdrudgery, constant warfare, the more pleasurable faculties dormant, allthe harsher ones aroused, if even its rewards (and I take the best ofthose to be applause) do not please you?"

EGERTON. --"What? Custom. "

HARLEY. --"Martyr. "

EGERTON. --"You say it: but turn to yourself; you have decided, then, toleave England next week?"

HARLEY (moodily). --"Yes. This life in a capital, where all are soactive, myself so objectless, preys on me like a low fever. Nothing hereamuses me, nothing interests, nothing comforts and consoles. But I amresolved, before it be too late, to make one great struggle out of thePast, and into the natural world of men. In a word, I have resolved tomarry. "

EGERTON. --"Whom?"

HARLEY (seriously). --"Upon my life, my dear fellow, you are a greatphilosopher. You have hit the exact question. You see I cannot marry adream; and where, out of dreams, shall I find this 'whom'?"

EGERTON. --"You do not search for her. "

HARLEY. "Do we ever search for love? Does it not flash upon us when weleast expect it? Is it not like the inspiration to the muse? What poetsits down and says, 'I will write a poem'? What man looks out and says, 'I will fall in love'? No! Happiness, as the great German tells us, 'falls suddenly from the bosom of the gods;' so does love. "

EGERTON. --"You remember the old line in Horace: 'The tide flows awaywhile the boor sits on the margin and waits for the ford. '"

HARLEV. --"An idea which incidentally dropped from you some weeks ago, and which I have before half-meditated, has since haunted me. If I couldbut find some child with sweet dispositions and fair intellect not yetformed, and train her up according to my ideal. I am still young enoughto wait a few years. And meanwhile I shall have gained what I so sadlywant, --an object in life. "

EGERTON. --"You are ever the child of romance. But what--"

Here the minister was interrupted by a messenger from the House ofCommons, whom Audley had instructed to seek him on the bridge should hispresence be required. "Sir, the Opposition are taking advantage of thethinness of the House to call for a division. Mr. ----- is put up tospeak for time, but they won't hear him. "

Egerton turned hastily to Lord L'Estrange. "You see, you must excuse menow. To-morrow I must go to Windsor for two days: but we shall meet onmy return. "

"It does not matter, " answered Harley; "I stand out of the pale ofyour advice, O practical man of sense. And if, " added Harley, withaffectionate and mournful sweetness, --"if I weary you with complaintswhich you cannot understand, it is only because of old schoolboy habits. I can have no trouble that I do not confide to you. "

Egerton's hand trembled as it pressed his friend's, and without a word, he hurried away abruptly. Harley remained motionless for some seconds, in deep and quiet revery; then he called to his dog, and turned backtowards Westminster. 

He passed the nook in which had sat the still figure of Despondency; butthe figure had now risen, and was leaning against the balustrade. Thedog, who preceded his master, passed by the solitary form and sniffed itsuspiciously. 

"Nero, sir, come here, " said Harley. 

"Nero, "--that was the name by which Helen had said that her father'sfriend had called his dog; and the sound startled Leonard as heleaned, sick at heart, against the stone. He lifted his head and lookedwistfully, eagerly into Harley's face. Those eyes, bright, clear, yet sostrangely deep and absent, which Helen had described, met his own, andchained them. For L'Estrange halted also; the boy's countenance was notunfamiliar to him. He returned the inquiring look fixed on his own, andrecognized the student by the bookstall. 

"The dog is quite harmless, sir, " said L'Estrange, with a smile. 

"And you call him 'Nero'?" said Leonard, still gazing on the stranger. 

Harley mistook the drift of the question. 

"Nero, sir; but he is free from the sanguinary propensities of his Romannamesake. " Harley was about to pass on, when Leonard said falteringly, "Pardon me, but can it be possible that you are one whom I have soughtin vain on behalf of the child of Captain Digby?"

Harley stopped short. "Digby!" he exclaimed, "where is he? He shouldhave found me easily. I gave him an address. "

"Ah, Heaven be thanked!" cried Leonard. "Helen is saved--she will notdie, " and he burst into tears. 

A very few moments and a very few words sufficed to explain to Harleythe state of his old fellow-soldier's orphan. And Harley himself soonstood in the young sufferer's room, supporting her burning temples onhis breast, and whispering into ears that heard him as in a happy dream, "Comfort, comfort; your father yet lives in me. "

And then Helen, raising her eyes, said, "But Leonard is my brother--morethan brother-and he needs a father's care more than I do. "

"Hush, hush, Helen. I need no one, nothing now!" cried Leonard, and histears gushed over the little hand that clasped his own. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Harley L'Estrange was a man whom all things that belong to the romanticand poetic side of our human life deeply impressed. When he came tolearn the ties between these two Children of Nature, standing side byside, alone amidst the storms of fate, his heart was more deeply movedthan it had been for many years. In those dreary attics, overshadowedby the smoke and reek of the humble suburb, the workday world in itsharshest and tritest forms below and around them, he recognized thatdivine poem which comes out from all union between the mind and theheart. Here, on the rough deal table (the ink scarcely dry), lay thewritings of the young wrestler for fame and bread; there, on theother side of the partition, on that mean pallet, lay the boy's solecomforter, the all that warmed his heart with living mortal affection. On one side the wall, the world of imagination; on the other, this worldof grief and of love. And in both, a spirit equally sublime, --unselfishdevotion, --"the something afar from the sphere of our sorrow. "

He looked round the room into which he had followed Leonard, on quittingHelen's bedside. He noted the manuscripts on the table, and pointing tothem, said gently, "And these are the labours by which you supported thesoldier's orphan?--soldier yourself in a hard battle!"

"The battle was lost, --I could not support her, " replied Leonard, mournfully. 

"But you did not desert her. When Pandora's box was opened, they sayHope lingered last--"

"False, false, " said Leonard; "a heathen's notion. There are deitiesthat linger behind Hope, --Gratitude, Love, and Duty. "

"Yours is no common nature, " exclaimed Harley, admiringly, "but I mustsound it more deeply hereafter: at present I hasten for the physician; Ishall return with him. We must move that poor child from this low closeair as soon as possible. Meanwhile, let me qualify your rejection of theold fable. Wherever Gratitude, Love, and Duty remain to man, believe methat Hope is there too, though she may be often invisible, hidden behindthe sheltering wings of the nobler deities. "

Harley said this with that wondrous smile of his, which cast abrightness over the whole room, and went away. Leonard stole softlytowards the grimy window; and looking up towards the stars that shonepale over the roof-tops, he murmured, "O Thou, the All-seeing andAll-merciful! how it comforts me now to think that, though my dreams ofknowledge may have sometimes obscured the heavens, I never doubted thatThou wert there! as luminous and everlasting, though behind the cloud!"So, for a few minutes, he prayed silently, then passed into Helen'sroom, and sat beside her motionless, for she slept. She woke just asHarley returned with a physician; and then Leonard, returning to his ownroom, saw amongst his papers the letter he had written to Mr. Dale, andmuttering, "I need not disgrace my calling, --I need not be the mendicantnow"--held the letter to the flame of the candle. And while he saidthis, and as the burning tinder dropped on the floor, the sharp hunger, unfelt during his late anxious emotions, gnawed at his entrails. Still, even hunger could not reach that noble pride which had yielded toa sentiment nobler than itself, and he smiled as he repeated, "Nomendicant!--the life that I was sworn to guard is saved. I can raiseagainst Fate the front of Man once more. "

CHAPTER XIX. 

A few days afterwards, and Helen, removed to a pure air, and under theadvice of the first physicians, was out of all danger. 

It was a pretty detached cottage, with its windows looking over the wildheaths of Norwood, to which Harley rode daily to watch the convalescenceof his young charge: an object in life was already found. As she grewbetter and stronger, he coaxed her easily into talking, and listenedto her with pleased surprise. The heart so infantine and the sense sowomanly struck him much by its rare contrast and combination. Leonard, whom he had insisted on placing also in the cottage, had stayed therewillingly till Helen's recovery was beyond question. Then he came toLord L'Estrange, as the latter was about one day to leave the cottage, and said quietly, "Now, my Lord, that Helen is safe, and now that shewill need me no more, I can no longer be a pensioner on your bounty. Ireturn to London. "

"You are my visitor, not my pensioner, foolish boy, " said Harley, whohad already noticed the pride which spoke in that farewell; "come intothe garden and let us talk. "

Harley seated himself on a bench on the little lawn; Nero crouched athis feet; Leonard stood beside him. 

"So, " said Lord L'Estrange, "you would return to London? What to do?"

"Fulfil my fate. "

"And that?"

"I cannot guess. Fate is the Isis whose veil no mortal can ever raise. "

"You should be born for great things, " said Harley, abruptly. "I am surethat you write well. I have seen that you study with passion. Betterthan writing and better than study, you have a noble heart, and theproud desire of independence. Let me see your manuscripts, or any copiesof what you have already printed. Do not hesitate, --I ask but to be areader. I don't pretend to be a patron: it is a word I hate. "

Leonard's eyes sparkled through their sudden moisture. He brought outhis portfolio, placed it on the bench beside Harley, and then wentsoftly to the farther part of the garden. Nero looked after him, andthen rose and followed him slowly. The boy seated himself on the turf, and Nero rested his dull head on the loud heart of the poet. 

Harley took up the various papers before him, and read them throughleisurely. Certainly he was no critic. He was not accustomed to analyzewhat pleased or displeased him; but his perceptions were quick, andhis taste exquisite. As he read, his countenance, always so genuinelyexpressive, exhibited now doubt and now admiration. He was soon struckby the contrast, in the boy's writings, between the pieces that sportedwith fancy and those that grappled with thought. In the first, the youngpoet seemed so unconscious of his own individuality. His imagination, afar and aloft from the scenes of his suffering, ran riot amidst aparadise of happy golden creations. But in the last, the THINKER stoodout alone and mournful, questioning, in troubled sorrow, the hard worldon which he gazed. All in the thought was unsettled, tumultuous; allin the fancy serene and peaceful. The genius seemed divided into twainshapes, --the one bathing its wings amidst the starry dews of heaven;the other wandering, "melancholy, slow, " amidst desolate and boundlesssands. Harley gently laid down the paper and mused a little while. Thenhe rose and walked to Leonard, gazing on his countenance as he nearedthe boy, with a new and a deeper interest. 

"I have read your papers, " he said, "and recognize in them two men, belonging to two worlds, essentially distinct. " Leonard started, andmurmured, "True, true!"

"I apprehend, " resumed Harley, "that one of these men must eitherdestroy the other, or that the two must become fused and harmonized intoa single existence. Get your hat, mount my groom's horse, and come withme to London; we will converse by the way. Look you, I believe you andI agree in this, --that the first object of every noble spirit isindependence. It is towards this independence that I alone presume toassist you, and this is a service which the proudest man can receivewithout a blush. "

Leonard lifted his eyes towards Harley's, and those eyes swam withgrateful tears; but his heart was too full to answer. "I am not one ofthose, " said Harley, when they were on the road, "who think that becausea young man writes poetry he is fit for nothing else, and that he mustbe a poet or a pauper. I have said that in you there seems to me to betwo men, --the man of the Actual world, the man of the Ideal. To each ofthese men I can offer a separate career. The first is perhaps the moretempting. It is the interest of the State to draw into its service allthe talent and industry it can obtain; and under his native State everycitizen of a free country should be proud to take service. I have afriend who is a minister, and who is known to encourage talent, --AudleyEgerton. I have but to say to him, 'There is a young man who will repaythe government whatever the government bestows on him;' and you willrise to-morrow independent in means, and with fair occasions to attainto fortune and distinction. This is one offer, --what say you to it?"

Leonard thought bitterly of his interview with Audley Egerton, and theminister's proffered crown-piece. He shook his head, and replied, "Oh, my Lord, how have I deserved such kindness? Do with me what youwill; but if I have the option, I would rather follow my own calling. This is not the ambition that inflames me. "

"Hear, then, the other offer. I have a friend with whom I am lessintimate than Egerton, and who has nothing in his gift to bestow. Ispeak of a man of letters, --Henry Norreys, --of whom you have doubtlessheard, who, I should say, conceived an interest in you when he observedyou reading at the bookstall. I have often heard him say that literatureas a profession is misunderstood, and that rightly followed, with thesame pains and the same prudence which are brought to bear on otherprofessions, a competence at least can be always ultimately obtained. But the way may be long and tedious, and it leads to no power but overthought; it rarely attains to wealth; and though reputation may becertain, fame, such as poets dream of, is the lot of few. What say youto this course?"

"My Lord, I decide, " said Leonard, firmly; and then, his young facelighting up with enthusiasm, he exclaimed, "Yes, if, as you say, there be two men within me, I feel that were I condemned wholly to themechanical and practical world, one would indeed destroy the other. Andthe conqueror would be the ruder and the coarser. Let me pursue thoseideas that, though they have but flitted across me, vague and formless, have ever soared towards the sunlight. No matter whether or notthey lead to fortune or to fame, --at least they will lead me upward!Knowledge for itself I desire; what care I if it be not power!"

"Enough, " said Harley, with a pleased smile at his young companion'soutburst. "As you decide so shall it be settled. And now permit me, if not impertinent, to ask you a few questions. Your name is LeonardFairfield?"

The boy blushed deeply, and bowed his head as if in assent. 

"Helen says you are self-taught; for the rest she refers me toyou, --thinking, perhaps, that I should esteem you less--rather than yetmore highly--if she said you were, as I presume to conjecture, of humblebirth. "

"My birth, " said Leonard, slowly, "is very--very--humble. "

"The name of Fairfield is not unknown to me. There was one of that namewho married into a family in Lansmere, married an Avenel, " continuedHarley, and his voice quivered. "You change countenance. Oh, could yourmother's name have been Avenel?"

"Yes, " said Leonard, between his set teeth. Harley laid his hand on theboy's shoulder. "Then, indeed, I have a claim on you; then, indeed, weare friends. I have a right to serve any of that family. "

Leonard looked at him in surprise--"For, " continued Harley, recoveringhimself, "they always served my family; and my recollections ofLansmere, though boyish, are indelible. " He spurred on his horse asthe words closed, and again there was a long pause; but from that timeHarley always spoke to Leonard in a soft voice, and often gazed on himwith earnest and kindly eyes. 

They reached a house in a central, though not fashionable street. Aman-servant of a singularly grave and awful aspect opened the door, --aman who had lived all his life with authors. Poor fellow, he was indeedprematurely old! The care on his lip and the pomp on his brow--nomortal's pen can describe!

"Is Mr. Norreys at home?" asked Harley. 

"He is at home--to his friends, my Lord, " answered the man, majestically; and he stalked across the hall with the step of a Dangeauushering some Montmorenci into the presence of Louis le Grand. 

"Stay; show this gentleman into another room. I will go first into thelibrary; wait for me, Leonard. " The man nodded, and conducted Leonardinto the dining-room. Then pausing before the door of the library, andlistening an instant, as if fearful to disturb some mood of inspiration, opened it very softly. To his ineffable disgust, Harley pushed before, and entered abruptly. It was a large room, lined with books from thefloor to the ceiling. Books were on all the tables, books were on allthe chairs. Harley seated himself on a folio of Raleigh's "History ofthe World, " and cried, "I have brought you a treasure!"

"What is it?" said Norreys, good-humouredly, looking up from his desk. 

"A mind!"

"A mind!" echoed Norreys, vaguely. 

"Your own?"

"Pooh! I have none, --I have only a heart and a fancy. Listen. Youremember the boy we saw reading at the book stall. I have caught him foryou, and you shall train him into a man. I have the warmest interest inhis future, for I know some of his family, and one of that family wasvery dear to me. As for money, he has not a shilling, and not a shillingwould he accept gratis from you or me either. But he comes with boldheart to work, --and work you must find him. " Harley then rapidly toldhis friend of the two offers he had made to Leonard, and Leonard'schoice. 

"This promises very well; for letters a man must have a strong vocation, as he should have for law. I will do all that you wish. "

Harley rose with alertness, shook Norreys cordially by the hand, hurriedout of the room, and returned with Leonard. 

Mr. Norreys eyed the young man with attention. He was naturally rathersevere than cordial in his manner to strangers, --contrasting in this, asin most things, the poor vagabond Burley; but he was a good judge of thehuman countenance, and he liked Leonard's. After a pause he held out hishand. 

"Sir, " said he, "Lord L'Estrange tells me that you wish to enterliterature as a calling, and no doubt to study it as an art. I may helpyou in this, and you meanwhile can help me. I want an amanuensis, --Ioffer you that place. The salary will be proportioned to the servicesyou will render me. I have a room in my house at your disposal. WhenI first came up to London, I made the same choice that I hear you havedone. I have no cause, even in a worldly point of view, to repent mychoice. It gave me an income larger than my wants. I trace my successto these maxims, which are applicable to all professions: 1st, Neverto trust to genius for what can be obtained by labour; 2dly, Never toprofess to teach what we have not studied to understand; 3dly, Never toengage our word to what we do not our best to execute. 

"With these rules, literature--provided a man does not mistake hisvocation for it, and will, under good advice, go through the preliminarydiscipline of natural powers, which all vocations require--is as good acalling as any other. Without them, a shoeblack's is infinitely better. "

"Possibly enough, " muttered Harley; "but there have been great writerswho observed none of your maxims. "

"Great writers, probably, but very unenviable men. My Lord, my Lord, don't corrupt the pupil you bring to me. " Harley smiled, and took hisdeparture, and left Genius at school with Common-Sense and Experience. 

CHAPTER XX. 

While Leonard Fairfield had been obscurely wrestling against poverty, neglect, hunger, and dread temptation, bright had been the opening dayand smooth the upward path of Randal Leslie. Certainly no youngman, able and ambitious, could enter life under fairer auspices; theconnection and avowed favourite of a popular and energetic statesman, the brilliant writer of a political work that had lifted him at onceinto a station of his own, received and courted in those highestcircles, to which neither rank nor fortune alone suffices for a familiarpassport, --the circles above fashion itself the circles of POWER, --withevery facility of augmenting information, and learning the world betimesthrough the talk of its acknowledged masters, --Randal had but to movestraight onward, and success was sure. But his tortuous spirit delightedin scheme and intrigue for their own sake. In scheme and intrigue he sawshorter paths to fortune, if not to fame. 

His besetting sin was also his besetting weakness. He did notaspire, --he coveted. Though in a far higher social position than FrankHazeldean, despite the worldly prospects of his old schoolfellow, hecoveted the very things that kept Frank Hazeldean below him, --covetedhis idle gayeties, his careless pleasures, his very waste of youth. Thus, also, Randal less aspired to Audley Egerton's repute than hecoveted Audley Egerton's wealth and pomp, his princely expenditure, andhis Castle Rackrent in Grosvenor Square. It was the misfortune of hisbirth to be so near to both these fortunes, --near to that of Leslie, asthe future head of that fallen House; near even to that of Hazeldean, since, as we have seen before, if the squire had had no son, Randal'sdescent from the Hazeldeans suggested himself as the one on whom thesebroad lands should devolve. Most young men brought into intimate contactwith Audley Egerton would have felt for that personage a certain loyaland admiring, if not very affectionate, respect. For there was somethinggrand in Egerton, --something that commands and fascinates the young. His determined courage, his energetic will, his almost regal liberality, contrasting a simplicity in personal tastes and habits that was almostaustere, his rare and seemingly unconscious power of charming even thewomen most wearied of homage, and persuading even the men most obdurateto counsel, --all served to invest the practical man with those spellswhich are usually confined to the ideal one. But, indeed, AudleyEgerton was an Ideal, --the ideal of the Practical. Not the mere vulgar, plodding, red-tape machine of petty business, but the man of strongsense, inspired by inflexible energy and guided to definite earthlyobjects. In a dissolute and corrupt form of government, under a decrepitmonarchy or a vitiated republic, Audley Egerton might have been a mostdangerous citizen: for his ambition was so resolute, and his sight toits ends was so clear. But there is something in public life in Englandwhich compels the really ambitious man to honour, unless his eyes arejaundiced and oblique, like Randal Leslie's. It is so necessary inEngland to be a gentleman. And thus Egerton was emphatically considereda gentleman. Without the least pride in other matters, with littleapparent sensitiveness, touch him on the point of gentleman, and no oneso sensitive and so proud. As Randal saw more of him, and watched hismoods with the lynx-eyes of the household spy, he could perceive thatthis hard mechanical man was subject to fits of melancholy, even ofgloom; and though they did not last long, there was even in his habitualcoldness an evidence of something compressed, latent, painful, lyingdeep within his memory. This would have interested the kindly feelingsof a grateful heart; but Randal detected and watched it only as a clewto some secret it might profit him to gain. For Randal Leslie hatedEgerton; and hated him the more because, with all his book-knowledge andhis conceit in his own talents, he could not despise his patron;because he had not yet succeeded in making his patron the mere tool orstepping-stone; because he thought that Egerton's keen eye saw throughhis wily heart, even while, as if in profound disdain, the ministerhelped the protege. But this last suspicion was unsound. Egerton had notdetected Leslie's corrupt and treacherous nature. He might have otherreasons for keeping him at a certain distance, but he inquiredtoo little into Randal's feelings towards himself to question theattachment, or doubt the sincerity, of one who owed to him so much. Butthat which more than all embittered Randal's feelings towards Egertonwas the careful and deliberate frankness with which the latter had, morethan once, repeated and enforced the odious announcement, that Randalhad nothing to expect from the minister's WILL, nothing to expect fromthat wealth which glared in the hungry eyes of the pauper heir tothe Leslies of Rood. To whom, then, could Egerton mean to devise hisfortune? To whom but Frank Hazeldean? Yet Audley took so little noticeof his nephew, seemed so indifferent to him, that that supposition, however natural, was exposed to doubt. The astuteness of Randal wasperplexed. Meanwhile, however, the less he himself could rely uponEgerton for fortune, the more he revolved the possible chances ofousting Frank from the inheritance of Hazeldean, --in part, at least, ifnot wholly. To one less scheming, crafty, and remorseless than RandalLeslie, such a project would have seemed the wildest delusion. But therewas something fearful in the manner in which this young man sought toturn knowledge into power, and make the study of all weakness in otherssubservient to his own ends. He wormed himself thoroughly into Frank'sconfidence. He learned, through Frank, all the squire's peculiarities ofthought and temper, and pondered over each word in the father's letters, which the son gradually got into the habit of showing to the perfidiouseyes of his friend. Randal saw that the squire had two characteristics, which are very common amongst proprietors, and which might be invoked asantagonists to his warm fatherly love. First, the squire was as fond ofhis estate as if it were a living thing, and part of his own flesh andblood; and in his lectures to Frank upon the sin of extravagance, thesquire always let out this foible, --"What was to become of the estateif it fell into the hands of a spendthrift? No man should make ducksand drakes of Hazeldean; let Frank beware of that, " etc. Secondly, thesquire was not only fond of his lands, but he was jealous of them, --thatjealousy which even the tenderest fathers sometimes entertain towardstheir natural heirs. He could not bear the notion that Frank shouldcount on his death; and he seldom closed an admonitory letter withoutrepeating the information that Hazeldean was not entailed; that it washis to do with as he pleased through life and in death. Indirect menaceof this nature rather wounded and galled than intimidated Frank; for theyoung man was extremely generous and high-spirited by nature, and wasalways more disposed to some indiscretion after such warnings to hisself-interest, as if to show that those were the last kinds of appeallikely to influence him. By the help of such insights into the characterof father and son, Randal thought he saw gleams of daylight illumininghis own chance to the lands of Hazeldean. Meanwhile, it appeared to himobvious that, come what might of it, his own interests could not lose, and might most probably gain, by whatever could alienate the squirefrom his natural heir. Accordingly, though with consummate tact, heinstigated Frank towards the very excesses most calculated to irritatethe squire, all the while appearing rather to give the counter advice, and never sharing in any of the follies to which he conductedhis thoughtless friend. In this he worked chiefly through others, introducing Frank to every acquaintance most dangerous to youth, eitherfrom the wit that laughs at prudence, or the spurious magnificencethat subsists so handsomely upon bills endorsed by friends of "greatexpectations. "

The minister and his protege were seated at breakfast, the first readingthe newspaper, the last glancing over his letters; for Randal hadarrived to the dignity of receiving many letters, --ay, and notes, too, three-cornered and fantastically embossed. Egerton uttered anexclamation, and laid down the newspaper. Randal looked up from hiscorrespondence. The minister had sunk into one of his absent reveries. 

After a long silence, observing that Egerton did not return to thenewspaper, Randal said, "Ahem, sir, I have a note from Frank Hazeldean, who wants much to see me; his father has arrived in town unexpectedly. "

"What brings him here?" asked Egerton, still abstractedly. "Why, itseems that he has heard some vague reports of poor Frank's extravagance, and Frank is rather afraid or ashamed to meet him. "

"Ay, a very great fault, extravagance in the young!--destroysindependence; ruins or enslaves the future. Great fault, --very! And whatdoes youth want that it should be extravagant? Has it not everything initself, merely because it is? Youth is youth--what needs it more?"

Egerton rose as he said this, and retired to his writing-table, and inhis turn opened his correspondence. Randal took up the newspaper, andendeavoured, but in vain, to conjecture what had excited the minister'sexclamations and the revery that succeeded it. 

Egerton suddenly and sharply turned round in his chair--"If you havedone with the 'Times, ' have the goodness to place it here. "

Randal had just obeyed, when a knock at the street-door was heard, andpresently Lord L'Estrange came into the room, with somewhat a quickerstep and somewhat a gayer mien than usual. 

Audley's hand, as if mechanically, fell upon the newspaper, --fell uponthat part of the columns devoted to births, deaths, and marriages. Randal stood by, and noted; then, bowing to L'Estrange, left the room. 

"Audley, " said L'Estrange, "I have had an adventure since I saw you, --anadventure that reopened the Past, and may influence my future. "

"How?"

"In the first place, I have met with a relation of--of--the Avenels. "

"Indeed! Whom, --Richard Avenel?"

"Richard--Richard--who is he? Oh, I remember, the wild lad who went offto America; but that was when I was a mere child. "

"That Richard Avenel is now a rich, thriving trader, and his marriage isin this newspaper, --married to an Honourable Mrs. M'Catchley. Well, inthis country who should plume himself on birth?"

"You did not say so always, Egerton, " replied Harley, with a tone ofmournful reproach. 

"And I say so now pertinently to a Mrs. M'Catchley, not to the heir ofthe L'Estranges. But no more of these--these Avenels. "

"Yes, more of them. I tell you I have met a relation of theirs--a nephewof--of--"

"Of Richard Avenel's?" interrupted Egerton; and then added in the slow, deliberate, argumentative tone in which he was wont to speak in public, "Richard Avenel the trader! I saw him once, --a presuming and intolerableman!"

"The nephew has not those sins. He is full of promise, of modesty, yetof pride. And his countenance--oh, Egerton, he has her eyes. "

Egerton made no answer, and Harley resumed, "I had thought of placing him under your care. I knew you would providefor him. "

"I will. Bring him hither, " cried Egerton, eagerly. "All that I can doto prove my--regard for a wish of yours. " Harley pressed his friend'shand warmly. 

"I thank you from my heart; the Audley of my boyhood speaks now. But theyoung man has decided otherwise; and I do not blame him. Nay, I rejoicethat he chooses a career in which, if he find hardship, he may escapedependence. "

"And that career is--"

"Letters. "

"Letters! Literature!" exclaimed the statesman. "Beggary! No, no, Harley, this is your absurd romance. "

"It will not be beggary, and it is not my romance: it is the boy's. Leave him alone, he is my care and my charge henceforth. He is of herblood, and I said that he had HER eyes. "

"But you are going abroad; let me know where he is; I will watch overhim. "

"And unsettle a right ambition for a wrong one? No, you shall knownothing of him till he can proclaim himself. I think that day willcome. "

Audley mused a moment, and then said, "Well, perhaps you are right. After all, as you say, independence is a great blessing, and my ambitionhas not rendered myself the better or the happier. "

"Yet, my poor Audley, you ask me to be ambitious. "

"I only wish you to be consoled, " cried Egerton, with passion. 

"I will try to be so; and by the help of a milder remedy than yours. I said that my adventure might influence my future; it brought meacquainted not only with the young man I speak of, but the most winning, affectionate child, --a girl. "

"Is this child an Avenel too?"

"No, she is of gentle blood, --a soldier's daughter; the daughter of thatCaptain Digby on whose behalf I was a petitioner to your patronage. Heis dead, and in dying, my name was on his lips. He meant me, doubtless, to be the guardian to his orphan. I shall be so. I have at last anobject in life. "

"But can you seriously mean to take this child with you abroad?"

"Seriously, I do. "

"And lodge her in your own house?"

"For a year or so, while she is yet a child. Then, as she approachesyouth, I shall place her elsewhere. "

"You may grow to love her. Is it clear that she will love you, --notmistake gratitude for love? It is a very hazardous experiment. "

"So was William the Norman's, --still he was William the Conqueror. Thoubiddest me move on from the Past, and be consoled, yet thou wouldst makeme as inapt to progress as the mule in Slawkenbergius's tale, with thycursed interlocutions, 'Stumbling, by Saint Nicholas, every step. Why, at this rate, we shall be all night in getting into'--HAPPINESS!Listen, " continued Harley, setting off, full pelt, into one of his wildwhimsical humours. "One of the sons of the prophets in Israel fellingwood near the river Jordan, his hatchet forsook the helve, and fell tothe bottom of the river; so he prayed to have it again (it was but asmall request, mark you); and having a strong faith, he did not throwthe hatchet after the helve, but the helve after the hatchet. Presentlytwo great miracles were seen. Up springs the hatchet from the bottom ofthe water, and fixes itself to its old acquaintance, the helve. Now, hadhe wished to coach it up to heaven in a fiery chariot like Elias, be asrich as Job, strong as Samson, and beautiful as Absalom, would he haveobtained the wish, do you think? In truth, my friend, I question it verymuch. "

"I can't comprehend what you mean. Sad stuff you are talking. "

"I cannot help that; 'Rabelais is to be blamed for it. I am quoting him, and it is to be found in his Prologue to the Chapters on the 'Moderationof Wishes. ' And a propos of 'moderate wishes in point of hatchet, ' Iwant you to understand that I ask but little from Heaven. I fling butthe helve after the hatchet that has sunk into the silent stream. I wantthe other half of the weapon that is buried fathom deep, and for wantof which the thick woods darken round me by the Sacred River, and I cancatch not a glimpse of the stars. "

"In plain English, " said Audley Egerton, "you want--" he stopped short, puzzled. 

"I want my purpose and my will, and my old character, and the natureGod gave me. I want the half of my soul which has fallen from me. I wantsuch love as may replace to me the vanished affections. Reason not, --Ithrow the helve after the hatchet. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

Randal Leslie, on leaving Audley, repaired to Frank's lodgings, andafter being closeted with the young Guardsman an hour or so, took hisway to Limmer's hotel, and asked for Mr. Hazeldean. He was shown intothe coffee-room, while the waiter went up-stairs with his card, to seeif the squire was within, and disengaged. The "Times" newspaper laysprawling on one of the tables, and Randal, leaning over it, looked withattention into the column containing births, deaths, and marriages. Butin that long and miscellaneous list he could not conjecture the namewhich had so excited Mr. Egerton's interest. 

"Vexatious!" he muttered; "there is no knowledge which has power moreuseful than that of the secrets of men. "

He turned as the waiter entered and said that Mr. Hazeldean would beglad to see him. 

As Randal entered the drawing-room, the squire, shaking hands with him, looked towards the door as if expecting some one else; and his honestface assumed a blank expression of disappointment, when the door closed, and he found that Randal was unaccompanied. 

"Well, " said he, bluntly, "I thought your old schoolfellow, Frank, mighthave been with you. "

"Have you not seen him yet, sir?"

"No, I came to town this morning; travelled outside the mail; sentto his barracks, but the young gentleman does not sleep there, has anapartment of his own; he never told me that. We are a plain family, theHazeldeans, young sir; and I hate being kept in the dark, --by my ownson, too. "

Randal made no answer, but looked sorrowful. The squire, who had neverbefore seen his kinsman, had a vague idea that it was not polite toentertain a stranger, though a connection to himself, with his familytroubles, and so resumed good-naturedly, "I am very glad to make youracquaintance at last, Mr. Leslie. You know, I hope, that you have goodHazeldean blood in your veins?"

RANDAL (smiling). --"I am not likely to forget that; it is the boast ofour pedigree. "

SQUIRE (heartily). --"Shake hands again on it, my boy. You don't want afriend, since my grandee of a half-brother has taken you up; but if everyou should, Hazeldean is not very far from Rood. Can't get on with yourfather at all, my lad, --more 's the pity, for I think I could have givenhim a hint or two as to the improvement of his property. If he wouldplant those ugly commons--larch and fir soon come into profit, sir; andthere are some low lands about Rood that would take mighty kindly todraining. "

RANDAL. --"My poor father lives a life so retired--and you cannot wonderat it. Fallen trees lie still, and so do fallen families. "

SQUIRE. --"Fallen families can get up again, which fallen trees can't. "

RANDAL. --"Ah, sir, it often takes the energy of generations to repairthe thriftlessness and extravagance of a single owner. "

SQUIRE (his brow lowering). --"That's very true. Frank is d---dextravagant; treats me very coolly, too--not coming; near three o'clock. By the by, I suppose he told you where I was, otherwise how did you findme out?"

RANDAL (reluctantly). --"Sir, he did; and to speak frankly, I am notsurprised that he has not yet appeared. "

SQUIRE. --"Eh!"

RANDAL. --"We have grown very intimate. "

SQUIRE. --"So he writes me word, --and I am glad of it. Our member, SirJohn, tells me you are a very clever fellow, and a very steady one. AndFrank says that he wishes he had your prudence, if he can't have yourtalent. He has a good heart, Frank, " added the father, relentingly. "Butzounds, sir, you say you are not surprised he has not come to welcomehis own father!"

"My dear sir, " said Randal, "you wrote word to Frank that you hadheard from Sir John and others of his goings-on, and that you were notsatisfied with his replies to your letters. "

"Well. "

"And then you suddenly come up to town. "

"Well. "

"Well. And Frank is ashamed to meet you. For, as you say, he has beenextravagant, and he has exceeded his allowance; and knowing my respectfor you and my great affection for himself, he has asked me to prepareyou to receive his confession and forgive him. I know I am taking agreat liberty. I have no right to interfere between father and son; butpray--pray think I mean for the best. "

"Humph!" said the squire, recovering himself very slowly, and showingevident pain, "I knew already that Frank had spent more than he ought;but I think he should not have employed a third person to prepare me toforgive him. (Excuse me, --no offence. ) And if he wanted a third person, was not there his own mother? What the devil! [firing up] am I a tyrant, a bashaw, that my own son is afraid to speak to me? 'Gad, I'll give ithim!"

"Pardon me, sir, " said Randal, assuming at once that air of authoritywhich superior intellect so well carries off and excuses, "but Istrongly advise you not to express any anger at Frank's confidence inme. At present I have influence over him. Whatever you may think of hisextravagance, I have saved him from many an indiscretion, and manya debt, --a young man will listen to one of his own age so much morereadily than even to the kindest friend of graver years. Indeed, sir, Ispeak for your sake as well as for Frank's. Let me keep this influenceover him; and don't reproach him for the confidence placed in me. Nay, let him rather think that I have softened any displeasure you mightotherwise have felt. "

There seemed so much good sense in what Randal said, and the kindnessof it seemed so disinterested, that the squire's native shrewdness wasdeceived. 

"You are a fine young fellow, " said he, "and I am very much obliged toyou. Well, I suppose there is no putting old heads upon young shoulders;and I promise you I'll not say an angry word to Frank. I dare say, poorboy, he is very much afflicted, and I long to shake hands with him. So, set his mind at ease. "

"Ah, sir, " said Randal, with much apparent emotion, "your son may welllove you: and it seems to be a hard matter for so kind a heart as yoursto preserve the proper firmness with him. "

"Oh, I can be firm enough, " quoth the squire, --"especially when I don'tsee him, --handsome dog that he is: very like his mother--don't you thinkso?

"I never saw his mother, sir. "

"'Gad! Not seen my Harry? No more you have; you must come and pay us avisit. I suppose my half-brother will let you come?"

"To be sure, sir. Will you not call on him while you are in town?"

"Not I. He would think I expected to get something from the Government. Tell him the ministers must go on a little better, if they want my votefor their member. But go, I see you are impatient to tell Frank that all's forgot and forgiven. Come and dine with him here at six, and let himbring his bills in his pocket. Oh, I sha'n't scold him. "

"Why, as to that, " said Randal, smiling, "I think (forgive me still)that you should not take it too easily; just as I think that you hadbetter not blame him for his very natural and praiseworthy shame inapproaching you, so I think, also, that you should do nothing that wouldtend to diminish that shame, --it is such a check on him. And therefore, if you can contrive to affect to be angry with him for his extravagance, it will do good. "

"You speak like a book, and I'll try my best. "

"If you threaten, for instance, to take him out of the army, and settlehim in the country, it would have a very good effect. "

"What! would he think it so great a punishment to come home and livewith his parents?"

"I don't say that; but he is naturally so fond of London. At his age, and with his large inheritance, that is natural. "

"Inheritance!" said the squire, moodily, --"inheritance! he is notthinking of that, I trust? Zounds, sir, I have as good a life as hisown. Inheritance!--to be sure the Casino property is entailed on him;but as for the rest, sir, I am no tenant for life. I could leave theHazeldean lands to my ploughman, if I chose it. Inheritance; indeed!"

"My dear sir, I did not mean to imply that Frank would entertain theunnatural and monstrous idea of calculating on your death; and allwe have to do is to get him to sow his wild oats as soon aspossible, --marry and settle down into the country. For it would be athousand pities if his town habits and tastes grew permanent, --a badthing for the Hazeldean property, that! And, " added Randal, laughing, "I feel an interest in the old place, since my grandmother comes of thestock. So, just force yourself to seem angry, and grumble a little whenyou pay the bills. "

"Ah, ah, trust me, " said the squire, doggedly, and with a very alteredair. "I am much obliged to you for these hints, my young kinsman. " Andhis stout hand trembled a little as he extended it to Randal. 

Leaving Limmer's, Randal hastened to Frank's rooms in St. James'sStreet. "My dear fellow, " said he, when he entered, "it is veryfortunate that I persuaded you to let me break matters to your father. You might well say he was rather passionate; but I have contrived tosoothe him. You need not fear that he will not pay your debts. "

"I never feared that, " said Frank, changing colour; "I only feared hisanger. But, indeed, I fear his kindness still more. What a recklesshound I have been! However, it shall be a lesson to me. And my debtsonce paid, I will turn as economical as yourself. "

"Quite right, Frank. And, indeed, I am a little afraid that, when yourfather knows the total, he may execute a threat that would be veryunpleasant to you. "

"What's that?"

"Make you sell out, and give up London. "

"The devil!" exclaimed Frank, with fervent emphasis; "that would betreating me like a child. "

"Why, it would make you seem rather ridiculous to your set, which is nota very rural one. And you, who like London so much, and are so much thefashion!"

"Don't talk of it, " cried Frank, walking to and fro the room in greatdisorder. 

"Perhaps, on the whole, it might be well not to say all you owe, atonce. If you named half the sum, your father would let you off with alecture; and really I tremble at the effect of the total. "

"But how shall I pay the other half?"

"Oh, you must save from your allowance; it is a very liberal one; andthe tradesmen are not pressing. "

"No; but the cursed bill-brokers--"

"Always renew to a young man of your expectations. And if I get into anoffice, I can always help you, my dear Frank. "

"Ah, Randal, I am not so bad as to take advantage of your friendship, "said Frank, warmly. "But it seems to me mean after all, and a sort of alie, indeed, disguising the real state of my affairs. I should not havelistened to the idea from any one else; but you are such a sensible, kind, honourable fellow. "

"After epithets so flattering, I shrink from the responsibility ofadvice. But apart from your own interests, I should be glad to save yourfather the pain he would feel at knowing the whole extent of the scrapeyou have got into. And if it entailed on you the necessity to layby--and give up hazard, and not be security for other men--why, it wouldbe the best thing that could happen. Really, too, it seems hard upon Mr. Hazeldean that he should be the only sufferer, and quite just that youshould bear half your own burdens. "

"So it is, Randal; that did not strike me before. I will take yourcounsel; and now I will go at once to Limmer's. My dear father! I hopehe is looking well?"

"Oh, very. Such a contrast to the sallow Londoners! But I think you hadbetter not go till dinner. He has asked me to meet you at six. I willcall for you a little before, and we can go together. This will preventa good deal of gene and constraint. Good-by till then. Ha! by the way, I think if I were you, I would not take the matter too seriously andpenitentially. You see the best of fathers like to keep their sons undertheir thumb, as the saying is. And if you want at your age to preserveyour independence, and not be hurried off and buried in the country, like a schoolboy in disgrace, a little manliness of bearing would not beamiss. You can think over it. "

The dinner at Limmer's went off very differently from what it oughtto have done. Randal's words had sunk deep, and rankled sorely in thesquire's mind; and that impression imparted a certain coldness to hismanner which belied the hearty, forgiving, generous impulse with whichhe had come up to London, and which even Randal had not yet altogetherwhispered away. On the other hand, Frank, embarrassed both by the senseof disingenuousness, and a desire "not to take the thing too seriously, "seemed to the squire ungracious and thankless. 

After dinner the squire began to hum and haw, and Frank to colour up andshrink. Both felt discomposed by the presence of a third person; till, with an art and address worthy of a better cause, Randal himself brokethe ice, and so contrived to remove the restraint he had before imposed, that at length each was heartily glad to have matters made clear andbrief by his dexterity and tact. 

Frank's debts were not in reality large; and when he named the half ofthem, looking down in shame, the squire, agreeably surprised, was aboutto express himself with a liberal heartiness that would have opened hisson's excellent heart at once to him. 

But a warning look from Randal checked the impulse; and the squirethought it right, as he had promised, to affect an anger he did notfeel, and let fall the unlucky threat, "that it was all very well oncein a way to exceed his allowance; but if Frank did not, in future, showmore sense than to be led away by a set of London sharks and coxcombs, he must cut the army, come home, and take to farming. "

Frank imprudently exclaimed, "Oh, sir, I have no taste for farming. Andafter London, at my age, the country would be so horribly dull. "

"Aha!" said the squire, very grimly--and he thrust back into hispocket-book some extra bank-notes which his fingers had itched to add tothose he had already counted out. "The country is terribly dull, is it?Money goes there not upon follies and vices, but upon employing honestlabourers, and increasing the wealth of the nation. It does not pleaseyou to spend money in that way: it is a pity you should ever be plaguedwith such duties. "

"My dear father--"

"Hold your tongue, you puppy. Oh, I dare say, if you were in my shoes, you would cut down the oaks, and mortgage the property; sell it, forwhat I know, --all go on a cast of the dice! Aha, sir--very well, verywell--the country is horribly dull, is it? Pray stay in town. "

"My dear Mr. Hazeldean, " said Randal, blandly, and as if with the wishto turn off into a joke what threatened to be serious, "you must notinterpret a hasty expression so literally. Why, you would make Frankas bad as Lord A-----, who wrote word to his steward to cut down moretimber; and when the steward replied, 'There are only three sign-postsleft on the whole estate, ' wrote back, 'They've done growing at allevents, --down with them!' You ought to know Lord A-----, sir; so witty;and--Frank's particular friend. "

"Your particular friend, Master Frank? Pretty friends!" and the squirebuttoned up the pocket to which he had transferred his note-book, with adetermined air. 

"But I'm his friend, too, " said Randal, kindly; "and I preach to himproperly, I can tell you. " Then, as if delicately anxious to change thesubject, he began to ask questions upon crops and the experiment of bonemanure. He spoke earnestly, and with gusto, yet with the deferenceof one listening to a great practical authority. Randal had spentthe afternoon in cramming the subject from agricultural journals andparliamentary reports; and like all practised readers, had reallylearned in a few hours more than many a man, unaccustomed to study, could gain from books in a year. The squire was surprised and pleased atthe young scholar's information and taste for such subjects. 

"But, to be sure, " quoth he, with an angry look at poor Frank, "you havegood Hazeldean blood in you, and know a bean from a turnip. "

"Why, sir, " said Randal, ingenuously, "I am training myself for publiclife; and what is a public man worth if he do not study the agricultureof his country?"

"Right--what is he worth? Put that question, with my compliments, to myhalf-brother. What stuff he did talk, the other night, on the malt-tax, to be sure!"

"Mr. Egerton has had so many other things to think of, that we mustexcuse his want of information upon one topic, however important. Withhis strong sense he must acquire that information, sooner or later; forhe is fond of power; and, sir, knowledge is power!"

"Very true, --very fine saying, " quoth the poor squire, unsuspiciously, as Randal's eye rested on Mr. Hazeldean's open face, and then glancedtowards Frank, who looked sad and bored. 

"Yes, " repeated Randal, "knowledge is power;" and he shook his headwisely, as he passed the bottle to his host. 

Still, when the squire, who meant to return to the Hall next morning, took leave of Frank, his heart warmed to his son; and still more forFrank's dejected looks. It was not Randal's policy to push estrangementtoo far at first, and in his own presence. 

"Speak to poor Frank, --kindly now, sir--do;" whispered be, observing thesquire's watery eyes, as he moved to the window. 

The squire, rejoiced to obey, thrust out his hand to his son. 

"My dear boy, " said he, "there, don't fret--pshaw!--it was but a trifleafter all. Think no more of it. "

Frank took the hand, and suddenly threw his arm round his father's broadshoulder. 

"Oh, sir, you are too good, --too good. " His voice trembled so thatRandal took alarm, passed by him, and touched him meaningly. 

The squire pressed his son to his heart, --heart so large, that it seemedto fill the whole width under his broadcloth. "My dear Frank, " said he, half blubbering, "it is not the money; but, you see, it so vexes yourpoor mother; you must be careful in future; and, zounds, boy, it will beall yours one day; only don't calculate on it; I could not bear that, Icould not, indeed. "

"Calculate!" cried Frank. "Oh, sir, can you think it?"

"I am so delighted that I had some slight hand in your completereconciliation with Mr. Hazeldean, " said Randal, as the young men walkedfrom the hotel. "I saw that you were disheartened, and I told him tospeak to you kindly. "

"Did you? Ah--I am sorry he needed telling. "

"I know his character so well already, " said Randal, "that I flattermyself I can always keep things between you as they ought to be. What anexcellent man!"

"The best man in the world, " cried Frank, heartily; and then, as hisaccents drooped, "yet I have deceived him. I have a great mind to goback--"

"And tell him to give you twice as much money as you had asked for? Hewould think you had only seemed so affectionate in order to take him in. No, no, Frank! save, lay by, economize; and then tell him that you havepaid half your own debts. Something high-minded in that. "

"So there is. Your heart is as good as your head. Goodnight. "

"Are you going home so early? Have you no engagements!"

"None that I shall keep. "

"Good-night, then. "

They parted, and Randal walked into one of the fashionable clubs. Heneared a table where three or four young men (younger sons, who lived inthe most splendid style, Heaven knew how) were still over their wine. 

Leslie had little in common with these gentlemen, but he forced hisnature to be agreeable to them, in consequence of a very excellent pieceof worldly advice given to him by Audley Egerton. "Never let the dandiescall you a prig, " said the statesman. "Many a clever fellow failsthrough life, because the silly fellows, whom half a word well spokencould make his claqueurs, turn him into ridicule. Whatever you are, avoid the fault of most reading men: in a word, don't be a prig!"

"I have just left Hazeldean, " said Randal. "What a good fellow he is!"

"Capital!" said the Honourable George Borrowell. "Where is he?"

"Why, he is gone to his rooms. He has had a little scene with hisfather, a thorough, rough country squire. It would be an act of charityif you would go and keep him company, or take him with you to some placea little more lively than his own lodgings. "

"What! the old gentleman has been teasing him!--a horrid shame! Why, Frank is not extravagant, and he will be very rich, eh?"

"An immense property, " said Randal, "and not a mortgage on it: an onlyson, " he added, turning away. 

Among these young gentlemen there was a kindly and most benevolentwhisper, and presently they all rose, and walked away towards Frank'slodgings. 

"The wedge is in the tree, " said Randal to himself, "and there is a gapalready between the bark and the wood. "

CHAPTER XXII

Harley L'Estrange is seated beside Helen at the lattice-window in thecottage at Norwood. The bloom of reviving health is on the child's face, and she is listening with a smile, for Harley is speaking of Leonardwith praise, and of Leonard's future with hope. "And thus, " hecontinued, "secure from his former trials, happy in his occupation, andpursuing the career he has chosen, we must be content, my dear child, toleave him. "

"Leave him!" exclaimed Helen, and the rose on her cheek faded. 

Harley was not displeased to see her emotion. He would have beendisappointed in her heart if it had been less susceptible to affection. 

"It is hard on you, Helen, " said he, "to be separated from one who hasbeen to you as a brother. Do not hate me for doing so. But I considermyself your guardian, and your home as yet must be mine. We are goingfrom this land of cloud and mist, going as into the world of summer. Well, that does not content you. You weep, my child; you mourn yourown friend, but do not forget your father's. I am alone, and often sad, Helen; will you not comfort me? You press my hand, but you must learn tosmile on me also. You are born to be the comforter. Comforters are notegotists; they are always cheerful when they console. "

The voice of Harley was so sweet and his words went so home to thechild's heart, that she looked up and smiled in his face as he kissedher ingenuous brow. But then she thought of Leonard, and felt sosolitary, so bereft, that tears burst forth again. Before these weredried, Leonard himself entered, and, obeying an irresistible impulse, she sprang to his arms, and leaning her head on his shoulder, sobbedout, "I am going from you, brother; do not grieve, do not miss me. "

Harley was much moved: he folded his arms, and contemplated them bothsilently, --and his own eyes were moist. "This heart, " thought he, "willbe worth the winning!"

He drew aside Leonard, and whispered, "Soothe, but encourage and supporther. I leave you together; come to me in the garden later. "

It was nearly an hour before Leonard joined Harley. 

"She was not weeping when you left her?" asked L'Estrange. 

"No; she has more fortitude than we might suppose. Heaven knows how thatfortitude has supported mine. I have promised to write to her often. "

Harley took two strides across the lawn, and then, coming back toLeonard, said, "Keep your promise, and write often for the first year. Iwould then ask you to let the correspondence drop gradually. "

"Drop! Ah, my Lord!"

"Look you, my young friend, I wish to lead this fair mind wholly fromthe sorrows of the past. I wish Helen to enter, not abruptly, butstep by step, into a new life. You love each other now, as do twochildren, --as brother and sister. But later, if encouraged, would thelove be the same? And is it not better for both of you that youthshould open upon the world with youth's natural affections free andunforestalled?"

"True! And she is so above me, " said Leonard, mournfully. 

"No one is above him who succeeds in your ambition, Leonard. It is notthat, believe me. "

Leonard shook his head. 

"Perhaps, " said Harley, with a smile, "I rather feel that you are aboveme. For what vantage-ground is so high as youth? Perhaps I may becomejealous of you. It is well that she should learn to like one who is tobe henceforth her guardian and protector. Yet how can she like me as sheought, if her heart is to be full of you?"

The boy bowed his head; and Harley hastened to change the subject, andspeak of letters and of glory. His words were eloquent and his voicekindling; for he had been an enthusiast for fame in his boyhood, andin Leonard's his own seemed to him to revive. But the poet's heart gaveback no echo, --suddenly it seemed void and desolate. Yet when Leonardwalked back by the moonlight, he muttered to himself, "Strange, strange, so mere a child! this cannot be love! Still, what else to love is thereleft to me?"

And so he paused upon the bridge where he had so often stood with Helen, and on which he had found the protector that had given to her a home, to himself a career. And life seemed very long, and fame but a drearyphantom. Courage still, Leonard! These are the sorrows of the heart thatteach thee more than all the precepts of sage and critic. 

Another day, and Helen had left the shores of England, with her fancifuland dreaming guardian. Years will pass before our tale re-opens. Lifein all the forms we have seen it travels on. And the squire farms andhunts; and the parson preaches and chides and soothes; and Riccaboccareads his Machiavelli, and sighs and smiles as he moralizes on Men andStates; and Violante's dark eyes grow deeper and more spiritual intheir lustre, and her beauty takes thought from solitary dreams. And Mr. Richard Avenel has his house in London, and the Honourable Mrs. Avenelher opera-box; and hard and dire is their struggle into fashion, and hotly does the new man, scorning the aristocracy, pant to becomearistocrat. And Audley Egerton goes from the office to the parliament, and drudges, and debates, and helps to govern the empire in which thesun never sets. Poor sun, how tired he must be--but not more tired thanthe Government! And Randal Leslie has an excellent place in the bureauof a minister, and is looking to the time when he shall resign it tocome into parliament, and on that large arena turn knowledge into power. And meanwhile he is much where he was with Audley Egerton; but he hasestablished intimacy with the squire, and visited Hazeldean twice, andexamined the house and the map of the property, and very nearly fallena second time into the ha-ha, and the squire believes that Randal Lesliealone can keep Frank out of mischief, and has spoken rough words to hisHarry about Frank's continued extravagance. And Frank does continue topursue pleasure, and is very miserable, and horribly in debt. AndMadame di Negra has gone from London to Paris, and taken a tour intoSwitzerland, and come back to London again, and has grown very intimatewith Randal Leslie; and Randal has introduced Frank to her; and Frankthinks her the loveliest woman in the world, and grossly slandered bycertain evil tongues. And the brother of Madame di Negra is expectedin England at last; and what with his repute for beauty and for wealth, people anticipate a sensation. And Leonard, and Harley, and Helen?Patience, --they will all re-appear. 

BOOK EIGHTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

THE ABUSE OF INTELLECT. 

There is at present so vehement a flourish of trumpets, and soprodigious a roll of the drum, whenever we are called upon to throw upour hats, and cry "Huzza" to the "March of Enlightenment, " that, out ofthat very spirit of contradiction natural to all rational animals, one is tempted to stop one's ears, and say, "Gently, gently; LIGHT isnoiseless: how comes 'Enlightenment' to make such a clatter? Meanwhile, if it be not impertinent, pray, where is Enlightenment marching to?" Askthat question of any six of the loudest bawlers in the procession, andI'll wager tenpence to California that you get six very unsatisfactoryanswers. One respectable gentleman, who, to our great astonishment, insists upon calling himself "a slave, " but has a remarkably free way ofexpressing his opinions, will reply, "Enlightenment is marching towardsthe seven points of the Charter. " Another, with his hair a la jeuneFrance, who has taken a fancy to his friend's wife, and is ratherembarrassed with his own, asserts that Enlightenment is proceedingtowards the Rights of Women, the reign of Social Love, and theannihilation of Tyrannical Prejudice. A third, who has the air of a manwell-to-do in the middle class, more modest in his hopes, because heneither wishes to have his head broken by his errand-boy, nor hiswife carried off to an Agapemone by his apprentice, does not takeEnlightenment a step farther than a siege on Debrett, and a cannonadeon the Budget. Illiberal man! the march that he swells will soon tramplehim under foot. No one fares so ill in a crowd as the man who is wedgedin the middle. A fourth, looking wild and dreamy, as if he had come outof the cave of Trophonius, and who is a mesmerizer and a mystic, thinksEnlightenment is in full career towards the good old days of alchemistsand necromancers. A fifth, whom one might take for a Quaker, assertsthat the march of Enlightenment is a crusade for universal philanthropy, vegetable diet, and the perpetuation of peace by means of speeches, which certainly do produce a very contrary effect from the Philippics ofDemosthenes! The sixth--good fellow without a rag on his back--does notcare a straw where the march goes. He can't be worse off than he is; andit is quite immaterial to him whether he goes to the dog-star above, or the bottomless pit below. I say nothing, however, against the march, while we take it altogether. Whatever happens, one is in good company;and though I am somewhat indolent by nature, and would rather stay athome with Locke and Burke (dull dogs though they were) than have mythoughts set off helter-skelter with those cursed trumpets and drums, blown and dub-a-dubbed by fellows whom I vow to heaven I would not trustwith a five-pound note, --still, if I must march, I must; and so deucetake the hindmost! But when it comes to individual marchers upon theirown account, --privateers and condottieri of Enlightenment, --who havefilled their pockets with Lucifer matches, and have a sublime contemptfor their neighbour's barns and hay-ricks, I don't see why I shouldthrow myself into the seventh heaven of admiration and ecstasy. 

If those who are eternally rhapsodizing on the celestial blessings thatare to follow Enlightenment, Universal Knowledge, and so forth, wouldjust take their eyes out of their pockets, and look about them, Iwould respectfully inquire if they have never met any very knowing andenlightened gentleman, whose acquaintance is by no means desirable. If not, they are monstrous lucky. Every man must judge by his ownexperience; and the worst rogues I have ever encountered were amazinglywell-informed clever fellows. From dunderheads and dunces we can protectourselves, but from your sharpwitted gentleman, all enlightenment and noprejudice, we have but to cry, "Heaven defend us!" It is true, thatthe rogue (let him be ever so enlightened) usually comes to no goodhimself, --though not before he has done harm enough to his neighbours. But that only shows that the world wants something else in those itrewards besides intelligence per se and in the abstract; and is much tooold a world to allow any Jack Horner to pick out its plums for his ownpersonal gratification. Hence a man of very moderate intelligence, whobelieves in God, suffers his heart to beat with human sympathies, andkeeps his eyes off your strongbox, will perhaps gain a vast deal morepower than knowledge ever gives to a rogue. 

Wherefore, though I anticipate an outcry against me on the part of theblockheads, who, strange to say, are the most credulous idolators ofEnlightenment, and if knowledge were power, would rot on a dunghill, yet, nevertheless, I think all really enlightened men will agree withme, that when one falls in with detached sharpshooters from the generalMarch of Enlightenment, it is no reason that we should make ourselvesa target, because Enlightenment has furnished them with a gun. It has, doubtless, been already remarked by the judicious reader that of thenumerous characters introduced into this work, the larger portion belongto that species which we call the INTELLECTUAL, --that through them areanalyzed and developed human intellect, in various forms and directions. So that this History, rightly considered, is a kind of humble familiarEpic, or, if you prefer it, a long Serio-Comedy, upon the Varieties ofEnglish Life in this our Century, set in movement by the intelligencesmost prevalent. And where more ordinary and less refined types of thespecies round and complete the survey of our passing generation, they will often suggest, by contrast, the deficiencies which mereintellectual culture leaves in the human being. Certainly, I have nospite against intellect and enlightenment. Heaven forbid I should besuch a Goth! I am only the advocate for common-sense and fair play. Idon't think an able man necessarily an angel; but I think if his heartmatch his head, and both proceed in the Great March under the divineOriflamine, he goes as near to the angel as humanity will permit: ifnot, if he has but a penn'orth of heart to a pound of brains, Isay, "Bon jour, mon ange! I see not the starry upward wings, but thegrovelling cloven-hoof. " I 'd rather be obfuscated by the Squire ofHazeldean than en lightened by Randal Leslie. Every man to his taste. But intellect itself (not in the philosophical but the ordinary sense ofthe term) is rarely, if ever, one completed harmonious agency; it is notone faculty, but a compound of many, some of which are often at war witheach other, and mar the concord of the whole. Few of us but havesome predominant faculty, in itself a strength; but which, usurpingunseasonably dominion over the rest, shares the lot of all tyranny, however brilliant, and leaves the empire weak against disaffectionwithin, and invasion from without. Hence, intellect may be pervertedin a man of evil disposition, and sometimes merely wasted in a man ofexcellent impulses, for want of the necessary discipline, or of a strongruling motive. I doubt if there be one person in the world who hasobtained a high reputation for talent, who has not met somebody muchcleverer than himself, which said somebody has never obtained anyreputation at all! Men like Audley Egerton are constantly seen in thegreat positions of life; while men like Harley L'Estrange, who couldhave beaten them hollow in anything equally striven for by both, floataway down the stream, and, unless some sudden stimulant arouse theirdreamy energies, vanish out of sight into silent graves. If Hamlet andPolonius were living now, Polonius would have a much better chance ofbeing a Cabinet Minister, though Hamlet would unquestionably be a muchmore intellectual character. What would become of Hamlet? Heaven knows!Dr. Arnold said, from his experience of a school, that the differencebetween one man and another was not mere ability, --it was energy. Thereis a great deal of truth in that saying. 

Submitting these hints to the judgment and penetration of the sagacious, I enter on the fresh division of this work, and see already RandalLeslie gnawing his lips on the background. The German poet observes thatthe Cow of Isis is to some the divine symbol of knowledge, to others butthe milch cow, only regarded for the pounds of butter she will yield. Otendency of our age, to look on Isis as the milch cow! O prostitutionof the grandest desires to the basest uses! Gaze on the goddess, RandalLeslie, and get ready thy churn and thy scales. Let us see what thebutter will fetch in the market. 

CHAPTER II. 

A new Reign has commenced. There has been a general election; theunpopularity of the Administration has been apparent at the hustings. Audley Egerton, hitherto returned by vast majorities, has barely escapeddefeat--thanks to a majority of five. The expenses of his election aresaid to have been prodigious. "But who can stand against such wealthas Egerton's, --no doubt backed, too, by the Treasury purse?" saidthe defeated candidate. It is towards the close of October; London isalready full; parliament will meet in less than a fortnight. 

In one of the principal apartments of that hotel in which foreignersmay discover what is meant by English comfort, and the price whichforeigners must pay for it, there sat two persons side by side, engagedin close conversation. The one was a female, in whose pale clearcomplexion and raven hair, in whose eyes, vivid with a power ofexpression rarely bestowed on the beauties of the North, we recognizeBeatrice, Marchesa di Negra. Undeniably handsome as was the Italianlady, her companion, though a man, and far advanced into middle age, wasyet more remarkable for personal advantages. There was a strong familylikeness between the two; but there was also a striking contrast in air, manner, and all that stamps on the physiognomy the idiosyncrasies ofcharacter. There was something of gravity, of earnestness and passion, in Beatrice's countenance when carefully examined; her smile at timesmight be false, but it was rarely ironical, never cynical. Her gestures, though graceful, were unrestrained and frequent. You could see she was adaughter of the South. Her companion, on the contrary, preserved on thefair, smooth face, to which years had given scarcely a line or wrinkle, something that might have passed, at first glance, for the levity andthoughtlessness of a gay and youthful nature; but the smile, thoughexquisitely polished, took at times the derision of a sneer. In hismanners he was as composed and as free from gesture as an Englishman. His hair was of that red brown with which the Italian painters producesuch marvellous effects of colour; and if here and there a silver threadgleamed through the locks, it was lost at once amidst their luxuriance. His eyes were light, and his complexion, though without much colour, was singularly transparent. His beauty, indeed, would have been ratherwomanly than masculine, but for the height and sinewy spareness of aframe in which muscular strength was rather adorned than concealed by anadmirable elegance of proportion. You would never have guessed this manto be an Italian; more likely you would have supposed him a Parisian. He conversed in French, his dress was of French fashion, his mode ofthought seemed French. Not that he was like the Frenchman of the presentday, --an animal, either rude or reserved; but your ideal of the marquisof the old regime, the roue of the Regency. 

Italian, however, he was, and of a race renowned in Italian history. But, as if ashamed of his country and his birth, he affected to bea citizen of the world. Heaven help the world if it hold only suchcitizens!

"But, Giulio, " said Beatrice di Negra, speaking in Italian, "evengranting that you discover this girl, can you suppose that her fatherwill ever consent to your alliance? Surely you know too well the natureof your kinsman?"

"Tu to trompes, ma soeur, " replied Giulio Franzini, Count di Peschiera, in French as usual, --"tu to trompes; I knew it before he had gonethrough exile and penury. How can I know it now? But comfort yourself, my too anxious Beatrice, I shall not care for his consent, till I 'vemade sure of his daughter's. "

"But how win that in despite of the father?"

"Eh, mordieu!" interrupted the count, with true French gayety; "whatwould become of all the comedies ever written, if marriages were notmade in despite of the father? Look you, " he resumed, with a veryslight compression of his lip, and a still slighter movement in hischair, --"look you, this is no question of ifs and buts! it is a questionof must and shall, --a question of existence to you and to me. WhenDanton was condemned to the guillotine, he said, flinging a pellet ofbread at the nose of his respectable judge, 'Mon individu sera bientotdans le neant. ' My patrimony is there already! I am loaded with debts. I see before me, on the one side, ruin or suicide; on the other side, wedlock and wealth. "

"But from those vast possessions which you have been permitted to enjoyso long, have you really saved nothing against the time when they mightbe reclaimed at your hands?"

"My sister, " replied the count, "do I look like a man who saved?Besides, when the Austrian Emperor, unwilling to raze from his Lombarddomains a name and a House so illustrious as our kinsman's, anddesirous, while punishing that kinsman's rebellion, to reward myadherence, forbore the peremptory confiscation of those vast possessionsat which my mouth waters while we speak, but, annexing them to the crownduring pleasure, allowed me, as the next of male kin, to retain therevenues of one half for the same very indefinite period, --had I notevery reason to suppose that before long I could so influence hisImperial Majesty, or his minister, as to obtain a decree that mighttransfer the whole, unconditionally and absolutely, to myself? Andmethinks I should have done so, but for this accursed, intermeddlingEnglish Milord, who has never ceased to besiege the court or theminister with alleged extenuations of our cousin's rebellion, andproofless assertions that I shared it in order to entangle my kinsman, and betrayed it in order to profit by his spoils. So that, at last, inreturn for all my services, and in answer to all my claims, I receivedfrom the minister himself this cold reply, Count of Peschiera, your aidwas important, and your reward has been large. That reward it wouldnot be for your honour to extend, and justify the ill opinion of yourItalian countrymen by formally appropriating to yourself all that wasforfeited by the treason you denounced. A name so noble as yours shouldbe dearer to you than fortune itself. '"

"Ah Giulio, " cried Beatrice, her face lighting up, changed in its wholecharacter, "those were words that might make the demon that tempts toavarice fly from your breast in shame. "

The count opened his eyes in great amaze; then he glanced round theroom, and said quietly, "Nobody else hears you, my dear Beatrice; talk commonsense. Heroicssound well in mixed society; but there is nothing less suited to thetone of a family conversation. "

Madame di Negra bent down her head abashed, and that sudden changein the expression of her countenance which had seemed to betraysusceptibility to generous emotion, faded as suddenly away. 

"But still, " she said coldly, "you enjoy one half of those amplerevenues: why talk, then, of suicide and ruin?"

"I enjoy them at the pleasure of the crown; and what if it be thepleasure of the crown to recall our cousin, and reinstate him in hispossessions?"

"There is a probability, then, of that pardon? When you first employedme in your researches you only thought there was a possibility. "

"There is a great probability of it, and therefore I am here. I learnedsome little time since that the question of such recall had beensuggested by the emperor, and discussed in Council. The danger tothe State, which might arise from our cousin's wealth, his allegedabilities, --abilities! bah! and his popular name, deferred any decisionon the point; and, indeed, the difficulty of dealing with myself musthave embarrassed the minister. But it is a mere question of time. Hecannot long remain excluded from the general amnesty already extended tothe other refugees. The person who gave me this information is high inpower, and friendly to myself; and he added a piece of advice on whichI acted. 'It was intimated, ' said he, 'by one of the partisans of yourkinsman, that the exile could give a hostage for his loyalty in theperson of his daughter and heiress; that she had arrived at marriageableage; that if she were to wed, with the emperor's consent, some one whoseattachment to the Austrian crown was unquestionable, there would be aguarantee both for the faith of the father, and for the transmission ofso important a heritage to safe and loyal hands. Why not' (continuedmy friend) 'apply to the emperor for his consent to that alliance foryourself, --you, on whom he can depend; you who, if the daughter shoulddie, would be the legal heir to those lands?' On that hint I spoke. "

"You saw the emperor?"

"And after combating the unjust prepossessions against me, I stated thatso far from my cousin having any fair cause of resentment againstme, when all was duly explained to him, I did not doubt that he wouldwillingly give me the hand of his child. "

"You did!" cried the marchesa, amazed. 

"And, " continued the count, imperturbably, as he smoothed, with carelesshand, the snowy plaits of his shirt front, --"and that I should thus havethe happiness of becoming myself the guarantee of my kinsman's loyalty, the agent for the restoration of his honours, while, in the eyes of theenvious and malignant, I should clear up my own name from all suspicionthat I had wronged him. "

"And the emperor consented?"

"Pardieu, my dear sister, what else could his Majesty do? My propositionsmoothed every obstacle, and reconciled policy with mercy. Itremains, therefore, only to find out what has hitherto baffled allour researches, the retreat of our dear kinsfolk, and to make myselfa welcome lover to the demoiselle. There is some disparity of years, Iown; but--unless your sex and my glass flatter me overmuch--I am still amatch for many a gallant of five-and-twenty. "

The count said this with so charming a smile, and looked sopre-eminently handsome, that he carried off the coxcombry of the wordsas gracefully as if they had been spoken by some dazzling hero of thegrand old comedy of Parisian life. 

Then interlacing his fingers and lightly leaning his hands, thusclasped, upon his sister's shoulder, he looked into her face, and saidslowly, "And now, my sister, for some gentle but deserved reproach. Have you not sadly failed me in the task I imposed on your regard for myinterests? Is it not some years since you first came to England on themission of discovering these worthy relations of ours? Did I not entreatyou to seduce into your toils the man whom I new to be my enemy, and whowas indubitably acquainted with our cousin's retreat, --a secret he hashitherto locked within his bosom? Did you not tell me, that though hewas then in England, you could find no occasion even to meet him, butthat you had obtained the friendship of the statesman to whom I directedyour attention, as his most intimate associate? And yet you, whosecharms are usually so irresistible, learn nothing from the statesman, asyou see nothing of Milord. Nay, baffled and misled, you actually supposethat the quarry has taken refuge in France. You go thither, you pretendto search the capital, the provinces, Switzerland, que sais je? Allin vain, --though--foi de gentilhomme--your police cost me dearly. Youreturn to England; the same chase, and the same result. Palsambleu, masoeur, I do too much credit to your talents not to question your zeal. In a word, have you been in earnest, --or have you not had some womanlypleasure in amusing yourself and abusing my trust?"

"Giulio, " answered Beatrice, sadly, "you know the influence you haveexercised over my character and my fate. Your reproaches are not just. Imade such inquiries as were in my power, and I have now cause to believethat I know one who is possessed of this secret, and can guide us toit. "

"Ah, you do!" exclaimed the count. Beatrice did not heed theexclamation, and hurried on. 

"But grant that my heart shrunk from the task you imposed on me, wouldit not have been natural? When I first came to England, you informedme that your object in discovering the exiles was one which I couldhonestly aid. You naturally wished first to know if the daughter lived;if not, you were the heir. If she did, you assured me you desired toeffect, through my mediation, some liberal compromise with Alphonso, bywhich you would have sought to obtain his restoration, provided he wouldleave you for life in possession of the grant you hold from the crown. While these were your objects, I did my best, ineffectual as it was, toobtain the information required. "

"And what made me lose so important, though so ineffectual an ally?"asked the count, still smiling; but a gleam that belied the smile shotfrom his eye. 

"What! when you bade me receive and co-operate with the miserablespies--the false Italians--whom you sent over, and seek to entangle thispoor exile, when found, in some rash correspondence to be revealedto the court; when you sought to seduce the daughter of the Count ofPeschiera, the descendant of those who had ruled in Italy, intothe informer, the corrupter, and the traitress, --no, Giulio, then Irecoiled; and then, fearful of your own sway over me, I retreated intoFrance. I have answered you frankly. "

The count removed his hands from the shoulder on which they had reclinedso cordially. 

"And this, " said he, "is your wisdom, and this your gratitude! You, whose fortunes are bound up in mine; you, who subsist on my bounty; you, who--"

"Hold, " cried the marchesa, rising, and with a burst of emotion, asif stung to the utmost, and breaking into revolt from the tyranny ofyears, --"hold! Gratitude! bounty! Brother, brother! what, indeed, do Iowe to you? The shame and the misery of a life. While yet a child, youcondemned me to marry against my will, against my heart, against myprayers, --and laughed at my tears when I knelt to you for mercy. I waspure then, Giulio, --pure and innocent as the flowers in my virgin crown. And now--now--"

Beatrice stopped abruptly, and clasped her hands before her face. 

"Now you upbraid me, " said the count, unruffled by her sudden passion, "because I gave you in marriage to a man young and noble?"

"Old in vices, and mean of soul! The marriage I forgave you. You had theright, according to the customs of our country, to dispose of my hand. But I forgave you not the consolations that you whispered in the ear ofa wretched and insulted wife. "

"Pardon me the remark, " replied the count, with a courtly bend of hishead, "but those consolations were also conformable to the customs ofour country, and I was not aware till now that you had wholly disdainedthem. And, " continued the count, "you were not so long a wife that thegall of the chain should smart still. You were soon left a widow, --free, childless, young, beautiful. "

"And penniless. "

"True, Di Negra was a gambler, and very unlucky; no fault of mine. Icould neither keep the cards from his hands, nor advise him how to playthem. "

"And my own portion? O Giulio, I knew but at his death why you hadcondemned me to that renegade Genoese. He owed you money, and, againsthonour, and I believe against law, you had accepted my fortune indischarge of the debt. "

"He had no other way to discharge it; a debt of honour must bepaid, --old stories these. What matters? Since then my purse has beenopen to you. "

"Yes, not as your sister, but your instrument, your spy! Yes, your pursehas been open--with a niggard hand. "

"Un peu de conscience, ma chere, --you are so extravagant. But come, beplain. What would you?"

"I would be free from you. "

"That is, you would form some second marriage with one of these richisland lords. Ma foi, I respect your ambition. "

"It is not so high. I aim but to escape from slavery, --to be placedbeyond dishonourable temptation. I desire, " cried Beatrice, withincreased emotion, --"I desire to re-enter the life of woman. "

"Eno'!" said the count, with a visible impatience; "is there anythingin the attainment of your object that should render you indifferent tomine? You desire to marry, if I comprehend you right. And to marry asbecomes you, you should bring to your husband not debts, but a dowry. Be it so. I will restore the portion that I saved from the spendthriftclutch of the Genoese, --the moment that it is mine to bestow, the momentthat I am husband to my kinsman's heiress. And now, Beatrice, you implythat my former notions revolted your conscience; my present plan shouldcontent it, for by this marriage shall our kinsman regain his country, and repossess, at least, half his lands. And if I am not an excellenthusband to the demoiselle, it will be her own fault. I have sown my wildoats. Je suis bon prince, when I have things a little my own way. Itis my hope and my intention, and certainly it will be my interest, to become digne epoux et irreprochable pere de famille. I speaklightly, --'t is my way. I mean seriously. The little girl will be veryhappy with me, and I shall succeed in soothing all resentment her fathermay retain. Will you aid me then, yes or no? Aid me, and you shallindeed be free. The magician will release the fair spirit he has boundto his will. Aid me not, ma chere, and mark, I do not threaten--I do butwarn--aid me not; grant that I become a beggar, and ask yourself whatis to become of you, --still young, still beautiful, and still penniless?Nay, worse than penniless; you have done me the honour, " and here thecount, looking on the table, drew a letter from a portfolio emblazonedwith his arms and coronet, --"you have done me the honour to consult meas to your debts. "

"You will restore my fortune?" said the marchesa, irresolutely, --andaverting her head from an odious schedule of figures. 

"When my own, with your aid, is secured. "

"But do you not overrate the value of my aid?"

"Possibly, " said the count, with a caressing suavity--and he kissed hissister's forehead. "Possibly; but, by my honour, I wish to repair to youany wrong, real or supposed, I may have done you in past times. I wishto find again my own dear sister. I may over-value your aid, but not theaffection from which it comes. Let us be friends, cara Beatrice mia, "added the count, for the first time employing Italian words. 

The marchesa laid her head on his shoulder, and her tears flowedsoftly. Evidently this man had great influence over her, --and evidently, whatever her cause for complaint, her affection for him was stillsisterly and strong. A nature with fine flashes of generosity, spirit, honour, and passion was hers; but uncultured, unguided, spoilt by theworst social examples, easily led into wrong, not always aware where thewrong was, letting affections good or bad whisper away her conscience orblind her reason. Such women are often far more dangerous when inducedto wrong than those who are thoroughly abandoned, --such women are theaccomplices men like the Count of Peschiera most desire to obtain. 

"Ah, Giulio, " said Beatrice, after a pause, and looking up at himthrough her tears, "when you speak to me thus, you know you can do withme what you will. Fatherless and motherless, whom had my childhood tolove and obey but you?"

"Dear Beatrice, " murmured the count, tenderly, and he again kissed herforehead. "So, " he continued, more carelessly, --"so the reconciliationis effected, and our interests and our hearts re-allied. Now, alas! todescend to business. You say that you know some one whom you believeto be acquainted with the lurking-place of my father-in-law--that is tobe!"

"I think so. You remind me that I have an appointment with him this day:it is near the hour, --I must leave you. "

"To learn the secret?--Quick, quick. I have no fear of your success, ifit is by his heart that you lead him!"

"You mistake; on his heart I have no hold. But he has a friend who lovesme, and honourably, and whose cause he pleads. I think here that I havesome means to control or persuade him. If not--ah, he is of a characterthat perplexes me in all but his worldly ambition; and how can weforeigners influence him through THAT?"

"Is he poor, or is he extravagant?"

"Not extravagant, and not positively poor, but dependent. "

"Then we have him, " said the count, composedly. "If his assistance beworth buying, we can bid high for it. Sur mon ame, I never yet knewmoney fail with any man who was both worldly and dependent. I put himand myself in your hands. "

Thus saying, the count opened the door, and conducted his sister withformal politeness to her carriage. He then returned, reseated himself, and mused in silence. As he did so, the muscles of his countenancerelaxed. The levity of the Frenchman fled from his visage, and in hiseye, as it gazed abstractedly into space, there was that steady depthso remarkable in the old portraits of Florentine diplomatist or VenetianOligarch. Thus seen, there was in that face, despite all itsbeauty, something that would have awed back even the fond gaze oflove, --something hard, collected, inscrutable, remorseless. But thischange of countenance did not last long. Evidently thought, thoughintense for the moment, was not habitual to the man; evidently he hadlived the life which takes all things lightly, --so he rose with a lookof fatigue, shook and stretched himself, as if to cast off, or growout of, an unwelcome and irksome mood. An hour afterwards, the Count ofPeschiera was charming all eyes, and pleasing all ears, in the saloon ofa high-born beauty, whose acquaintance he had made at Vienna, and whosecharms, according to that old and never-truth-speaking oracle, PoliteScandal, were now said to have attracted to London the brilliantforeigner. 

CHAPTER III. 

The marehesa regained her house, which was in Curzon Street, andwithdrew to her own room, to readjust her dress, and remove from hercountenance all trace of the tears she had shed. 

Half an hour afterwards she was seated in her drawing-room, composed andcalm; nor, seeing her then, could you have guessed that she was capableof so much emotion and so much weakness. In that stately exterior, inthat quiet attitude, in that elaborate and finished elegance which comesalike from the arts of the toilet and the conventional repose of rank, you could see but the woman of the world and the great lady. 

A knock at the door was heard, and in a few moments there entered avisitor, with the easy familiarity of intimate acquaintance, --a youngman, but with none of the bloom of youth. His hair, fine as a woman's, was thin and scanty, but it fell low over the forehead, and concealedthat noblest of our human features. "A gentleman, " says Apuleius, "oughtto wear his whole mind on his forehead. " The young visitor would neverhave committed so frank an imprudence. His cheek was pale, and in hisstep and his movements there was a languor that spoke of fatigued nervesor delicate health. But the light of the eye and the tone of the voicewere those of a mental temperament controlling the bodily, --vigorous andenergetic. For the rest, his general appearance was distinguished bya refinement alike intellectual and social. Once seen, you would noteasily forget him; and the reader, no doubt, already recognizesRandal Leslie. His salutation, as I before said, was that of intimatefamiliarity; yet it was given and replied to with that unreservedopenness which denotes the absence of a more tender sentiment. 

Seating himself by the marchesa's side, Randal began first to converseon the fashionable topics and gossip of the day; but it was observablethat while he extracted from her the current anecdote and scandal of thegreat world, neither anecdote nor scandal did he communicate in return. Randal Leslie had already learned the art not to commit himself, nor tohave quoted against him one ill-natured remark upon the eminent. Nothingmore injures the man who would rise beyond the fame of the salonsthan to be considered backbiter and gossip; "yet it is always useful, "thought Randal Leslie, "to know the foibles, the small social andprivate springs, by which the great are moved. Critical occasionsmay arise in which such a knowledge may be power. " And hence, perhaps(besides a more private motive, soon to be perceived), Randal didnot consider his time thrown away in cultivating Madame di Negra'sfriendship. For, despite much that was whispered against her, she hadsucceeded in dispelling the coldness with which she had at first beenreceived in the London circles. Her beauty, her grace, and her highbirth had raised her into fashion, and the homage of men of the firststation, while it perhaps injured her reputation as woman, added to hercelebrity as fine lady. So much do we cold English, prudes though we be, forgive to the foreigner what we avenge on the native. 

Sliding at last from these general topics into very well-bred andelegant personal compliment, and reciting various eulogies, which Lordthis and the Duke of that had passed on the marchesa's charms, Randallaid his hand on hers, with the license of admitted friendship, andsaid, "But since you have deigned to confide in me, since when (happily forme, and with a generosity of which no coquette could have been capable)you, in good time, repressed into friendship feelings that might elsehave ripened into those you are formed to inspire and disdain to return, you told me with your charming smile, 'Let no one speak to me of lovewho does not offer me his hand, and with it the means to supply tastesthat I fear are terribly extravagant, '--since thus you allowed me todivine your natural objects, and upon that understanding our intimacyhas been founded, you will pardon me for saying that the admiration youexcite amongst these grands seigneurs I have named only serves to defeatyour own purpose, and scare away admirers less brilliant, but more inearnest. Most of these gentlemen are unfortunately married; and theywho are not belong to those members of our aristocracy who, in marriage, seek more than beauty and wit, --namely, connections to strengthen theirpolitical station, or wealth to redeem a mortgage and sustain a title. "

"My dear Mr. Leslie, " replied the marchesa, --and a certain sadness mightbe detected in the tone of the voice and the droop of the eye, --"I havelived long enough in the real world to appreciate the baseness and thefalsehood of most of those sentiments which take the noblest names. Isee through the hearts of the admirers you parade before me, and knowthat not one of them would shelter with his ermine the woman to whom hetalks of his heart. Ah, " continued Beatrice, with a softness of whichshe was unconscious, but which might have been extremely dangerous toyouth less steeled and self-guarded than was Randal Leslie's, --"ah, Iam less ambitious than you suppose. I have dreamed of a friend, acompanion, a protector, with feelings still fresh, undebased by the lowround of vulgar dissipation and mean pleasures, --of a heart so new, thatit might restore my own to what it was in its happy spring. I have seenin your country some marriages, the mere contemplation of which hasfilled my eyes with delicious tears. I have learned in England to knowthe value of home. And with such a heart as I describe, and such a home, I could forget that I ever knew a less pure ambition. "

"This language does not surprise me, " said Randal; "yet it does notharmonize with your former answer to me. "

"To you, " repeated Beatrice, smiling, and regaining her lighter manner;"to you, --true. But I never had the vanity to think that your affectionfor me could bear the sacrifices it would cost you in marriage; thatyou, with your ambition, could bound your dreams of happiness to home. And then, too, " said she, raising her head, and with a certain gravepride in her air, --"and then, I could not have consented to share myfate with one whom my poverty would cripple. I could not listen to myheart, if it had beat for a lover without fortune, for to him I couldthen have brought but a burden, and betrayed him into a union withpoverty and debt. Now, it may be different. Now I may have the dowrythat befits my birth. And now I may be free to choose according to myheart as woman, not according to my necessities, as one poor, harassed, and despairing. "

"Ah, " said Randal, interested, and drawing still closer towards his faircompanion, --"ah, I congratulate you sincerely; you have cause, then, tothink that you shall be--rich?"

The marchesa paused before she answered, and during that pause Randalrelaxed the web of the scheme which he had been secretly weaving, andrapidly considered whether, if Beatrice di Negra would indeed be rich, she might answer to himself as a wife; and in what way, if so, he hadbest change his tone from that of friendship into that of love. Whilethus reflecting, Beatrice answered, "Not rich for an Englishwoman; for an Italian, yes. My fortune should behalf a million--"

"Half a million!" cried Randal, and with difficulty he restrainedhimself from falling at her feet in adoration. "Of francs!" continuedthe marchesa. 

"Francs! Ah, " said Randal, with a long-drawn breath, and recovering fromhis sudden enthusiasm, "about L20, 000? eight hundred a year at four percent. A very handsome portion, certainly (Genteel poverty!" he murmuredto himself. "What an escape I have had! but I see--I see. This willsmooth all difficulties in the way of my better and earlier project. Isee), --a very handsome portion, " he repeated aloud, --"not for a grandseigneur, indeed, but still for a gentleman of birth and expectationsworthy of your choice, if ambition be not your first object. Ah, whileyou spoke with such endearing eloquence of feelings that were fresh, ofa heart that was new, of the happy English home, you might guess thatmy thoughts ran to my friend who loves you so devotedly, and who sorealizes your ideal. Proverbially, with us, happy marriages and happyhomes are found not in the gay circles of London fashion, but at thehearths of our rural nobility, our untitled country gentlemen. And who, amongst all your adorers, can offer you a lot so really enviable as theone whom, I see by your blush, you already guess that I refer to?"

"Did I blush?" said the marchesa, with a silvery laugh. "Nay, I thinkthat your zeal for your friend misled you. But I will own frankly, Ihave been touched by his honest ingenuous love, --so evident, yet ratherlooked than spoken. I have contrasted the love that honours me with thesuitors that seek to degrade; more I cannot say. For though I grant thatyour friend is handsome, high-spirited, and generous, still he is notwhat--"

"You mistake, believe me, " interrupted Randal. "You shall not finishyour sentence. He is all that you do not yet suppose him; for hisshyness, and his very love, his very respect for your superiority, donot allow his mind and his nature to appear to advantage. You, it istrue, have a taste for letters and poetry rare among your countrywomen. He has not at present--few men have. But what Cimon would not be refinedby so fair an Iphigenia? Such frivolities as he now shows belong butto youth and inexperience of life. Happy the brother who could see hissister the wife of Frank Hazeldean. "

The marchesa leaned her cheek on her hand in silence. To her, marriagewas more than it usually seems to dreaming maiden or to disconsolatewidow. So had the strong desire to escape from the control of herunprincipled and remorseless brother grown a part of her very soul;so had whatever was best and highest in her very mixed and complexcharacter been galled and outraged by her friendless and exposedposition, the equivocal worship rendered to her beauty, the variousdebasements to which pecuniary embarrassments had subjected her--notwithout design on the part of the count, who though grasping, was notmiserly, and who by precarious and seemingly capricious gifts at onetime, and refusals of all aid at another, had involved her in debt inorder to retain his hold on her; so utterly painful and humiliating toa woman of her pride and her birth was the station that she held in theworld, --that in marriage she saw liberty, life, honour, self-redemption;and these thoughts, while they compelled her to co-operate with theschemes by which the count, on securing to himself a bride, was tobestow on herself a dower, also disposed her now to receive with favourRandal Leslie's pleadings on behalf of his friend. 

The advocate saw that he had made an impression, and with the marvellousskill which his knowledge of those natures that engaged his studybestowed on his intelligence, he continued to improve his cause by suchrepresentations as were likely to be most effective. With what admirabletact he avoided panegyric of Frank as the mere individual, and drew himrather as the type, the ideal of what a woman in Beatrice's positionmight desire, in the safety, peace, and Honour of a home, in the trustand constancy and honest confiding love of its partner! He did not paintan elysium, --he described a haven; he did not glowingly delineate a heroof romance, --he soberly portrayed that Representative of the Respectableand the Real which a woman turns to when romance begins to seem to herbut delusion. Verily, if you could have looked into the heart ofthe person he addressed, and heard him speak, you would have criedadmiringly, "Knowledge is power; and this man, if as able on a largerfield of action, should play no mean part in the history of his time. "

Slowly Beatrice roused herself from the reveries which crept over her ashe spoke, --slowly, and with a deep sigh, and said, "Well, well, grant all you say! at least before I can listen to sohonourable a love, I must be relieved from the base and sordid pleasurethat weighs on me. I cannot say to the man who wooes me, 'Will you paythe debts of the daughter of Franzini, and the widow of Di Negra?'"

"Nay, your debts, surely, make so slight a portion of your dowry. "

"But the dowry has to be secured;" and here, turning the tables upon hercompanion, as the apt proverb expresses it, Madame di Negra extended herhand to Randal, and said in the most winning accents, "You are, then, truly and sincerely my friend?"

"Can you doubt it?"

"I prove that I do not, for I ask your assistance. "

"Mine? How?"

"Listen; my brother has arrived in London--"

"I see that arrival announced in the papers. "

"And he comes, empowered by the consent of the emperor, to ask the handof a relation and countrywoman of his, --an alliance that will heal longfamily dissensions, and add to his own fortunes those of an heiress. Mybrother, like myself, has been extravagant. The dowry which by lawhe still owes me it would distress him to pay till this marriage beassured. "

"I understand, " said Randal. "But how can I aid this marriage?"

"By assisting us to discover the bride. She, with her father, soughtrefuge and concealment in England. "

"The father had, then, taken part in some political disaffections, andwas proscribed?"

"Exactly; and so well has he concealed himself, that he has baffledall our efforts to discover his retreat. My brother can obtain him hispardon in cementing this alliance--"

"Proceed. "

"Ah, Randal, Randal, is this the frankness of friendship? You knowthat I have before sought to obtain the secret of our relation'sretreat, --sought in vain to obtain it from Mr. Egerton, who assuredlyknows it--"

"But who communicates no secrets to living man, " said Randal, almostbitterly; "who, close and compact as iron, is as little malleable to meas to you. "

"Pardon me. I know you so well that I believe you could attain to anysecret you sought earnestly to acquire. Nay, more, I believe that youknow already that secret which I ask you to share with me. "

"What on earth makes you think so?"

"When, some weeks ago, you asked me to describe the personal appearanceand manners of the exile, which I did partly from the recollections ofmy childhood, partly from the description given to me by others, I couldnot but notice your countenance, and remark its change; in spite, " saidthe marchesa, smiling, and watching Randal while she spoke, --"in spiteof your habitual self-command. And when I pressed you to own that youhad actually seen some one who tallied with that description, yourdenial did not deceive me. Still more, when returning recently, ofyour own accord, to the subject, you questioned me so shrewdly as to mymotives in seeking the clew to our refugees, and I did not then answeryou satisfactorily, I could detect--"

"Ha, ha, " interrupted Randal, with the low soft laugh by whichoccasionally he infringed upon Lord Chesterfield's recommendations toshun a merriment so natural as to be illbred, --"ha, ha, you have thefault of all observers too minute and refined. But even granting that Imay have seen some Italian exiles (which is likely enough), what couldbe more natural than my seeking to compare your description with theirappearance; and granting that I might suspect some one amongst them tobe the man you search for, what more natural also than that I shoulddesire to know if you meant him harm or good in discovering his'whereabout'? For ill, " added Randal, with an air of prudery, --"illwould it become me to betray, even to friendship, the retreat of one whowould hide from persecution; and even if I did so--for honour itself isa weak safeguard against your fascinations--such indiscretion might befatal to my future career. "

"How?"

"Do you not say that Egerton knows the secret, yet will not communicate;and is he a man who would ever forgive in me an imprudence thatcommitted himself? My dear friend, I will tell you more. When AudleyEgerton first noticed my growing intimacy with you, he said, with hisusual dryness of counsel, 'Randal, I do not ask you to discontinueacquaintance with Madame di Negra, for an acquaintance with women likeher forms the manners, and refines the intellect; but charming women aredangerous, and Madame di Negra is--a charming woman. '"

The marchesa's face flushed. Randal resumed: "'Your fair acquaintance'(I am still quoting Egerton) 'seeks to dis cover the home of acountryman of hers. She suspects that I know it. She may try to learnit through you. Accident may possibly give you the information sherequires. Beware how you betray it. By one such weakness I should judgeof your general character. He from whom a woman can extract a secretwill never be fit for public life. ' Therefore, my dear marchesa, evensupposing I possess this secret, you would be no true friend of mine toask me to reveal what would imperil all my prospects. For as yet, " addedRandal, with a gloomy shade on his brow, --"as yet, I do not stand aloneand erect, --I lean, I am dependent. "

"There may be a way, " replied Madame di Negra, persisting, "tocommunicate this intelligence without the possibility of Mr. Egerton'stracing our discovery to yourself; and, though I will not press youfurther, I add this, --You urge me to accept your friend's hand; you seeminterested in the success of his suit, and you plead it with a warmththat shows how much you regard what you suppose is his happiness; Iwill never accept his hand till I can do so without blush for mypenury, --till my dowry is secured; and that can only be by my brother'sunion with the exile's daughter. For your friend's sake, therefore, think well how you can aid me in the first step to that alliance. Theyoung lady once discovered, and my brother has no fear for the successof his suit. "

"And you would marry Frank if the dower was secured?"

"Your arguments in his favour seem irresistible, " replied Beatrice, looking down. 

A flash went from Randal's eyes, and he mused a few moments. 

Then slowly rising, and drawing on his gloves, he said, "Well, at leastyou so far reconcile my honour towards aiding your research, that younow inform me you mean no ill to the exile. "

"Ill!--the restoration to fortune, honours, his native land!"

"And you so far enlist my heart on your side, that you inspire me withthe hope to contribute to the happiness of two friends whom I dearlylove. I will, therefore, diligently try to ascertain if, among therefugees I have met with, lurk those whom you seek; and if so, I willthoughtfully consider how to give you the clew. Meanwhile, not oneincautious word to Egerton. "

"Trust me, --I am a woman of the world. "

Randal now had gained the door. He paused, and renewed carelessly, --

"This young lady must be heiress to great wealth, to induce a man ofyour brother's rank to take so much pains to discover her. "

"Her wealth will be vast, " replied the marchesa; "and if anything fromwealth or influence in a foreign State could be permitted to prove mybrother's gratitude--"

"Ah, fie!" interrupted Randal; and, approaching Madame di Negra, helifted her hand to his lips, and said gallantly, "This is reward enoughto your preux chevalier. "

With those words he took his leave. 

CHAPTER IV. 

With his hands behind him, and his head drooping on his breast, slow, stealthy, noiseless, Randal Leslie glided along the streets on leavingthe Italian's house. Across the scheme he had before revolved, thereglanced another yet more glittering, for its gain might be more sure andimmediate. If the exile's daughter were heiress to such wealth, might hehimself hope--He stopped short even in his own soliloquy, and his breathcame quick. Now, in his last visit to Hazeldean, he had come in contactwith Riccabocca, and been struck by the beauty of Violante. A vaguesuspicion had crossed him that these might be the persons of whomthe marchesa was in search, and the suspicion had been confirmed byBeatrice's description of the refugee she desired to discover. But ashe had not then learned the reason for her inquiries, nor conceived thepossibility that he could have any personal interest in ascertainingthe truth, he had only classed the secret in question among thosethe further research into which might be left to time and occasion. Certainly the reader will not do the unscrupulous intellect of RandalLeslie the injustice to suppose that he was deterred from confidingto his fair friend all that he knew of Riccabocca by the refinement ofhonour to which he had so chivalrously alluded. He had correctly statedAudley Egerton's warning against any indiscreet confidence, though hehad forborne to mention a more recent and direct renewal of the samecaution. His first visit to Hazeldean had been paid without consultingEgerton. He had been passing some days at his father's house, and hadgone over thence to the squire's. On his return to London, he had, however, mentioned this visit to Audley, who had seemed annoyed and evendispleased at it, though Randal knew sufficient of Egerton's characterto guess that such feelings could scarce be occasioned merely by hisestrangement from his half-brother. This dissatisfaction had, therefore, puzzled the young man. But as it was necessary to his views to establishintimacy with the squire, he did not yield the point with his customarydeference to his patron's whims. Accordingly he observed that he shouldbe very sorry to do anything displeasing to his benefactor, but that hisfather had been naturally anxious that he should not appear positivelyto slight the friendly overtures of Mr. Hazeldean. 

"Why naturally?" asked Egerton. 

"Because you know that Mr. Hazeldean is a relation of mine, --that mygrandmother was a Hazeldean. "

"Ah!" said Egerton, who, as it has been before said, knew little andcared less about the Hazeldean pedigree, "I was either not aware ofthat circumstance, or had forgotten it. And your father thinks that thesquire may leave you a legacy?"

"Oh, sir, my father is not so mercenary, --such an idea never entered hishead. But the squire himself has indeed said, 'Why, if anything happenedto Frank, you would be next heir to my lands, and therefore we ought toknow each other. ' But--"

"Enough, " interrupted Egerton. "I am the last man to pretend to theright of standing between you and a single chance of fortune, or of aidto it. And whom did you meet at Hazeldean?"

"There was no one there, sir; not even Frank. "

"Hum. Is the squire not on good terms with his parson? Any quarrel abouttithes?"

"Oh, no quarrel. I forgot Mr. Dale; I saw him pretty often. He admiresand praises you very much, sir. "

"Me--and why? What did he say of me?"

"That your heart was as sound as your head; that he had once seen youabout some old parishioners of his, and that he had been much impressedwith the depth of feeling he could not have anticipated in a man of theworld, and a statesman. "

"Oh, that was all; some affair when I was member for Lansmere?"

"I suppose so. "

Here the conversation had broken off; but the next time Randal was ledto visit the squire he had formally asked Egerton's consent, who, aftera moment's hesitation, had as formally replied, "I have no objection. "

On returning from this visit, Randal mentioned that he had seenRiccabocca: and Egerton, a little startled at first, said composedly, "Doubtless one of the political refugees; take care not to set Madamedi Negra on his track. Remember, she is suspected of being a spy of theAustrian government. "

"Rely on me, sir, " said Randal; "but I should think this poor doctor canscarcely be the person she seeks to discover. "

"That is no affair of ours, " answered Egerton: "we are Englishgentlemen, and make not a step towards the secrets of another. "

Now, when Randal revolved this rather ambiguous answer, and recalled theuneasiness with which Egerton had first heard of his visit to Hazeldean, he thought that he was indeed near the secret which Egerton desired toconceal from him and from all, --namely, the incognito of the Italianwhom Lord L'Estrange had taken under his protection. 

"My cards, " said Randal to himself, as with a deep-drawn sigh he resumedhis soliloquy, "are become difficult to play. On the one hand, toentangle Frank into marriage with this foreigner, the squire could neverforgive him. On the other hand, if she will not marry him without thedowry--and that depends on her brother's wedding this countrywoman--andthat countrywoman be, as I surmise, Violante, and Violante be thisheiress, and to be won by me! Tush, tush. Such delicate scruples in awoman so placed and so constituted as Beatrice di Negra must be easilytalked away. Nay, the loss itself of this alliance to her brother, theloss of her own dowry, the very pressure of poverty and debt, wouldcompel her into the sole escape left to her option. I will then followup the old plan; I will go down to Hazeldean, and see if there be anysubstance in the new one; and then to reconcile both. Aha--the House ofLeslie shall rise yet from its ruin--and--"

Here he was startled from his revery by a friendly slap on the shoulder, and an exclamation, "Why, Randal, you are more absent than when you usedto steal away from the cricket-ground, muttering Greek verses, at Eton. "

"My dear Frank, " said Randal, "you--you are so brusque, and I was justthinking of you. "

"Were you? And kindly, then, I am sure, " said Frank Hazeldean, hishonest handsome face lighted up with the unsuspecting genial trust offriendship; "and Heaven knows, " he added, with a sadder voice, and agraver expression on his eye and lip, --"Heaven knows I want all thekindness you can give me!"

"I thought, " said Randal, "that your father's last supply, of whichI was fortunate enough to be the bearer, would clear off your morepressing debts. I don't pretend to preach, but really, I must say oncemore, you should not be so extravagant. "

FRANK (seriously). --"I have done my best to reform. I have sold off myhorses, and I have not touched dice nor card these six months; I wouldnot even put into the raffle for the last Derby. " This last was saidwith the air of a man who doubted the possibility of obtaining belief tosome assertion of preternatural abstinence and virtue. 

RANDAL. --"Is it possible? But with such self-conquest, how is itthat you cannot contrive to live within the bounds of a very liberalallowance?"

FRANK (despondingly). --"Why, when a man once gets his head under water, it is so hard to float back again on the surface. You see, I attributeall my embarrassments to that first concealment of my debts from myfather, when they could have been so easily met, and when he came up totown so kindly. "

"I am sorry, then, that I gave you that advice. "

"Oh, you meant it so kindly, I don't reproach you; it was all my ownfault. "

"Why, indeed, I did urge you to pay off that moiety of your debts leftunpaid, with your allowance. Had you done so, all had been well. "

"Yes; but poor Borrowell got into such a scrape at Goodwood, I couldnot resist him; a debt of honour, --that must be paid; so when I signedanother bill for him, he could not pay it, poor fellow! Really he wouldhave shot himself, if I had not renewed it. And now it is swelled tosuch an amount with that cursed interest, that he never can pay it;and one bill, of course, begets another, --and to be renewed every threemonths; 't is the devil and all! So little as I ever got for all I haveborrowed, " added Frank, with a kind of rueful amaze. "Not L1, 500 readymoney; and the interest would cost me almost as much yearly, --if I hadit. " "Only L1, 500!"

"Well; besides seven large chests of the worst cigars you ever smoked, three pipes of wine that no one would drink, and a great bear that hadbeen imported from Greenland for the sake of its grease. "

"That should, at least, have saved you a bill with your hairdresser. "

"I paid his bill with it, " said Frank, "and very good-natured he was totake the monster off my hands, --it had already hugged two soldiers andone groom into the shape of a flounder. I tell you what, " resumed Frank, after a short pause, "I have a great mind even now to tell my fatherhonestly all my embarrassments. "

RANDAL (solemnly). --"Hum!"

FRANK. --"What? don't you think it would be the best way? I nevercan save enough, --never can pay off what I owe; and it rolls like asnowball. "

RANDAL. --"Judging by the squire's talk, I think that with the firstsight of your affairs you would forfeit his favour forever; and yourmother would be so shocked, especially after supposing that the sum Ibrought you so lately sufficed to pay off every claim on you. If you hadnot assured her of that it might be different; but she, who so hates anuntruth, and who said to the squire, 'Frank says this will clear him;and with all his faults, Frank never yet told a lie!'"

"Oh, my dear mother!--I fancy I hear her!" cried Frank, with deepemotion. "But I did not tell a lie, Randal; I did not say that that sumwould clear me. "

"You empowered and begged me to say so, " replied Randal, with gravecoldness; "and don't blame me if I believed you. "

"No, no! I only said it would clear me for the moment. "

"I misunderstood you, then, sadly; and such mistakes involve my ownhonour. Pardon me, Frank; don't ask my aid in future. You see, with thebest intentions, I only compromise myself. "

"If you forsake me, I may as well go and throw myself into the river, "said Frank, in a tone of despair; "and sooner or later, my father mustknow my necessities. The Jews threaten to go to him already; and thelonger the delay, the more terrible the explanation. "

"I don't see why your father should ever learn the state of youraffairs; and it seems to me that you could pay off these usurers, andget rid of these bills, by raising money on comparatively easy terms--"

"How?" cried Frank, eagerly. 

"Why, the Casino property is entailed on you, and you might obtain a sumupon that, not to be paid till the property becomes yours. "

"At my poor father's death? Oh, no, no! I cannot bear the idea of thiscold-blooded calculation on a father's death. I know it is not uncommon;I know other fellows who have done it, but they never had parentsso kind as mine; and even in them it shocked and revolted me. Thecontemplating a father's death, and profiting by the contemplation itseems a kind of parricide: it is not natural, Randal. Besides, don'tyou remember what the Governor said, --he actually wept while he saidit, --'Never calculate on my death; I could not bear that. ' Oh, Randal, don't speak of it!"

"I respect your sentiments; but still, all the post-orbits you couldraise could not shorten Mr. Hazeldean's life by a day. However, dismissthat idea; we must think of some other device. Ha, Frank! you are ahandsome fellow, and your expectations are great--why don't you marrysome woman with money?"

"Pooh!" exclaimed Frank, colouring. "You know, Randal, that there is butone woman in the world I can ever think of; and I love her so devotedly, that, though I was as gay as most men before, I really feel as if therest of her sex had lost every charm. I was passing through the streetnow--merely to look up at her windows. "

"You speak of Madame di Negra? I have just left her. Certainly, sheis two or three years older than you; but if you can get over thatmisfortune, why not marry her?"

"Marry her!" cried Frank, in amaze, and all his colour fled from hischeeks. "Marry her! Are you serious?"

"Why not?"

"But even if she, who is so accomplished, so admired, even if she wouldaccept me, she is, you know, poorer than myself. She has told me sofrankly. That woman has such a noble heart, --and--and--my father wouldnever consent, nor my mother either. I know they would not. "

"Because she is a foreigner?"

"Yes--partly. "

"Yet the squire suffered his cousin to marry a foreigner. "

"That was different. He had no control over Jemima; and adaughter-in-law is so different; and my father is so English in hisnotions; and Madame di Negra, you see, is altogether so foreign. Hervery graces would be against her in his eyes. "

"I think you do both your parents injustice. A foreigner of lowbirth--an actress or singer, for instance--of course would be highlyobjectionable; but a woman like Madame di Negra, of such high birth andconnections--"

Frank shook his head. "I don't think the Governor would care a strawabout her connections, if she were a king's daughter. He considers allforeigners pretty much alike. And then, you know" (Frank's voice sankinto a whisper), --"you know that one of the very reasons why she is sodear to me would be an insuperable objection to the old-fashioned folksat home. "

"I don't understand you, Frank. "

"I love her the more, " said young Hazeldean, raising his front witha noble pride, that seemed to speak of his descent from a race ofcavaliers and gentlemen, --"I love her the more because the world hasslandered her name, --because I believe her to be pure and wronged. Butwould they at the Hall, --they who do not see with a lover's eyes, they who have all the stubborn English notions about the indecorum andlicense of Continental manners, and will so readily credit the worst?Oh, no! I love, I cannot help it--but I have no hope. "

"It is very possible that you may be right, " exclaimed Randal, as ifstruck and half convinced by his companion's argument, --"very possible;and certainly I think that the homely folks at the Hall would fret andfume at first, if they heard you were married to Madame di Negra. Yetstill, when your father learned that you had done so, not from passionalone, but to save him from all pecuniary sacrifice, --to clear yourselfof debt, to--"

"What do you mean?" exclaimed Frank, impatiently. 

"I have reason to know that Madame di Negra will have as large a portionas your father could reasonably expect you to receive with any Englishwife. And when this is properly stated to the squire, and the highposition and rank of your wife fully established and brought home tohim, --for I must think that these would tell, despite your exaggeratednotions of his prejudices, --and then, when he really sees Madame diNegra, and can judge of her beauty and rare gifts, upon my word, Ithink, Frank, that there would be no cause for fear. After all, too, youare his only son. He will have no option but to forgive you; and I knowhow anxiously both your parents wish to see you settled in life. "

Frank's whole countenance became illuminated. "There is no one whounderstands the squire like you, certainly, " said he, with lively joy. "He has the highest opinion of your judgment. And you really believe youcould smooth matters?"

"I believe so; but I should be sorry to induce you to run any risk; andif, on cool consideration, you think that risk is incurred, I stronglyadvise you to avoid all occasion of seeing the poor marchesa. Ah, youwince; but I say it for her sake as well as your own. First, you mustbe aware, that, unless you have serious thoughts of marriage, yourattentions can but add to the very rumours that, equally groundless, youso feelingly resent; and, secondly, because I don't think any man has aright to win the affections of a woman--especially a woman who seems tome likely to love with her whole heart and soul--merely to gratify hisown vanity. "

"Vanity! Good heavens! can you think so poorly of me? But as to themarchesa's affections, " continued Frank, with a faltering voice, "do youreally and honestly believe that they are to be won by me?"

"I fear lest they may be half won already, " said Randal, with a smileand a shake of the head; "but she is too proud to let you see any effectyou may produce on her, especially when, as I take it for granted, youhave never hinted at the hope of obtaining her hand. "

"I never till now conceived such a hope. My dear Randal, all my careshave vanished! I tread upon air! I have a great mind to call on her atonce. "

"Stay, stay, " said Randal. "Let me give you a caution. I have justinformed you that Madame di Negra will have, what you suspected notbefore, a fortune suitable to her birth. Any abrupt change in yourmanner at present might induce her to believe that you were influencedby that intelligence. "

"Ah!" exclaimed Frank, stopping short, as if wounded to the quick. "AndI feel guilty, --feel as if I was influenced by that intelligence. SoI am, too, when I reflect, " he continued, with a naivete that was halfpathetic; "but I hope she will not be very rich; if so, I'll not call. "

"Make your mind easy, it is but a portion of some twenty or thirtythousand pounds, that would just suffice to discharge all your debts, clear away all obstacle to your union, and in return for which youcould secure a more than adequate jointure and settlement on the Casinoproperty. Now I am on that head, I will be yet more communicative. Madame di Negra has a noble heart, as you say, and told me herself, that, until her brother on his arrival had assured her of this dowry, she would never have consented to marry you, never crippled with her ownembarrassments the man she loves. Ah! with what delight she will hailthe thought of assisting you to win back your father's heart! But beguarded meanwhile. And now, Frank, what say you--would it not be well ifI ran down to Hazeldean to sound your parents? It is rather inconvenientto me, to be sure, to leave town just at present; but I would do morethan that to render you a smaller service. Yes, I'll go to Rood Hallto-morrow, and thence to Hazeldean. I am sure your father will press meto stay, and I shall have ample opportunities to judge of the mannerin which he would be likely to regard your marriage with Madame diNegra, --supposing always it were properly put to him. We can then actaccordingly. "

"My dear, dear Randal, how can I thank you? If ever a poor fellow likeme can serve you in return--but that's impossible. "

"Why, certainly, I will never ask you to be security to a bill of mine, "said Randal, laughing. "I practise the economy I preach. "

"Ah!" said Frank, with a groan, "that is because your mind iscultivated, --you have so many resources; and all my faults have comefrom idleness. If I had had anything to do on a rainy day, I shouldnever have got into these scrapes. "

"Oh, you will have enough to do some day managing your property. We whohave no property must find one in knowledge. Adieu, my dear Frank, Imust go home now. By the way, you have never, by chance, spoken of theRiccaboccas to Madame di Negra. "

"The Riccaboccas? No. That's well thought of. It may interest her toknow that a relation of mine has married her countryman. Very odd thatI never did mention it; but, to say truth, I really do talk so little toher: she is so superior, and I feel positively shy with her. "

"Do me the favour, Frank, " said Randal, waiting patiently till thisreply ended, --for he was devising all the time what reason to give forhis request, --"never to allude to the Riccaboccas either to her or toher brother, to whom you are sure to be presented. "

"Why not allude to them?"

Randal hesitated a moment. His invention was still at fault, and, for awonder, he thought it the best policy to go pretty near the truth. 

"Why, I will tell you. The marchesa conceals nothing from her brother, and he is one of the few Italians who are in high favour with theAustrian court. "

"Well!"

"And I suspect that poor Dr. Riccabocca fled his country from some madexperiment at revolution, and is still hiding from the Austrian police. "

"But they can't hurt him here, " said Frank, with an Englishman's doggedinborn conviction of the sanctity of his native island. "I should liketo see an Austrian pretend to dictate to us whom to receive and whom toreject. "

"Hum--that's true and constitutional, no doubt; but Riccabocca may haveexcellent reasons--and, to speak plainly, I know he has (perhaps asaffecting the safety of friends in Italy)--for preserving his incognito, and we are bound to respect those reasons without inquiring further. "

"Still I cannot think so meanly of Madame di Negra, " persisted Frank(shrewd here, though credulous elsewhere, and both from his sense ofhonour), "as to suppose that she would descend to be a spy, and injurea poor countryman of her own, who trusts to the same hospitality shereceives herself at our English hands. Oh, if I thought that, I couldnot love her!" added Frank, with energy. 

"Certainly you are right. But see in what a false position you wouldplace both her brother and herself. If they knew Riccabocca's secret, and proclaimed it to the Austrian Government, as you say, it would becruel and mean; but if they knew it and concealed it, it might involvethem both in the most serious consequences. You know the Austrian policyis proverbially so jealous and tyrannical?"

"Well, the newspapers say so, certainly. "

"And, in short, your discretion can do no harm, and your indiscretionmay. Therefore, give me your word, Frank. I can't stay to argue now. "

"I'll not allude to the Riccaboccas, upon my honour, " answered Frank;"still, I am sure that they would be as safe with the marchesa aswith--"

"I rely on your honour, " interrupted Randal, hastily, and hurried off. 

CHAPTER V. 

Towards the evening of the following day, Randal Leslie walked slowlyfrom a village in the main road (about two miles from Rood Hall), at which he had got out of the coach. He passed through meads andcornfields, and by the skirts of woods which had formerly belonged tohis ancestors, but had been long since alienated. He was alone amidstthe haunts of his boyhood, the scenes in which he had first invoked thegrand Spirit of Knowledge, to bid the Celestial Still One minister tothe commands of an earthly and turbulent ambition. He paused often inhis path, especially when the undulations of the ground gave a glimpseof the gray church tower, or the gloomy firs that rose above thedesolate wastes of Rood. 

"Here, " thought Randal, with a softening eye, --"here, how often, comparing the fertility of the lands passed away from the inheritanceof my fathers, with the forlorn wilds that are left to their moulderingHall, --here how often have I said to myself, 'I will rebuild thefortunes of my House. ' And straightway Toil lost its aspect of drudge, and grew kingly, and books became as living armies to serve my thought. Again--again O thou haughty Past, brace and strengthen me in the battlewith the Future. " His pale lips writhed as he soliloquized, for hisconscience spoke to him while he thus addressed his will, and its voicewas heard more audibly in the quiet of the rural landscape, than amidstthe turmoil and din of that armed and sleepless camp which we call acity. 

Doubtless, though Ambition have objects more vast and beneficent thanthe restoration of a name, that in itself is high and chivalrous, andappeals to a strong interest in the human heart. But all emotions andall ends of a nobler character had seemed to filter themselves freefrom every golden grain in passing through the mechanism of Randal'sintellect, and came forth at last into egotism clear and unalloyed. Nevertheless, it is a strange truth that, to a man of cultivated mind, however perverted and vicious, there are vouchsafed gleams of brightersentiments, irregular perceptions of moral beauty, denied to the brutalunreasoning wickedness of uneducated villany, --which perhaps ultimatelyserve as his punishment, according to the old thought of the satirist, that there is no greater curse than to perceive virtue yet adoptvice. And as the solitary schemer walked slowly on, and hischildhood--innocent at least indeed--came distinct before him throughthe halo of bygone dreams, --dreams far purer than those from which henow rose each morning to the active world of Man, --a profound melancholycrept over him, and suddenly he exclaimed aloud, "Then I aspired to berenowned and great; now, how is it that, so advanced in my career, allthat seemed lofty in the end has vanished from me, and the only meansthat I contemplate are those which my childhood would have called poorand vile? Ah, is it that I then read but books, and now my knowledge haspassed onward, and men contaminate more than books? But, " he continued, in a lower voice, as if arguing with himself, "if power is only so to bewon, --and of what use is knowledge if it be not power--does not successin life justify all things? And who prizes the wise man if he fails?" Hecontinued his way, but still the soft tranquillity around rebuked him, and still his reason was dissatisfied, as well as his conscience. Thereare times when Nature, like a bath of youth, seems to restore to thejaded soul its freshness, --times from which some men have emerged, as ifreborn. The crises of life are very silent. Suddenly the scene opened onRandal Leslie's eyes, --the bare desert common, the dilapidated church, the old house, partially seen in the dank dreary hollow, into which itseemed to Randal to have sunken deeper and lowlier than when he sawit last. And on the common were some young men playing at hockey. Thatold-fashioned game, now very uncommon in England, except at schools, wasstill preserved in the primitive vicinity of Rood by the young yeomenand farmers. Randal stood by the stile and looked on, for among theplayers he recognized his brother Oliver. Presently the ball was strucktowards Oliver, and the group instantly gathered round that younggentleman, and snatched him from Randal's eye; but the elder brotherheard a displeasing din, a derisive laughter. Oliver had shrunk from thedanger of the thick clubbed sticks that plied around him, and receivedsome stroke across the legs, for his voice rose whining, and was drownedby shouts of, "Go to your mammy. That's Noll Leslie all over. Buttershins!"

Randal's sallow face became scarlet. "The jest of boors--a Leslie!" hemuttered, and ground his teeth. He sprang over the stile, andwalked erect and haughtily across the ground. The players cried outindignantly. Randal raised his hat, and they recognized him, and stoppedthe game. For him at least a certain respect was felt. Oliver turnedround quickly, and ran up to him. Randal caught his arm firmly, andwithout saying a word to the rest, drew him away towards the house. Oliver cast a regretful, lingering look behind him, rubbed his shins, and then stole a timid glance towards Randal's severe and moodycountenance. 

"You are not angry that I was playing at hockey with our neighbours, "said he, deprecatingly, observing that Randal would not break thesilence. 

"No, " replied the elder brother; "but in associating with his inferiors, a gentleman still knows how to maintain his dignity. There is no harmin playing with inferiors, but it is necessary to a gentleman to play sothat he is not the laughing-stock of clowns. "

Oliver hung his head, and made no answer. They came into the slovenlyprecincts of the court, and the pigs stared at them from the palings, astheir progenitors had stared, years before, at Frank Hazeldean. 

Mr. Leslie, senior, in a shabby straw-hat, was engaged in feeding thechickens before the threshold, and he performed even that occupationwith a maundering lack-a-daisical slothfulness, dropping down the grainsalmost one by one from his inert dreamy fingers. 

Randal's sister, her hair still and forever hanging about her ears, wasseated on a rush-bottom chair, reading a tattered novel; and from theparlour window was heard the querulous voice of Mrs. Leslie, in highfidget and complaint. 

Somehow or other, as the young heir to all this helpless poverty stoodin the courtyard, with his sharp, refined, intelligent features, and hisstrange elegance of dress and aspect, one better comprehended how, left solely to the egotism of his knowledge and his ambition, in sucha family, and without any of the sweet nameless lessons of Home, he hadgrown up into such close and secret solitude of soul, --how the mind hadtaken so little nutriment from the heart, and how that affection andrespect which the warm circle of the heart usually calls forth hadpassed with him to the graves of dead fathers, growing, as it were, bloodless and ghoul-like amidst the charnels on which they fed. 

"Ha, Randal, boy, " said Mr. Leslie, looking up lazily, "how d' ye do?Who could have expected you? My dear, my dear, " he cried, in a brokenvoice, and as if in helpless dismay, "here's Randal, and he'll bewanting dinner, or supper, or something. " But, in the mean while, Randal's sister Juliet had sprung up and thrown her arms round herbrother's neck, and he had drawn her aside caressingly, for Randal'sstrongest human affection was for this sister. 

"You are growing very pretty, Juliet, " said he, smoothing back her hair;"why do yourself such injustice, --why not pay more attention to yourappearance, as I have so often begged you to do?"

"I did not expect you, dear Randal; you always come so suddenly, andcatch us en dish-a-bill. "

"Dish-a-bill!" echoed Randal, with a groan. "Dishabille! you ought neverto be so caught!"

"No one else does so catch us, --nobody else ever comes. Heigho!" and theyoung lady sighed very heartily. "Patience, patience; my day is coming, and then yours, my sister, " replied Randal, with genuine pity, as hegazed upon what a little care could have trained into so fair a flower, and what now looked so like a weed. 

Here Mrs. Leslie, in a state of intense excitement--having rushedthrough the parlour, leaving a fragment of her gown between the yawningbrass of the never-mended Brummagem work-table--tore across the hall, whirled out of the door, scattering the chickens to the right and left, and clutched hold of Randal in her motherly embrace. "La, how youdo shake my nerves, " she cried, after giving him a most hasty anduncomfortable kiss. "And you are hungry too, and nothing in the housebut cold mutton! Jenny, Jenny, I say, Jenny! Juliet, have you seenJenny? Where's Jenny? Out with the odd man, I'll be bound. "

"I am not hungry, Mother, " said Randal; "I wish for nothing but tea. "Juliet, scrambling up her hair, darted into the house to prepare thetea, and also to "tidy herself. " She dearly loved her fine brother, butshe was greatly in awe of him. 

Randal seated himself on the broken pales. "Take care they don't comedown, " said Mr. Leslie, with some anxiety. 

"Oh, Sir, I am very light; nothing comes down with me. " The pigs staredup, and grunted in amaze at the stranger. "Mother, " said the young man, detaining Mrs. Leslie, who wanted to set off in chase of Jenny, "Mother, you should not let Oliver associate with those village boors. It is timeto think of a profession for him. "

"Oh, he eats us out of house and home--such an appetite! But as to aprofession, what is he fit for? He will never be a scholar. "

Randal nodded a moody assent; for, indeed, Oliver had been sent toCambridge, and supported there out of Randal's income from his officialpay; and Oliver had been plucked for his Little Go. 

"There is the army, " said the elder brother, --"a gentleman's calling. How handsome Juliet ought to be--but--I left money for masters--and shepronounces French like a chambermaid. "

"Yet she is fond of her book too. She's always reading, and good fornothing else. "

"Reading! those trashy novels!"

"So like you, --you always come to scold, and make things unpleasant, "said Mrs. Leslie, peevishly. "You are grown too fine for us, and I amsure we suffer affronts enough from others, not to want a little respectfrom our own children. "

"I did not mean to affront you, " said Randal, sadly. "Pardon me. But whoelse has done so?"

Then Mrs. Leslie went into a minute and most irritating catalogue ofall the mortifications and insults she had received; the grievances ofa petty provincial family, with much pretension and small power, --of allpeople, indeed, without the disposition to please--without the abilityto serve--who exaggerate every offence, and are thankful for nokindness. Farmer Jones had insolently refused to send his wagon twentymiles for coals. Mr. Giles, the butcher, requesting the payment of hisbill, had stated that the custom at Rood was too small for him to allowcredit. Squire Thornhill, who was the present owner of the fairest sliceof the old Leslie domains, had taken the liberty to ask permission toshoot over Mr. Leslie's land, since Mr. Leslie did not preserve. LadySpratt (new people from the city, who hired a neighbouring country-seat)had taken a discharged servant of Mrs. Leslie's without applying for thecharacter. The Lord-Lieutenant had given a ball, and had not invited theLeslies. Mr. Leslie's tenants had voted against their landlord's wish atthe recent election. More than all, Squire Hazeldean and his Harry hadcalled at Rood, and though Mrs. Leslie had screamed out to Jenny, "Notat home, " she had been seen at the window, and the squire had actuallyforced his way in, and caught the whole family "in a state not fit tobe seen. " That was a trifle, but the squire had presumed to instruct Mr. Leslie how to manage his property, and Mrs. Hazeldean had actually toldJuliet to hold up her head, and tie up her hair, "as if we were hercottagers!" said Mrs. Leslie, with the pride of a Montfydget. 

All these, and various other annoyances, though Randal was too sensiblenot to perceive their insignificance, still galled and mortified thelistening heir of Rood. They showed, at least, even to the well-meantofficiousness of the Hazeldeans, the small account in which the fallenfamily was held. As he sat still on the moss-grown pales, gloomy andtaciturn, his mother standing beside him, with her cap awry, Mr. Leslieshamblingly sauntered up, and said in a pensive, dolorous whine, "I wish we had a good sum of money, Randal, boy!"

To do Mr. Leslie justice, he seldom gave vent to any wish that savouredof avarice. His mind must be singularly aroused, to wander out of itsnormal limits of sluggish, dull content. 

So Randal looked at him in surprise, and said, "Do you, Sir?--why?"

"The manors of Rood and Dulmansberry, and all the lands therein, which my great-grandfather sold away, are to be sold again when SquireThornhill's eldest son comes of age, to cut off the entail. Sir JohnSpratt talks of buying them. I should like to have them back again! 'Tis a shame to see the Leslie estates hawked about, and bought by Sprattsand people. I wish I had a great, great sum of ready money. " The poorgentleman extended his helpless fingers as he spoke, and fell into adejected revery. 

Randal sprang from the paling, a movement which frightened thecontemplative pigs, and set them off squalling and scampering. "Whendoes young Thornhill come of age?"

"He was nineteen last August. I know it, because the day he was born Ipicked up my fossil of the sea-horse, just by Dulmansberry church, whenthe joy-bells were ringing. My fossil sea-horse! It will be an heirloom, Randal--"

"Two years--nearly two years--yet--ah, ah!" said Randal; and his sisternow appearing, to announce that tea was ready, he threw his arm roundher neck and kissed her. Juliet had arranged her hair and trimmed upher dress. She looked very pretty, and she had now the air of agentlewoman, --something of Randal's own refinement in her slenderproportions and well-shaped head. 

"Be patient, patient still, my dear sister, " whispered Randal, "andkeep your heart whole for two years longer. " The young man was gay andgood-humoured over his simple meal, while his family grouped roundhim. When it was over, Mr. Leslie lighted his pipe, and called for hisbrandy-and-water. Mrs. Leslie began to question about London and Court, and the new king and the new queen, and Mr. Audley Egerton, and hopedMr. Egerton would leave Randal all his money, and that Randal wouldmarry a rich woman, and that the king would make him a prime ministerone of these days; and then she should like to see if Farmer Jones wouldrefuse to send his wagon for coals! And every now and then, as the word"riches" or "money" caught Mr. Leslie's ears, he shook his head, drewhis pipe from his mouth, "A Spratt should not have what belonged to mygreat-great-grandfather. If I had a good sum of ready money! theold family estates!" Oliver and Juliet sat silent, and on their goodbehaviour; and Randal, indulging his own reveries, dreamily heard thewords "money, " "Spratt, " "great-great-grandfather, " "rich wife, " "familyestates;" and they sounded to him vague and afar off, like whispers fromthe world of romance and legend, --weird prophecies of things to be. 

Such was the hearth which warmed the viper that nestled and gnawed atthe heart of Randal, poisoning all the aspirations that youth shouldhave rendered pure, ambition lofty, and knowledge beneficent and divine. 

CHAPTER VI. 

When the rest of the household were in deep sleep, Randal stood long athis open window, looking over the dreary, comfortless scene, --the moongleaming from skies half-autumnal, half-wintry, upon squalid decay, through the ragged fissures of the firs; and when he lay down to rest, his sleep was feverish, and troubled by turbulent dreams. 

However, he was up early, and with an unwonted colour in his cheeks, which his sister ascribed to the country air. After breakfast, he tookhis way towards Hazeldean, mounted upon a tolerable, horse, which heborrowed of a neighbouring farmer who occasionally hunted. Before noon, the garden and ter race of the Casino came in sight. He reined in hishorse, and by the little fountain at which Leonard had been wont to eathis radishes and con his book, he saw Riccabocca seated under the shadeof the red umbrella. And by the Italian's side stood a form that a Greekof old might have deemed the Naiad of the Fount; for in its youthfulbeauty there was something so full of poetry, something at once so sweetand so stately, that it spoke to the imagination while it charmed thesense. 

Randal dismounted, tied his horse to the gate, and, walking down atrellised alley, came suddenly to the spot. His dark shadow fell overthe clear mirror of the fountain just as Riccabocca had said, "All hereis so secure from evil!--the waves of the fountain are never troubledlike those of the river!" and Violante had answered in her soft nativetongue, and lifting her dark, spiritual eyes, "But the fountain wouldbe but a lifeless pool, oh my father, if the spray did not mount towardsthe skies!"

CHAPTER VII. 

RANDAL advanced--"I fear, Signor Riccabocca, that I am guilty of somewant of ceremony. "

"To dispense with ceremony is the most delicate mode of conferring acompliment, " replied the urbane Italian, as he recovered from his firstsurprise at Randal's sudden address, and extended his hand. 

Violante bowed her graceful head to the young man's respectfulsalutation. "I am on my way to Hazeldean, " resumed Randal, "and, seeingyou in the garden, could not resist this intrusion. "

RICCOBOCCA. --"YOU come from London? Stirring times for you English, butI do not ask you the news. No news can affect us. "

RANDAL (softly). --"Perhaps yes. "

RICCABOCCA (startled). --"How?"

VIOLANTE. --"Surely he speaks of Italy, and news from that countryaffects you still, my father. "

RICCABOCCA. --"Nay, nay, nothing affects me like this country; its eastwinds might affect a pyramid! Draw your mantle round you, child, and goin; the air has suddenly grown chill. "

Violante smiled on her father, glanced uneasily towards Randal's gravebrow, and went slowly towards the house. Riccabocca, after waiting somemoments in silence, as if expecting Randal to speak, said, with affectedcarelessness, "So you think that you have news that might affect me? Corpo di Bacco! Iam curious to learn what?"

"I may be mistaken--that depends on your answer to one question. Do youknow the Count of Peschiera?"

Riccabocca winced, and turned pale. He could not baffle the watchful eyeof the questioner. 

"Enough, " said Randal; "I see that I am right. Believe in my sincerity. I speak but to warn and to serve you. The count seeks to discover theretreat of a countryman and kinsman of his own. "

"And for what end?" cried Riccabocca, thrown off his guard, and hisbreast dilated, his crest rose, and his eye flashed; valour and defiancebroke from habitual caution and self-control. "But--pooh!" he added, striving to regain his ordinary and half-ironical calm, "it matters notto me. I grant, sir, that I know the Count di Peschiera; but what hasDr. Riccabocca to do with the kinsman of so grand a personage?"

"Dr. Riccabocca--nothing. But--" here Randal put his lip close to theItalian's ear, and whispered a brief sentence. Then retreating a step, but laying his hand on the exile's shoulder, he added, "Need I say thatyour secret is safe with me?"

Riccabocca made no answer. His eyes rested on the ground musingly. 

Randal continued, "And I shall esteem it the highest honour you canbestow on me, to be permitted to assist you in forestalling danger. "

RICCABOCCA (slowly). --"Sir, I thank you; you have my secret, and I feelassured it is safe, for I speak to an English gentleman. There may befamily reasons why I should avoid the Count di Peschiera; and, indeed, he is safest from shoals who steers clearest of his relations. "

The poor Italian regained his caustic smile as he uttered that wise, villanous Italian maxim. 

RANDAL. --"I know little of the Count of Peschiera save from the currenttalk of the world. He is said to hold the estates of a kinsman who tookpart in a conspiracy against the Austrian power. "

RICCABOCCA. --"It is true. Let that content him; what more does hedesire? You spoke of forestalling danger; what danger? I am on the soilof England, and protected by its laws. "

RANDAL. --"Allow me to inquire if, had the kinsman no child, the Count diPeschiera would be legitimate and natural heir to the estates he holds?"

RICCABOCCA. --"He would--What then?"

RANDAL. --"Does that thought suggest no danger to the child of thekinsman?"

Riccabocca recoiled, and gasped forth, "The child! You do not mean toimply that this man, infamous though he be, can contemplate the crime ofan assassin?"

Randal paused perplexed. His ground was delicate. He knew not whatcauses of resentment the exile entertained against the count. He knewnot whether Riccabocca would not assent to an alliance that mightrestore him to his country, --and he resolved to feel his way withprecaution. 

"I did not, " said he, smiling gravely, "mean to insinuate so horrible acharge against a man whom I have never seen. He seeks you, --that is allI know. I imagine, from his general character, that in this search heconsults his interest. Perhaps all matters might be conciliated by aninterview!"

"An interview!" exclaimed Riccabocca; "there is but one way we shouldmeet, --foot to foot, and hand to hand. "

"Is it so? Then you would not listen to the count if he proposed someamicable compromise, --if, for instance, he was a candidate for the handof your daughter?"

The poor Italian, so wise and so subtle in his talk, was as rash andblind when it came to action as if he had been born in Ireland andnourished on potatoes and Repeal. He bared his whole soul to themerciless eye of Randal. 

"My daughter!" he exclaimed. "Sir, your very question is an insult. "

Randal's way became clear at once. "Forgive me, " he said mildly; "Iwill tell you frankly all that I know. I am acquainted with the count'ssister. I have some little influence over her. It was she who informedme that the count had come here, bent upon discovering your refuge, andresolved to wed your daughter. This is the danger of which I spoke. Andwhen I asked your permission to aid in forestalling it, I only intendedto suggest that it might be wise to find some securer home, and that I, if permitted to know that home, and to visit you, could apprise you fromtime to time of the count's plans and movements. "

"Sir, I thank you sincerely, " said Riccabocca, with emotion; "but am Inot safe here?"

"I doubt it. Many people have visited the squire in the shooting season, who will have heard of you, --perhaps seen you, and who are likelyto meet the count in London. And Frank Hazeldean, too, who knows thecount's sister--"

"True, true" interrupted Riccabocca. "I see, I see. I will consider, Iwill reflect. Meanwhile you are going to Hazel dean. Do not say a wordto the squire. He knows not the secret you have discovered. "

With those words Riccabocca turned slightly away, and Randal took thehint to depart. 

"At all times command and rely on me, " said the young traitor, and heregained the pale to which he had fastened his horse. 

As he remounted, he cast his eyes towards the place where he had leftRiccabocca. The Italian was still standing there. Presently the form ofJackeymo was seen emerging from the shrubs. Riccabocca turned hastilyround, recognized his servant, uttered an exclamation loud enough toreach Randal's ear, and then, catching Jackeymo by the arm, disappearedwith him amidst the deep recesses of the garden. 

"It will be indeed in my favour, " thought Randal, as he rode on, "if Ican get them into the neighbourhood of London, --all occasion there towoo, and if expedient, to win, the heiress. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

"Br the Lord, Harry!" cried the squire, as he stood with his wife in thepark, on a visit of inspection to some first-rate Southdowns just addedto his stock, --"by the Lord, if that is not Randal Leslie trying to getinto the park at the back gate! Hollo, Randal! you must come round bythe lodge, my boy, " said he. "You see this gate is locked to keep outtrespassers. "

"A pity, " said Randal. "I like short cuts, and you have shut up a veryshort one. "

"So the trespassers said, " quoth the squire; "but Stirn insisted onit--valuable man, Stirn. But ride round to the lodge. Put up your horse, and you'll join us before we can get to the house. "

Randal nodded and smiled, and rode briskly on. The squire rejoined hisHarry. 

"Ah, William, " said she, anxiously, "though certainly Randal Lesliemeans well, I always dread his visits. "

"So do I, in one sense, " quoth the squire, "for he always carries away abank-note for Frank. "

"I hope he is really Frank's friend, " said Mrs. Hazeldean. "Who's elsecan he be? Not his own, poor fellow, for he will never accept a shillingfrom me, though his grandmother was as good a Hazeldean as I am. But, zounds, I like his pride, and his economy too. As for Frank--"

"Hush, William!" cried Mrs. Hazeldean, and put her fair hand beforethe squire's mouth. The squire was softened, and kissed the fair handgallantly, --perhaps he kissed the lips too; at all events, the worthypair were walking lovingly arm-in-arm when Randal joined them. 

He did not affect to perceive a certain coldness in the manner of Mrs. Hazeldean, but began immediately to talk to her about Frank; praise thatyoung gentleman's appearance; expatiate on his health, his popularity, and his good gifts, personal and mental, --and this with so much warmth, that any dim and undeveloped suspicions Mrs. Hazeldean might have formedsoon melted away. 

Randal continued to make himself thus agreeable, until the squire, persuaded that his young kinsman was a first-rate agriculturalist, insisted upon carrying him off to the home-farm; and Harry turnedtowards the house; to order Randal's room to be got ready: "For, " saidRandal, "knowing that you will excuse my morning dress, I venture toinvite myself to dine and sleep at the Hall. "

On approaching the farm-buildings, Randal was seized with the terror ofan impostor; for, despite all the theoretical learning on Bucolics andGeorgics with which he had dazzled the squire, poor Frank, so despised, would have beat him hollow when it came to the judging of the points ofan ox, or the show of a crop. 

"Ha, ha, " cried the squire, chuckling, "I long to see how you'llastonish Stirn. Why, you'll guess in a moment where we put thetop-dressing; and when you come to handle my short-horns, I dare swearyou'll know to a pound how much oil-cake has gone into their sides. "

"Oh, you do me too much honour, --indeed you do. I only know the generalprinciples of agriculture; the details are eminently interesting, but Ihave not had the opportunity to acquire them. "

"Stuff!" cried the squire. "How can a man know general principles unlesshe has first studied the details? You are too modest, my boy. Ho!there 's Stirn looking out for us!" Randal saw the grim visage of Stirnpeering out of a cattleshed, and felt undone. He made a desperate rushtowards changing the squire's humour. 

"Well, sir, perhaps Frank may soon gratify your wish, and turn farmerhimself. "

"Eh!" quoth the squire, stopping short, --"what now?"

"Suppose he were to marry?"

"I'd give him the two best farms on the property rent free. Ha, ha! Hashe seen the girl yet? I'd leave him free to choose; sir, I chose formyself, --every man should. Not but what Miss Stick-to-rights is anheiress, and, I hear, a very decent girl, and that would join the twoproperties, and put an end to that law-suit about the right of way, which began in the reign of King Charles the Second, and is likelyotherwise to last till the day of judgment. But never mind her; letFrank choose to please himself. "

"I'll not fail to tell him so, sir. I did fear you might have someprejudices. But here we are at the farmyard. "

"Burn the farmyard! How can I think of farmyards when you talk ofFrank's marriage? Come on--this way. What were you saying aboutprejudices?"

"Why, you might wish him to marry an Englishwoman, for instance. "

"English! Good heavens, sir, does he mean to marry a Hindoo?"

"Nay, I don't know that he means to marry at all; I am only surmising;but if he did fall in love with a foreigner--"

"A foreigner! Ah, then Harry was--" The squire stopped short. 

"Who might, perhaps, " observed Randal--not truly, if he referred toMadame di Negra--"who might, perhaps, speak very little English?"

"Lord ha' mercy!"

"And a Roman Catholic--"

"Worshipping idols, and roasting people who don't worship them. "

"Signor Riccabocca is not so bad as that. "

"Rickeybockey! Well, if it was his daughter! But not speak English!and not go to the parish church! By George, if Frank thought of such athing, I'd cut him off with a shilling. Don't talk to me, sir; I would. I 'm a mild man, and an easy man; but when I say a thing, I say it, Mr. Leslie. Oh, but it is a jest, --you are laughing at me. There 's no suchpainted good-for-nothing creature in Frank's eye, eh?"

"Indeed, sir, if ever I find there is, I will give you notice intime. At present, I was only trying to ascertain what you wished for adaughter-in-law. You said you had no prejudice. "

"No more I have, --not a bit of it. "

"You don't like a foreigner and a Catholic?"

"Who the devil would?"

"But if she had rank and title?"

"Rank and title! Bubble and squeak! No, not half so good as bubbleand squeak. English beef and good cabbage. But foreign rank andtitle!--foreign cabbage and beef!--foreign bubble and foreign squeak!"And the squire made a wry face, and spat forth his disgust andindignation. 

"You must have an Englishwoman?"

"Of course. "

"Money?"

"Don't care, provided she is a tidy, sensible, active lass, with a goodcharacter for her dower. "

"Character--ah, that is indispensable?"

"I should think so, indeed. A Mrs. Hazeldean of Hazeldean--You frightenme. He's not going to run off with a divorced woman, or a--"

The squire stopped, and looked so red in the face that Randal feared hemight be seized with apoplexy before Frank's crimes had made him alterhis will. 

Therefore he hastened to relieve Mr. Hazeldean's mind, and assured himthat he had been only talking at random; that Frank was in the habit, indeed, of seeing foreign ladies occasionally, as all persons in theLondon world were; but that he was sure Frank would never marry withoutthe full consent and approval of his parents. He ended by repeating hisassurance, that he would warn the squire if ever it became necessary. Still, however, he left Mr. Hazeldean so disturbed and uneasy that thatgentleman forgot all about the farm, and went moodily on in the oppositedirection, reentering the park at its farther extremity. As soon as theyapproached the house, the squire hastened to shut himself with his wifein full parental consultation; and Randal, seated upon a bench on theterrace, revolved the mischief he had done, and its chances of success. 

While thus seated, and thus thinking, a footstep approached cautiously, and a low voice said, in broken English, "Sare, sare, let me speak vidyou. "

Randal turned in surprise, and beheld a swarthy, saturnine face, withgrizzled hair and marked features. He recognized the figure that hadjoined Riccabocca in the Italian's garden. "Speak-a-you Italian?"resumed Jackeymo. 

Randal, who had made himself an excellent linguist, nodded assent; andJackeymo, rejoiced, begged him to withdraw into a more private part ofthe grounds. 

Randal obeyed, and the two gained the shade of a stately chestnutavenue. 

"Sir, " then said Jackeymo, speaking in his native tongue, and expressinghimself with a certain simple pathos, "I am but a poor man; my nameis Giacomo. You have heard of me; servant to the signore whom you sawto-day, --only a servant; but he honours me with his confidence. We haveknown danger together; and of all his friends and followers, I alonecame with him to the stranger's land. "

"Good, faithful fellow, " said Randal, examining the man's face, "say on. Your master confides in you? He has confided that which I told him thisday?"

"He did. Ah, sir; the padrone was too proud to ask you to explainmore, --too proud to show fear of another. But he does fear, he oughtto fear, he shall fear, " continued Jackeymo, working himself up topassion, --"for the padrone has a daughter, and his enemy is a villain. Oh, sir, tell me all that you did not tell to the padrone. You hintedthat this man might wish to marry the signora. Marry her!--I could cuthis throat at the altar!"

"Indeed, " said Randal, "I believe that such is his object. "

"But why? He is rich, she is penniless, --no, not quite that, for we havesaved--but penniless, compared to him. "

"My good friend, I know not yet his motives; but I can easily learnthem. If, however, this count be your master's enemy, it is surely wellto guard against him, whatever his designs; and to do so, you shouldmove into London or its neighbourhood. I fear that, while we speak, thecount may get upon his track. "

"He had better not come here!" cried the servant, menacingly, andputting his hand where the knife was not. 

"Beware of your own anger, Giacomo. One act of violence, and you wouldbe transported from England, and your mast'r would lose a friend. "

Jackeymo seemed struck by this caution. 

"And if the padrone were to meet him, do you think the padrone wouldmeekly say, 'Come sta sa Signoria'? The padrone would strike him dead!"

"Hush! hush! You speak of what in England is called murder, and ispunished by the gallows. If you really love your master, for Heaven'ssake get him from this place, get him from all chance of such passionand peril. I go to town to-morrow; I will find him a house, that shallbe safe from all spies, all discovery. And there, too, my friend. I cando what I cannot at this distance, --watch over him, and keep watch alsoon his enemy. "

Jackeymo seized Randal's hand, and lifted it towards his lip; then, asif struck by a sudden suspicion, dropped the hand, and said bluntly, "Signore, I think you have seen the padrone twice. Why do you take thisinterest in him?"

"Is it so uncommon to take interest even in a stranger who is menaced bysome peril?"

Jackeymo, who believed little in general philanthropy, shook his headsceptically. 

"Besides, " continued Randal, suddenly bethinking himself of a moreplausible reason, --"besides, I am a friend and connection of Mr. Egerton; and Mr. Egerton's most intimate friend is Lord L'Estrange; andI have heard that Lord L'Estrange--"

"The good lord! Oh, now I understand, " interrupted Jackeymo, and hisbrow cleared. "Ah, if he were in England! But you will let us know whenhe comes?"

"Certainly. Now, tell me, Giacomo, is this count really unprincipled anddangerous? Remember I know him not personally. "

"He has neither heart nor conscience. "

"That defect makes him dangerous to men; perhaps not less so to women. Could it be possible, if he obtained any interview with the signora, that he could win her affections?" Jackeymo crossed himself rapidly andmade no answer. 

"I have heard that he is still very handsome. " Jackeymo groaned. 

Randal resumed, "Enough; persuade the padrone to come to town. "

"But if the count is in town?"

"That makes no difference; the safest place is always the largest city. Everywhere else, a foreigner is in himself an object of attention andcuriosity. "

"True. "

"Let your master, then, come to London, or rather, into itsneighbourhood. He can reside in one of the suburbs most remote from thecount's haunts. In two days I will have found him a lodging and write tohim. You trust to me now?"

"I do indeed, --I do, Excellency. Ah, if the signorina were married, wewould not care!"

"Married! But she looks so high!"

"Alas! not now! not here!"

Randal sighed heavily. Jackeymo's eyes sparkled. He thought he haddetected a new motive for Randal's interest, --a motive to an Italian themost natural, the most laudable of all. 

"Find the house, Signore, write to the padrone. He shall come. I'll talkto him. I can manage him. Holy San Giacomo, bestir thyself now, --'t islong since I troubled thee!"

Jackeymo strode off through the fading trees, smiling and muttering ashe went. 

The first dinner-bell rang, and on entering the drawingroom, Randalfound Parson Dale and his wife, who had been invited in haste to meetthe unexpected visitor. 

The preliminary greetings over, Mr. Dale took the opportunity affordedby the squire's absence to inquire after the health of Mr. Egerton. 

"He is always well, " said Randal. "I believe he is made of iron. "

"His heart is of gold, " said the parson. 

"Ah, " said Randal, inquisitively, "you told me you had come in contactwith him once, respecting, I think, some of your old parishioners atLansmere?"

The parson nodded, and there was a moment's silence. 

"Do you remember your battle by the stocks, Mr. Leslie?" said Mr. Dale, with a good-humoured laugh. 

"Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my old opponent inLondon the first year I went up to it. "

"You did! where?"

"At a literary scamp's, --a cleverish man called Burley. "

"Burley! I have seen some burlesque verses in Greek by a Mr. Burley. "

"No doubt the same person. He has disappeared, --gone to the dogs, I daresay. Burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power at present. "

"Well, but Leonard Fairfield--you have seen him since?"

"No. "

"Nor heard of him?"

"No; have you?"

"Strange to say, not for a long time. But I have reason to believe thathe must be doing well. "

"You surprise me! Why?"

"Because two years ago he sent for his mother. She went to him. "

"Is that all?"

"It is enough; for he would not have sent for her if he could notmaintain her. "

Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler announceddinner. 

The squire was unusually taciturn, Mrs. Hazeldean thoughtful, Mrs. Dale languid and headachy. The parson, who seldom enjoyed the luxury ofconverse with a scholar, save when he quarrelled with Dr. Riccaboeca, was animated by Randal's repute for ability into a great desire forargument. 

"A glass of wine, Mr. Leslie. You were saying, before dinner, thatburlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power at present. Pray, Sir, what knowledge is in power?"

RANDAL (laconically). --"Practical knowledge. "

PARSON. --"What of?"

RANDAL. --"Men. "

PARSON (candidly). --"Well, I suppose that is the most available sort ofknowledge, in a worldly point of view. How does one learn it? Do bookshelp?"

RANDAL. --"According as they are read, they help or injure. "

PARSON. --"How should they be read in order to help?"

RANDAL. --"Read specially to apply to purposes that lead to power. "

PARSON (very much struck with Randal's pithy and Spartan logic). --"Uponmy word, Sir, you express yourself very well. I must own that I beganthese questions in the hope of differing from you; for I like anargument. "

"That he does, " growled the squire; "the most contradictory creature!"

PARSON. --"Argument is the salt of talk. But now I am afraid I must agreewith you, which I was not at all prepared for. "

Randal bowed and answered, "No two men of our education can dispute uponthe application of knowledge. "

PARSON (pricking up his ears). --"Eh?--what to?"

RANDAL. --"Power, of course. "

PARSON (overjoyed). --"Power!--the vulgarest application of it, or theloftiest? But you mean the loftiest?"

RANDAL (in his turn interested and interrogative). --"What do you callthe loftiest, and what the vulgarest?"

PARSON. --"The vulgarest, self-interest; the loftiest, beneficence. "

Randal suppressed the half-disdainful smile that rose to his lip. 

"You speak, Sir, as a clergyman should do. I admire your sentiment, andadopt it; but I fear that the knowledge which aims only at beneficencevery rarely in this world gets any power at all. "

SQUIRE (seriously). --"That's true; I never get my own way when I wantto do a kindness, and Stirn always gets his when he insists on somethingdiabolically brutal and harsh. "

PARSON. --"Pray, Mr. Leslie, what does intellectual power refined to theutmost, but entirely stripped of beneficence, most resemble?"

RANDAL. --"Resemble?--I can hardly say. Some very great man--almostany very great man--who has baffled all his foes, and attained all hisends. "

PARSON. --"I doubt if any man has ever become very great who has notmeant to be beneficent, though he might err in the means. Caesar wasnaturally beneficent, and so was Alexander. But intellectual powerrefined to the utmost, and wholly void of beneficence, resembles onlyone being, and that, sir, is the Principle of Evil. "

RANDAL (startled). --"Do you mean the Devil?"

PARSON. --"Yes, Sir, the Devil; and even he, Sir, did not succeed! Evenhe, Sir, is what your great men would call a most decided failure. "

MRS. DALE. --"My dear, my dear!"

PARSON. --"Our religion proves it, my love; he was an angel, and hefell. "

There was a solemn pause. Randal was more impressed than he liked toown to himself. By this time the dinner was over, and the servants hadretired. Harry glanced at Carry. Carry smoothed her gown and rose. 

The gentlemen remained over their wine; and the parson, satisfied withwhat he deemed a clencher upon his favourite subject of discussion, changed the subject to lighter topics, till, happening to fall upontithes, the squire struck in, and by dint of loudness of voice, andtruculence of brow, fairly overwhelmed both his guests, and proved tohis own satisfaction that tithes were an unjust and unchristianlikeusurpation on the part of the Church generally, and a most especial andiniquitous infliction upon the Hazeldean estates in particular. 

CHAPTER IX. 

On entering the drawing-room, Randal found the two ladies seated closetogether, in a position much more appropriate to the familiarity oftheir school-days than to the politeness of the friendship now existingbetween them. Mrs. Hazeldean's hand hung affectionately over Carry'sshoulder, and both those fair English faces were bent over the samebook. It was pretty to see these sober matrons, so different fromeach other in character and aspect, thus unconsciously restored to theintimacy of happy maiden youth by the golden link of some Magician fromthe still land of Truth or Fancy, brought together in heart, as each eyerested on the same thought; closer and closer, as sympathy, lost in theactual world, grew out of that world which unites in one bond of feelingthe readers of some gentle book. 

"And what work interests you so much?" asked Randal, pausing by thetable. 

"One you have read, of course, " replied Mrs. Dale, putting a book-markembroidered by herself into the page, and handing the volume to Randal. "It has made a great sensation, I believe. "

Randal glanced at the title of the work. "True, " said he, "I have heardmuch of it in London, but I have not yet had time to read it. "

MRS. DALE. --"I can lend it to you, if you like to look over it to-night, and you can leave it for me with Mrs. Hazeldean. "

PARSON (approaching). --"Oh, that book!--yes, you must read it. I do notknow a work more instructive. "

RANDAL. --"Instructive! Certainly I will read it then. But I thought itwas a mere work of amusement, --of fancy. It seems so as I look over it. "

PARSON. --"So is the 'Vicar of Wakefield;' yet what book moreinstructive?"

RANDAL. --"I should not have said that of the 'Vicar of Wakefield. ' Apretty book enough, though the story is most improbable. But how is itinstructive?"

PARSON. --"By its results: it leaves us happier and better. What can anyinstruction do more? Some works instruct through the head, some throughthe heart. The last reach the widest circle, and often produce the mostgenial influence on the character. This book belongs to the last. Youwill grant my proposition when you have read it. "

Randal smiled and took the volume. 

MRS. DALE. --"Is the author known yet?"

RANDAL. --"I have heard it ascribed to many writers, but I believe no onehas claimed it. "

PARSON. --"I think it must have been written by my old college friend, Professor Moss, the naturalist, --its descriptions of scenery are soaccurate. "

MRS. DALE. --"La, Charles dear! that snuffy, tiresome, prosy professor?How can you talk such nonsense? I am sure the author must be young, there is so much freshness of feeling. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN (positively). --"Yes, certainly, young. "

PARSON (no less positively). --"I should say just the contrary. Its toneis too serene, and its style too simple, for a young man. Besides, Idon't know any young man who would send me his book, and this book hasbeen sent me, very handsomely bound, too, you see. Depend upon it Mossis the loan--quite his turn of mind. "

MRS. DALE. --"You are too provoking, Charles dear! Mr. Moss is soremarkably plain, too. "

RANDAL. --"Must an author be handsome?"

PARSON. --"Ha! ha! Answer that if you can, Carry. " Carry remained muteand disdainful. 

SQUIRE (with great naivete). --"Well, I don't think there's much in thebook, whoever wrote it; for I've read it myself, and understand everyword of it. "

MRS. DALE. --"I don't see why you should suppose it was written by a manat all. For my part, I think it must be a woman. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"Yes, there's a passage about maternal affection, whichonly a woman could have written. "

PARSON. --"Pooh! pooh! I should like to see a woman who could havewritten that description of an August evening before a thunderstorm;every wild-flower in the hedgerow exactly the flowers of August, everysign in the air exactly those of the month. Bless you! a woman wouldhave filled the hedge with violets and cowslips. Nobody else but myfriend Moss could have written that description. "

SQUIRE. --"I don't know; there's a simile about the waste of corn-seed inhand-sowing, which makes me think he must be a farmer!"

MRS. DALE (scornfully). --"A farmer! In hobnailed shoes, I suppose! I sayit is a woman. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"A WOMAN, and A MOTHER!"

PARSON. --"A middle-aged man, and a naturalist. "

SQUIRE. --"No, no, Parson, certainly a young man; for that love-sceneputs me in mind of my own young days, when I would have given my earsto tell Harry how handsome I thought her; and all I could say was, 'Fineweather for the crops, Miss. ' Yes, a young man and a farmer. I shouldnot wonder if he had held the plough himself. "

RANDAL (who had been turning over the pages). --"This sketch of Night inLondon comes from a man who has lived the life of cities and looked atwealth with the eyes of poverty. Not bad! I will read the book. "

"Strange, " said the parson, smiling, "that this little work should sohave entered into our minds, suggested to all of us different ideas, yetequally charmed all, --given a new and fresh current to our dull countrylife, animated us as with the sight of a world in our breasts we hadnever seen before save in dreams: a little work like this by a man wedon't know and never may! Well, that knowledge is power, and a nobleone!"

"A sort of power, certainly, sir, " said Randal, candidly; and thatnight, when Randal retired to his own room, he suspended his schemes andprojects, and read, as he rarely did, without an object to gain by thereading. 

The work surprised him by the pleasure it gave. Its charm lay in thewriter's calm enjoyment of the beautiful. It seemed like some happysoul sunning itself in the light of its own thoughts. Its power was sotranquil and even, that it was only a critic who could perceive how muchforce and vigour were necessary to sustain the wing that floated aloftwith so imperceptible an effort. There was no one faculty predominatingtyrannically over the others; all seemed proportioned in the felicitoussymmetry of a nature rounded, integral, and complete. And when the workwas closed, it left behind it a tender warmth that played round theheart of the reader and vivified feelings which seemed unknown before. Randal laid down the book softly; and for five minutes the ignoble andbase purposes to which his own knowledge was applied stood before him, naked and unmasked. 

"Tut!" said he, wrenching himself violently away from the benigninfluence, "it was not to sympathize with Hector, but to conquer withAchilles, that Alexander of Macedon kept Homer under his pillow. Suchshould be the true use of books to him who has the practical world tosubdue; let parsons and women construe it otherwise, as they may!"

And the Principle of Evil descended again upon the intellect from whichthe guide of Beneficence was gone. 

CHAPTER X. 

Randal rose at the sound of the first breakfast-bell, and on thestaircase met Mrs. Haaeldean. He gave her back the book; and as hewas about to speak, she beckoned to him to follow her into a littlemorning-room appropriated to herself, --no boudoir of white and gold, with pictures by Watteau, but lined with large walnut-tree presses, that held the old heirloom linen, strewed with lavender, stores for thehousekeeper, and medicines for the poor. 

Seating herself on a large chair in this sanctum, Mrs. Hazeldean lookedformidably at home. 

"Pray, " said the lady, coming at once to the point, with her usualstraightforward candour, "what is all this you have been saying to myhusband as to the possibility of Frank's marrying a foreigner?"

RANDAL. --"Would you be as averse to such a notion as Mr. Hazeldean is?"

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"You ask me a question, instead of answering mine. "

Randal was greatly put out in his fence by these rude thrusts. Forindeed he had a double purpose to serve, --first, thoroughly to know ifFrank's marriage with a woman like Madame di Negra would irritate thesquire sufficiently to endanger the son's inheritance; and, secondly, toprevent Mr. And Mrs. Hazeldean believing seriously that such a marriagewas to be apprehended, lest they should prematurely address Frank onthe subject, and frustrate the marriage itself. Yet, withal, he must soexpress himself, that he could not be afterwards accused by the parentsof disguising matters. In his talk to the squire the preceding day, hehad gone a little too far, --further than he would have done but for hisdesire of escaping the cattle-shed and short-horns. While he mused, Mrs. Hazeldean observed him with her honest sensible eyes, and finallyexclaimed, "Out with it, Mr. Leslie!"

"Out with what, my dear madam? The squire has sadly exaggerated theimportance of what was said mainly in jest. But I will own to youplainly, that Frank has appeared to me a little smitten with a certainfair Italian. "

"Italian!" cried Mrs. Hazeldean. "Well, I said so from the first. Italian!--that's all, is it?" and she smiled. Randal was more and moreperplexed. The pupil of his eye contracted, as it does when we retreatinto ourselves, and think, watch, and keep guard. 

"And perhaps, " resumed Mrs. Hazeldean, with a very sunny expression ofcountenance, "you have noticed this in Frank since he was here?"

"It is true, " murmured Randal; "but I think his heart or his fancy wastouched even before. "

"Very natural, " said Mrs. Hazeldean; "how could he help it?--such abeautiful creature! Well, I must not ask you to tell Frank's secrets;but I guess the object of attraction; and though she will have nofortune to speak of, and it is not such a match as he might form, stillshe is so amiable, and has been so well brought up, and is so littlelike one's general notions of a Roman Catholic, that I think I couldpersuade Hazeldean into giving his consent. "

"Ah, " said Randal, drawing a long breath, and beginning, with hispractised acuteness, to detect Mrs. Ilazeldean's error, "I am very muchrelieved and rejoiced to hear this; and I may venture to give Frank somehope, if I find him disheartened and desponding, poor fellow?"

"I think you may, " replied Mrs. Hazeldean, laughing pleasantly. "But youshould not have frightened poor William so, hinting that the lady knewvery little English. She has an accent, to be sure; but she speaks ourtongue very prettily. I always forget that she 's not English born! Ha, ha, poor William!"

RANDAL. --"Ha, ha!"

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"We had once thought of another match for Frank, --agirl of good English family. "

RANDAL. --"Miss Sticktorights?"

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"No; that's an old whim of Hazeldean's. But I doubt ifthe Sticktorights would ever merge their property in ours. Bless you! itwould be all off the moment they came to settlements, and had to give upthe right of way. We thought of a very different match; but there's nodictating to young hearts, Mr. Leslie. "

RANDAL. --"Indeed no, Mrs. Hazeldean. But since we now understand eachother so well, excuse me if I suggest that you had better leave thingsto themselves, and not write to Frank on the subject. Young hearts, youknow, are often stimulated by apparent difficulties, and grow cool whenthe obstacle vanishes. "

MRS. HAZELDEAN. --"Very possibly; it was not so with Hazeldean andme. But I shall not write to Frank on the subject for a differentreason--though I would consent to the match, and so would William; yetwe both would rather, after all, that Frank married an Englishwoman, anda Protestant. We will not, therefore, do anything to encourage the idea. But if Frank's happiness becomes really at stake, then we will step in. In short, we would neither encourage nor oppose. You understand?"

"Perfectly. "

"And in the mean while, it is quite right that Frank should see theworld, and try to distract his mind, or at least to know it. And I daresay it has been some thought of that kind which has prevented his cominghere. "

Randal, dreading a further and plainer eclaircissement, now rose, andsaying, "Pardon me, but I must hurry over breakfast, and be back in timeto catch the coach"--offered his arm to his hostess, and led her intothe breakfast-parlour. Devouring his meal, as if in great haste, hethen mounted his horse, and, taking cordial leave of his entertainers, trotted briskly away. 

All things favoured his project, --even chance had befriended him in Mrs. Hazeldean's mistake. She had, not unnaturally, supposed Violante to havecaptivated Frank on his last visit to the Hall. Thus, while Randal hadcertified his own mind that nothing could more exasperate the squirethan an alliance with Madame di Negra, he could yet assure Frank thatMrs. Hazeldean was all on his side. And when the error was discovered, Mrs. Hazeldean would only have to blame herself for it. Still moresuccessful had his diplomacy proved with the Riccaboccas: he hadascertained the secret he had come to discover; he should induce theItalian to remove to the neighbourhood of London; and if Violante werethe great heiress he suspected her to prove, whom else of her own agewould she see but him? And the old Leslie domains to be sold in twoyears--a portion of the dowry might purchase them! Flushed by thetriumph of his craft, all former vacillations of conscience ceased. Inhigh and fervent spirits he passed the Casino, the garden of whichwas solitary and deserted, reached his home, and, telling Oliver to bestudious, and Juliet to be patient, walked thence to meet the coach andregain the capital. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Violante was seated in her own little room, and looking from the windowon the terrace that stretched below. The day was warm for the time ofyear. The orange-trees had been removed under shelter for the approachof winter; but where they had stood sat Mrs. Riccabocca at work. In thebelvidere, Riccabocca himself was conversing with his favourite servant. But the casements and the door of the belvidere were open; and wherethey sat, both wife and daughter could see the padrone leaning againstthe wall, with his arms folded and his eyes fixed on the floor; whileJackeymo, with one finger on his master's arm, was talking to him withvisible earnestness. And the daughter from the window and the wife fromher work directed tender, anxious eyes towards the still, thoughtfulform so dear to both. For the last day or two, Riccabocca had beenpeculiarly abstracted, even to gloom. Each felt there was somethingstirring at his heart, --neither, as yet, knew what. 

Violante's room silently revealed the nature of the education by whichher character had been formed. Save a sketchbook, which lay open on adesk at hand, and which showed talent exquisitely taught (for in thisRiccabocca had been her teacher), there was nothing that spoke of theordinary female accomplishments. No piano stood open, no harp occupiedyon nook, which seemed made for one; no broidery-frame, nor implementsof work, betrayed the usual and graceful resources of a girl; but rangedon shelves against the wall were the best writers in English, Italian, and French; and these betokened an extent of reading, that he who wishesfor a companion to his mind in the sweet commune of woman, which softensand refines all it gives and takes in interchange, will never condemn asmasculine. You had but to look into Violante's face to see how noblewas the intelligence that brought soul to those lovely features. Nothinghard, nothing dry and stern was there. Even as you detected knowledge, it was lost in the gentleness of grace. In fact, whatever she gained inthe graver kinds of information became transmuted, through her heart andher fancy, into spiritual, golden stores. Give her some tedious and aridhistory, her imagination seized upon beauties other readers hadpassed by, and, like the eye of the artist, detected everywhere thePicturesque. Something in her mind seemed to reject all that was meanand commonplace, and to bring out all that was rare and elevated inwhatever it received. Living so apart from all companions of her age, she scarcely belonged to the present time. She dwelt in the Past, asSabrina in her crystal well. Images of chivalry, of the Beautiful andthe Heroic, --such as, in reading the silvery line of Tasso, rise beforeus, softening force and valour into love and song, --haunted the reveriesof the fair Italian maid. 

Tell us not that the Past, examined by cold Philosophy, was no betterand no loftier than the Present: it is not thus seen by pure andgenerous eyes. Let the Past perish, when it ceases to reflect on itsmagic mirror the beautiful Romance which is its noblest reality, thoughperchance but the shadow of Delusion. 

Yet Violante was not merely the dreamer. In her, life was sopuissant and rich, that action seemed necessary to its gloriousdevelopment, --action, but still in the woman's sphere, --action to blessand to refine and to exalt all around her, and to pour whatever else ofambition was left unsatisfied into sympathy with the aspirations of man. Despite her father's fears of the bleak air of England, in that air shehad strengthened the delicate health of her childhood. Her elasticstep, her eyes full of sweetness and light, her bloom, at once soft andluxuriant, --all spoke of the vital powers fit to sustain a mind of suchexquisite mould, and the emotions of a heart that, once aroused, couldennoble the passions of the South with the purity and devotion of theNorth. Solitude makes some natures more timid, some more bold. Violantewas fearless. When she spoke, her eyes frankly met your own; and shewas so ignorant of evil, that as yet she seemed nearly unacquaintedwith shame. From this courage, combined with affluence of idea, came adelightful flow of happy converse. Though possessing so imperfectlythe accomplishments ordinarily taught to young women, and which may becultured to the utmost, and yet leave the thoughts so barren, and thetalk so vapid, she had that accomplishment which most pleases the taste, and commands the love, of the man of talent; especially if his talent benot so actively employed as to make him desire only relaxation wherehe seeks companionship, --the accomplishment of facility in intellectualinterchange, the charm that clothes in musical words beautiful womanlyideas. 

"I hear him sigh at this distance, " said Violante, softly, as she stillwatched her father; "and methinks this is a new grief, and not forhis country. He spoke twice yesterday of that dear English friend, andwished that he were here. "

As she said this, unconsciously the virgin blushed, her hands drooped onher knee, and she fell herself into thought as profound as her father's, but less gloomy. From her arrival in England, Violante had been taughta grateful interest in the name of Harley L'Estrange. Her father, preserving a silence that seemed disdain of all his old Italianintimates, had been pleased to converse with open heart of theEnglishman who had saved where countrymen had betrayed. He spoke of thesoldier, then in the full bloom of youth, who, unconsoled by fame, hadnursed the memory of some hidden sorrow amidst the pine-trees that casttheir shadow over the sunny Italian lake; how Riccabocca, then honouredand happy, had courted from his seclusion the English signore, then themourner and the voluntary exile; how they had grown friends amidstthe landscapes in which her eyes had opened to the day; how Harleyhad vainly warned him from the rash schemes in which he had sought toreconstruct in an hour the ruins of weary ages; how, when abandoned, deserted, proscribed, pursued, he had fled for life, the infant Violanteclasped to his bosom, the English soldier had given him refuge, baffledthe pursuers, armed his servants, accompanied the fugitive at nighttowards the defile in the Apennines, and, when the emissaries of aperfidious enemy, hot in the chase, came near, had said, "You have yourchild to save! Fly on! Another league, and you are beyond the borders. We will delay the foes with parley; they will not harm us. " And nottill escape was gained did the father know that the English friendhad delayed the foe, not by parley, but by the sword, holding the passagainst numbers, with a breast as dauntless as Bayard's on the gloriousbridge. 

And since then, the same Englishman had never ceased to vindicate hisname, to urge his cause; and if hope yet remained of restoration to landand honours, it was in that untiring zeal. 

Hence, naturally and insensibly, this secluded and musing girl hadassociated all that she read in tales of romance and chivalry withthe image of the brave and loyal stranger. He it was who animated herdrearhs of the Past, and seemed born to be, in the destined hour, thedeliverer of the Future. Around this image grouped all the charms thatthe fancy of virgin woman can raise from the enchanted lore of oldHeroic Fable. Once in her early girlhood, her father (to satisfy hercuriosity, eager for general description) had drawn from memory a sketchof the features of the Englishman, --drawn Harley, as he was in thatfirst youth, flattered and idealized, no doubt, by art, and by partialgratitude, but still resembling him as he was then, while the deepmournfulness of recent sorrow yet shadowed and concentrated all thevarying expressions of his countenance; and to look on him was to say, "So sad, yet so young!" Never did Violante pause to remember that thesame years which ripened herself from infancy into woman were passingless gently over that smooth cheek and dreamy brow, --that the worldmight be altering the nature as time the aspect. To her the hero of theIdeal remained immortal in bloom and youth. Bright illusion, common tous all, where Poetry once hallows the human form! Who ever thinks ofPetrarch as the old, timeworn man? 'Who does not see him as when hefirst gazed on Laura?--

 "Ogni altra cosa ogni pensier va fore; E sol ivi con voi rimansi Amore!"

CHAPTER XII. 

And Violante, thus absorbed in revery, forgot to keep watch on thebelvidere. And the belvidere was now deserted. The wife, who had noother ideal to distract her thoughts, saw Riccabocca pass into thehouse. 

The exile entered his daughter's room, and she started to feel his handupon her locks and his kiss upon her brow. "My child!" cried Riccabocca, seating himself, "I have resolved to leave for a time this retreat, andto seek the neighbourhood of London. "

"Ah, dear father, that, then, was your thought? But what can be yourreason? Do not turn away; you know how care fully I have obeyed yourcommand and kept your secret. Ah, you will confide in me. "

"I do, indeed, " returned Riccabocca, with emotion. "I leave this placein the fear lest my enemies discover me. I shall say to others that youare of an age to require teachers not to be obtained here, but I shouldlike none to know where we go. "

The Italian said these last words through his teeth, and hanging hishead. He said them in shame. 

"My mother--[so Violante always called Jemima]--my mother--you havespoken to her?"

"Not yet. THERE is the difficulty. "

"No difficulty, for she loves you so well, " replied Violante, with softreproach. "Ah, why not also confide in her? Who so true, so good?"

"Good--I grant it!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "What then? _'Da cattiva Donnaguardati, ed alla buona non fidar niente. '_--[From the bad woman, guardthyself; to the good woman trust nothing. ]--And if you must trust, "added the abominable man, "trust her with anything but a secret!"

"Fie, " said Violante, with arch reproach, for she knew her father'shumours too well to interpret his horrible sentiments literally, --"fieon your consistency, Padre Carissimo. Do you not trust your secret tome?"

"You! A kitten is not a cat, and a girl is not a woman. Besides, thesecret was already known to you, and I had no choice. Peace, Jemima willstay here for the present. See to what you wish to take with you; weshall leave to-night. " Not waiting for an answer, Riccabocca hurriedaway, and with a firm step strode the terrace, and approached his wife. "Anima mia, " said the pupil of Machiavelli, disguising in the tenderestwords the cruellest intentions, --for one of his most cherished Italianproverbs was to the effect that there is no getting on with a mule ora woman unless you coax them, --"Anima mia, soul of my being, you havealready seen that Violante mopes herself to death here. "

"She, poor child! Oh, no!"

"She does, core of my heart, --she does, and is as ignorant of music as Iam of tent-stitch. "

"She sings beautifully. "

"Just as birds do, against all the rules, and in defiance of gamut. Therefore, to come to the point, O treasure of my soul! I am going totake her with me for a short time, perhaps to Cheltenham or Brighton. Weshall see. "

"All places with you are the same to me, Alphonso. When shall we go?"

"We shall go to-night; but terrible as it is to part from you, --you--"

"Ah!" interrupted the wife, and covered her face with her hands. 

Riccabocca, the wiliest and most relentless of men in his maxims, meltedinto absolute uxorial imbecility at the sight of that mute distress. Heput his arm round his wife's waist, with genuine affection, and withouta single proverb at his heart. "Carissima, do not grieve so; we shall beback soon, and travelling is expensive; rolling stones gather no moss, and there is so much to see to at home. "

Mrs. Riccabocca gently escaped from her husband's arm. She withdrew herhands from her face and brushed away the tears that stood in her eyes. 

"Alphonso, " she said touchingly, "hear me! What you think good, thatshall ever be good to me. But do not think that I grieve solely becauseof our parting. No; I grieve to think that, despite all these yearsin which I have been the partner of your hearth, and slept on yourbreast, --all these years in which I have had no thought but, howeverhumbly, to do my duty to you and yours, and could have wished that youhad read my heart, and seen there but yourself and your child, --I grieveto think that you still deem me as unworthy your trust as when you stoodby my side at the altar. "

"Trust!" repeated Riccabocca, startled and conscience-stricken; "whydo you say 'trust'? In what have I distrusted you? I am sure, " hecontinued, with the artful volubility of guilt, "that I never doubtedyour fidelity, hook-nosed, long-visaged foreigner though I be; neverpryed into your letters; never inquired into your solitary walks; neverheeded your flirtations with that good-looking Parson Dale; never keptthe money; and never looked into the account-books!" Mrs. Riccaboccarefused even a smile of contempt at these revolting evasions; nay, sheseemed scarcely to hear them. 

"Can you think, " she resumed, pressing her hand on her heart to stillits struggles for relief in sobs, --"can you think that I could havewatched and thought and taxed my poor mind so constantly, to conjecturewhat might best soothe or please you, and not seen, long since, thatyou have secrets known to your daughter, your servant, not to me? Fearnot, --the secrets cannot be evil, or you would not tell them to yourinnocent child. Besides, do I not know your nature; and do I not loveyou because I know it?--it is for something connected with thosesecrets that you leave your home. You think that I should be incautious, imprudent. You will not take me with you. Be it so. I go to preparefor your departure. Forgive me if I have displeased you, husband. " Mrs. Riccabocca turned away; but a soft hand touched the Italian's arm. "OFather, can you resist this? Trust her! trust her!--I am a woman likeher! I answer for her woman's faith. Be yourself, --ever nobler than allothers, my own father. "

"Diavolo! Never one door shuts but another opens, " groaned Riccabocca. "Are you a fool, child? Don't you see that it was for your sake only Ifeared, and would be cautious?"

"For mine! Oh, then do not make me deem myself mean, and the cause ofmeanness. For mine! Am I not your daughter, --the descendant of men whonever feared?" Violante looked sublime while she spoke; and as she endedshe led her father gently on towards the door, which his wife had nowgained. 

"Jemima, wife mine! pardon, pardon, " cried the Italian, whose heart hadbeen yearning to repay such tenderness and devotion, --"come back tomy breast--it has been long closed, --it shall be open to you now andforever. "

In another moment the wife was in her right place, --on her husband'sbosom; and Violante, beautiful peacemaker, stood smiling awhile at both, and then lifted her eyes gratefully to heaven and stole away. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

On Randal's return to town, he heard mixed and contradictory rumoursin the streets, and at the clubs, of the probable downfall of theGovernment at the approaching session of parliament. These rumours hadsprung up suddenly, as if in an hour. True that, for some time, thesagacious had shaken their heads and said, "Ministers could not last. "True, that certain changes in policy, a year or two before, had dividedthe party on which the Government depended, and strengthened that whichopposed it. But still the more important members of that Governmenthad been so long identified with official station, and there seemed solittle power in the Opposition to form a Cabinet of names familiar toofficial ears, that the general public had anticipated, at most, a fewpartial changes. Rumour now went far beyond this. Randal, whose wholeprospects at present were but reflections from the greatness ofhis patron, was alarmed. He sought Egerton, but the minister wasimpenetrable, and seemed calm, confident, and imperturbed. Somewhatrelieved, Randal then set himself to work to find a safe home forRiccabocca; for the greater need to succeed in obtaining fortune there, if he failed in getting it through Egerton. He found a quiet house, detached and secluded, in the neighbourhood of Norwood. No vicinitymore secure from espionage and remark. He wrote to Riccabocca, andcommunicated the address, adding fresh assurances of his own power tobe of use. The next morning he was seated in his office, thinkingvery little of the details, that he mastered, however, with mechanicalprecision, when the minister who presided over that department of thepublic service sent for him into his private room, and begged him totake a letter to Egerton, with whom he wished to consult relative to avery important point to be decided in the Cabinet that day. "I want youto take it, " said the minister, smiling (the minister was a frank homelyman), "because you are in Mr. Egerton's confidence, and he may giveyou some verbal message besides a written reply. Egerton is often overcautious and brief in the litera scripta. "

Randal went first to Egerton's neighbouring office--Egerton had not beenthere that day. He then took a cabriolet and drove to Grosvenor Square. A quiet-looking chariot was at the door. Mr. Egerton was at home; butthe servant said, "Dr. F----- is with him, sir; and perhaps he may notlike to be disturbed. "

"What! is your master ill?"

"Not that I know of, sir. He never says he is ill. But he has lookedpoorly the last day or two. "

Randal hesitated a moment; but his commission might be important, andEgerton was a man who so held the maxim that health and all else mustgive way to business, that he resolved to enter; and, unannounced andunceremoniously, as was his wont, he opened the door of the library. Hestarted as he did so. Audley Egerton was leaning back on the sofa, andthe doctor, on his knees before him, was applying the stethoscope to hisbreast. Egerton's eyes were partially closed as the door opened. But atthe noise he sprang up, nearly oversetting the doctor. "Who's that? Howdare you?" he exclaimed, in a voice of great anger. Then recognizingRandal, he changed colour, bit his lip, and muttered dryly, "I begpardon for my abruptness; what do you want, Mr. Leslie?"

"This letter from Lord--; I was told to deliver it immediately into yourown hands. I beg pardon--"

"There is no cause, " said Egerton, coldly. "I have had a slight attackof bronchitis; and as parliament meets so soon, I must take advice frommy doctor, if I would be heard by the reporters. Lay the letter on thetable, and be kind enough to wait for my reply. "

Randal withdrew. He had never seen a physician in that house before, and it seemed surprising that Egerton should even take a medical opinionupon a slight attack. While waiting in the ante-room there was a knockat the street door, and presently a gentleman, exceedingly well dressed, was shown in, and honoured Randal with an easy and half-familiar bow. Randal remembered to have met this personage at dinner, and at the houseof a young nobleman of high fashion, but had not been introduced to him, and did not even know him by name. The visitor was better informed. 

"Our friend Egerton is busy, I hear, Mr. Leslie, " said he, arranging thecamellia in his button-hole. 

"Our friend Egerton!" It must be a very great man to say "Our friendEgerton. "

"He will not be engaged long, I dare say, " returned Randal, glancing hisshrewd inquiring eye over the stranger's person. 

"I trust not; my time is almost as precious as his own. I was not sofortunate as to be presented to you when we met at Lord Spendquick's. Good fellow, Spendquick; and decidedly clever. "

Lord Spendquick was usually esteemed a gentleman without three ideas. 

Randal smiled. 

In the mean while the visitor had taken out a card from an embossedmorocco case, and now presented it to Randal, who read thereon, "BaronLevy, No. --, Bruton St. "

The name was not unknown to Randal. It was a name too often on the lipsof men of fashion not to have reached the ears of an habitue of goodsociety. 

Mr. Levy had been a solicitor by profession. He had of late yearsrelinquished his ostensible calling: and not long since, in consequenceof some services towards the negotiation of a loan, had been created abaron by one of the German kings. The wealth of Mr. Levy was said to beonly equalled by his good-nature to all who were in want of a temporaryloan, and with sound expectations of repaying it some day or other. 

You seldom saw a finer-looking man than Baron Levy, about the same ageas Egerton, but looking younger: so well preserved, such magnificentblack whiskers, such superb teeth! Despite his name and his darkcomplexion, he did not, however, resemble a Jew, --at least externally;and, in fact, he was not a Jew on the father's side, but the natural sonof a rich English grand seigneur, by a Hebrew lady of distinction--inthe opera. After his birth, this lady had married a German trader ofher own persuasion, and her husband had been prevailed upon, for theconvenience of all parties, to adopt his wife's son, and accord to himhis own Hebrew name. Mr. Levy, senior, was soon left a widower, and thenthe real father, though never actually owning the boy, had shown himgreat attention, --had him frequently at his house, initiated him betimesinto his own high-born society, for which the boy showed great taste. But when my Lord died, and left but a moderate legacy to the youngerLevy, who was then about eighteen, that ambiguous person was articled toan attorney by his putative sire, who shortly afterwards returned to hisnative land, and was buried at Prague, where his tombstone may yet beseen. Young Levy, however, contrived to do very well without him. Hisreal birth was generally known, and rather advantageous to him in asocial point of view. His legacy enabled him to become a partnerwhere he had been a clerk, and his practice became great amongst thefashionable classes of society. Indeed he was so useful, so pleasant, so much a man of the world, that he grew intimate with hisclients, --chiefly young men of rank; was on good terms with both Jewand Christian; and being neither one nor the other, resembled (to useSheridan's incomparable simile) the blank page between the Old and theNew Testament. 

Vulgar some might call Mr. Levy from his assurance, but it was not thevulgarity of a man accustomed to low and coarse society, --rather themauvais ton of a person not sure of his own position, but who hasresolved to swagger into the best one he can get. When it is rememberedthat he had made his way in the world, and gleaned together an immensefortune, it is needless to add that he was as sharp as a needle, and ashard as a flint. No man had had more friends, and no man had stuck bythem more firmly--so long as there was a pound in their pockets!

Something of this character had Randal heard of the baron, and he nowgazed, first at his card, and then at him with--admiration. 

"I met a friend of yours at Borrowell's the other day, " resumed thebaron, --"young Hazeldean. Careful fellow--quite a man of the world. "

As this was the last praise poor Frank deserved, Randal again smiled. 

The baron went on: "I hear, Mr. Leslie, that you have much influenceover this same Hazeldean. His affairs are in a sad state. I should bevery happy to be of use to him, as a relation of my friend Egerton's;but he understands business so well that he despises my advice. "

"I am sure you do him injustice. "

"Injustice! I honour his caution. I say to every man, 'Don't come to me:I can get you money on much easier terms than any one else; and what'sthe result! You come so often that you ruin yourself; whereas a regularusurer without conscience frightens you. 'Cent percent, ' you say; 'oh, Imust pull in. ' If you have influence over your friend, tell him to stickto his bill-brokers, and have nothing to do with Baron Levy. "

Here the minister's bell rung, and Randal, looking through the window, saw Dr. F----- walking to his carriage, which had made way for BaronLevy's splendid cabriolet, --a cabriolet in the most perfect taste, baron's coronet on the dark-brown panels, horse black, with suchaction! harness just relieved with plating. The servant now entered, andrequested Randal to step in; and addressing the baron, assured him thathe would not be detained a minute. 

"Leslie, " said the minister, sealing a note, "take this back to Lord------, and say that I shall be with him in an hour. "

"No other message?--he seemed to expect one. "

"I dare say he did. Well, my letter is official, my message is not: beghim to see Mr. ----- before we meet, --he will understand, --all restsupon that interview. "

Egerton then, extending the letter, resumed gravely, "Of course you willnot mention to any one that Dr. F----- was with me: the health of publicmen is not to be suspected. Hum, --were you in your own room or theante-room?"

"The ante-room, sir. "

Egerton's brow contracted slightly. "And Mr. Levy was there, eh?"

"Yes--the baron. "

"Baron! true. Come to plague me about the Mexican loan, I suppose. Iwill keep you no longer. "

Randal, much meditating, left the house, and re-entered his hack cab. The baron was admitted to the statesman's presence. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

Egerton had thrown himself at full length on the sofa, a positionexceedingly rare with him; and about his whole air and manner, as Levyentered, there was something singularly different from that statelinessof port common to the austere legislator. The very tone of his voicewas different. It was as if the statesman, the man of business, hadvanished; it was rather the man of fashion and the idler who, noddinglanguidly to his visitor, said, "Levy, what money can I have for ayear?"

"The estate will bear very little more. My dear fellow, that lastelection was the very devil. You cannot go on thus much longer. "

"My dear fellow!" Baron Levy hailed Audley Egerton as "my dear fellow"!And Audley Egerton, perhaps, saw nothing strange in the words, thoughhis lip curled. 

"I shall not want to go on thus much longer, " answered Egerton, as thecurl on his lip changed to a gloomy smile. "The estate must, meanwhile, bear L5, 000 more. "

"A hard pull on it. You had really better sell. "

"I cannot afford to sell at present. I cannot afford men to say, 'AudleyEgerton is done up, --his property is for sale. '"

"It is very sad when one thinks what a rich man you have been--and maybe yet!"

"Be yet! How?"

Baron Levy glanced towards the thick mahogany doors, --thick andimpervious, as should be the doors of statesmen. "Why, you know that, with three words from you, I could produce an effect upon the stocksof three nations, that might give us each a hundred thousand pounds. Wewould go shares. "

"Levy, " said Egerton, coldly, though a deep blush overspread his face, "you are a scoundrel; that is your look-out. I interfere with no man'stastes and conscience. I don't intend to be a scoundrel myself. I havetold you that long ago. "

The usurer's brows darkened, but he dispelled the cloud with an easylaugh. 

"Well, " said he, "you are neither wise nor complimentary, but you shallhave the money. But yet, would it not be better, " added Levy, withemphasis, "to borrow it without interest, of your friend L'Estrange?"

Egerton started as if stung. 

"You mean to taunt me, sir!" he exclaimed passionately. "I acceptpecuniary favours from Lord L'Estrange!--I!"

"Tut, my dear Egerton, I dare say my Lord would not think so ill now ofthat act in your life which--"

"Hold!" exclaimed Egerton, writhing. "Hold!"

He stopped, and paced the room, muttering, in broken sentences, "Toblush before this man! Chastisement, chastisement!"

Levy gazed on him with hard and sinister eyes. The minister turnedabruptly. 

"Look you, Levy, " said he, with forced composure, "you hate me--why, Iknow not. "

"Hate you! How have I shown hatred? Would you ever have lived in thispalace, and ruled this country as one of the most influential of itsministers, but for my management, my whispers to the wealthy MissLeslie? Come, but for me what would you have been, --perhaps a beggar. "

"What shall I be now, if I live? And this fortune which my marriagebrought to me--it has passed for the main part into your hands. Bepatient, you will have it all ere long. But there is one man in theworld who has loved me from a boy, and woe to you if ever he learn thathe has the right to despise me!"

"Egerton, my good fellow, " said Levy, with great composure, "you neednot threaten me, for what interest can I possibly have in tale-tellingto Lord L'Estrange? Again, dismiss from your mind the absurd thoughtthat I hate you. True, you snub me in private, you cut me in public, you refuse to come to my dinners, you'll not ask me to your own; still, there is no man I like better, nor would more willingly serve. When doyou want the L5, 000?"

"Perhaps in one month, perhaps not for three or four. Let it be readywhen required. "

"Enough; depend on it. Have you any other commands?"

"None. "

"I will take my leave, then. By-the-by, what do you suppose theHazeldean rental is worth--net?"

"I don't know, nor care. You have no designs upon that too?"

"Well, I like keeping up family connections. Mr. Frank seems a liberalyoung gentleman. "

Before Egerton could answer, the baron had glided to the door, and, nodding pleasantly, vanished with that nod. Egerton remained, standingon his solitary hearth. A drear, single man's room it was, from wallto wall, despite its fretted ceilings and official pomp of Brahmahescritoires and red boxes. Drear and cheerless, --no trace of woman'shabitation, no vestige of intruding, happy children. There stood theaustere man alone. And then with a deep sigh he muttered, "Thank Heaven, not for long, --it will not last long. "

Repeating those words, he mechanically locked up his papers, and pressedhis hand to his heart for an instant, as if a spasm had shot through it. 

"So--I must shun all emotion!" said he, shaking his head gently. 

In five minutes more Audley Egerton was in the streets, his mien erect, and his step firm as ever. 

"That man is made of bronze, " said a leader of the Opposition to afriend as they rode past the minister. "What would I not give for hisnerves!"

BOOK NINTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

ON PUBLIC LIFE. 

Now that I am fairly in the heart of my story, these preliminarychapters must shrink into comparatively small dimensions, and notencroach upon the space required by the various personages whoseacquaintance I have picked up here and there, and who are now allcrowding upon me like poor relations to whom one has unadvisedly givena general invitation, and who descend upon one simultaneously aboutChristmas time. Where they are to be stowed, and what is to become ofthem all, Heaven knows; in the mean while, the reader will have alreadyobserved that the Caxton Family themselves are turned out of their ownrooms, sent a packing, in order to make way for the new comers. 

But to proceed: Note the heading to the present Chapter, "ON PUBLICLIFE, "--a thesis pertinent to this portion of my narrative; and ifsomewhat trite in itself, the greater is the stimulus to suggest thereonsome original hints for reflection. 

Were you ever in public life, my dear reader? I don't mean, by thatquestion, to ask whether you were ever Lord Chancellor, Prime Minister, Leader of the Opposition, or even a member of the House of Commons. Anauthor hopes to find readers far beyond that very egregious but verylimited segment of the Great Circle. Were you ever a busy man in yourvestry, active in a municipal corporation, one of a committee forfurthering the interests of an enlightened candidate for your nativeburgh, town, or shire, --in a word, did you ever resign your privatecomforts as men in order to share the public troubles of mankind? Ifever you have so far departed from the Lucretian philosophy, just lookback--was it life at all that you lived? Were you an individualdistinct existence, --a passenger in the railway, --or were you merelyan indistinct portion of that common flame which heated the boiler andgenerated the steam that set off the monster train?--very hot, veryactive, very useful, no doubt; but all your identity fused in flame, andall your forces vanishing in gas. 

And do you think the people in the railway carriages care for you? Doyou think that the gentleman in the worsted wrapper is saying to hisneighbour with the striped rug on his comfortable knees, "How gratefulwe ought to be for that fiery particle which is crackling and hissingunder the boiler. It helps us on a fraction of an inch from Vauxhallto Putney!" Not a bit of it. Ten to one but he is saying, "Not sixteenmiles an hour! What the deuce is the matter with the stoker?"

Look at our friend Audley Egerton. You have just had a glimpse of thereal being that struggles under the huge copper; you have heard thehollow sound of the rich man's coffers under the tap of Baron Levy'sfriendly knuckle, heard the strong man's heart give out its dull warningsound to the scientific ear of Dr. F-----. And away once more vanishesthe separate existence, lost again in the flame that heats the boiler, and the smoke that curls into air from the grimy furnace. 

Look to it, O Public Man, whoever thou art, and whatsoever thydegree, --see if thou canst not compound matters, so as to keep a littlenook apart for thy private life; that is, for thyself! Let the GreatPopkins Question not absorb wholly the individual soul of thee, as Smithor Johnson. Don't so entirely consume thyself under that insatiableboiler, that when thy poor little monad rushes out from the sootyfurnace, and arrives at the stars, thou mayest find no vocation forthee there, and feel as if thou hadst nothing to do amidst the stillsplendours of the Infinite. I don't deny to thee the uses of "PublicLife;" I grant that it is much to have helped to carry that GreatPopkins Question; but Private Life, my friend, is the life of thyprivate soul; and there may be matters concerned with that which, onconsideration, thou mayest allow cannot be wholly mixed up with theGreat Popkins Question, and were not finally settled when thou didstexclaim, "I have not lived in vain, --the Popkins Question is carriedat last!" Oh, immortal soul, for one quarter of an hour per diemde-Popkinize thine immortality!

CHAPTER II. 

It had not been without much persuasion on the part of Jackeymo thatRiccabocca had consented to settle himself in the house which Randal hadrecommended to him. Not that the exile conceived any suspicion of theyoung man beyond that which he might have shared with Jackeymo, namely, that Randal's interest in the father was increased by a very naturaland excusable admiration of the daughter; but the Italian had the pridecommon to misfortune, --he did not like to be indebted to others, and heshrank from the pity of those to whom it was known that he had held ahigher station in his own land. These scruples gave way to the strengthof his affection for his daughter and his dread of his foe. Good men, however able and brave, who have suffered from the wicked, are apt toform exaggerated notions of the power that has prevailed againstthem. Jackeymo had conceived a superstitious terror of Peschiera; andRiccabocca, though by no means addicted to superstition, still had acertain creep of the flesh whenever he thought of his foe. 

But Riccabocca--than whom no man was more physically brave, and no man, in some respects, more morally timid--feared the count less as a foethan as a gallant. He remembered his kinsman's surpassing beauty, thepower he had obtained over women. He knew him versed in every art thatcorrupts, and wholly void of the conscience that deters. And Riccaboccahad unhappily nursed himself into so poor an estimate of the femalecharacter, that even the pure and lofty nature of Violante did not seemto him a sufficient safeguard against the craft and determination of apractised and remorseless intriguer. But of all the precautions hecould take, none appeared more likely to conduce to safety than hisestablishing a friendly communication with one who professed to be ableto get at all the count's plans and movements, and who could appriseRiccabocca at once should his retreat be discovered. "Forewarned isforearmed, " said he to himself, in one of the proverbs common to allnations. However, as with his usual sagacity he came to reflect upon thealarming intelligence conveyed to him by Randal, namely, that thecount sought his daughter's hand, he divined that there was some strongpersonal interest under such ambition; and what could be that interestsave the probability of Riccabocca's ultimate admission to the Imperialgrace, and the count's desire to assure himself of the heritage to anestate that he might be permitted to retain no more? Riccabocca wasnot indeed aware of the condition (not according to usual customs inAustria) on which the count held the forfeited domains. He knew not thatthey had been granted merely on pleasure; but he was too well aware ofPeschiera's nature to suppose that he would woo a bride without adower, or be moved by remorse in any overture of reconciliation. Hefelt assured too--and this increased all his fears--that Peschiera wouldnever venture to seek an interview with himself; all the count's designson Violante would be dark, secret, and clandestine. He was perplexed andtormented by the doubt whether or not to express openly to Violante hisapprehensions of the nature of the danger to be apprehended. He hadtold her vaguely that it was for her sake that he desired secrecy andconcealment. But that might mean anything: what danger to himself wouldnot menace her? Yet to say more was so contrary to a man of his Italiannotions and Machiavellian maxims! To say to a young girl, "There is aman come over to England on purpose to woo and win you. For Heaven'ssake take care of him; he is diabolically handsome; he never failswhere he sets his heart. --Cospetto!" cried the doctor, aloud, as theseadmonitions shaped themselves to speech in the camera obscura of hisbrain; "such a warning would have undone a Cornelia while she was yetan innocent spinster. " No, he resolved to say nothing to Violante of thecount's intention, only to keep guard, and make himself and Jackeymo alleyes and all ears. 

The house Randal had selected pleased Riccabocca at first glance. Itstood alone, upon a little eminence; its upper windows commanded thehigh road. It had been a school, and was surrounded by high walls, whichcontained a garden and lawn sufficiently large for exercise. The gardendoors were thick, fortified by strong bolts, and had a little wicketlattice, shut and opened at pleasure, from which Jackeymo could inspectall visitors before he permitted them to enter. 

An old female servant from the neighbourhood was cautiously hired;Riccabocca renounced his Italian name, and abjured his origin. He spokeEnglish sufficiently well to think he could pass as an Englishman. Hecalled himself Mr. Richmouth (a liberal translation of Riccabocca). Hebought a blunderbuss, two pairs of pistols, and a huge housedog. Thus provided for, he allowed Jackeymo to write a line to Randal andcommunicate his arrival. 

Randal lost no time in calling. With his usual adaptability and hispowers of dissimulation, he contrived easily to please Mrs. Riccabocca, and to increase the good opinion the exile was disposed to form of him. He engaged Violante in conversation on Italy and its poets. He promisedto bring her books. He began, though more distantly than he could havedesired, --for her sweet stateliness awed him, --the preliminaries ofcourtship. He established himself at once as a familiar guest, ridingdown daily in the dusk of evening, after the toils of office, andreturning at night. In four or five days he thought he had made greatprogress with all. Riccabocca watched him narrowly, and grew absorbedin thought after every visit. At length one night, when he and Mrs. Riccabocca were alone in the drawing-room, Violante having retired torest, he thus spoke as he filled his pipe, --

"Happy is the man who has no children! Thrice happy he who has nogirls!"

"My dear Alphonso!" said the wife, looking up from the waistband towhich she was attaching a neat mother-o'-pearl button. She said no more;it was the sharpest rebuke she was in the custom of administering to herhusband's cynical and odious observations. Riccabocca lighted his pipewith a thread paper, gave three great puffs, and resumed, "One blunderbuss, four pistols, and a house-dog called Pompey, who wouldhave made mincemeat of Julius Caesar!"

"He certainly eats a great deal, does Pompey!" said Mrs. Riccabocca, simply. "But if he relieves your mind!"

"He does not relieve it in the least, ma'am, " groaned Riccabocca; "andthat is the point I am coming to. This is a most harassing life, and amost undignified life. And I who have only asked from Heaven dignityand repose! But if Violante were once married, I should want neitherblunderbuss, pistol, nor Pompey. And it is that which would relieve mymind, cara mia, --Pompey only relieves my larder. "

Now Riccabocca had been more communicative to Jemima than he had been toViolante. Having once trusted her with one secret, he had every motiveto trust her with another; and he had accordingly spoken out his fearsof the Count di Peschiera. Therefore she answered, laying down the work, and taking her husband's hand tenderly, "Indeed, my love, since you dread so much (though I own that I mustthink unreasonably) this wicked, dangerous man, it would be the happiestthing in the world to see dear Violante well married; because, you see, if she is married to one person she cannot be married to another; andall fear of this count, as you say, would be at an end. "

"You cannot express yourself better. It is a great comfort to unbosomone's-self to a wife, after all, " quoth Riccabocca. 

"But, " said the wife, after a grateful kiss, --"but where and how can wefind a husband suitable to the rank of your daughter?"

"There! there! there!" cried Riccabocca, pushing back his chair to thefarther end of the room, "that comes of unbosoming one's-self! Out fliesone secret; it is opening the lid of Pandora's box; one is betrayed, ruined, undone!"

"Why, there's not a soul that can hear us!" said Mrs. Riccabocca, soothingly. 

"'That's chance, ma'am! If you once contract the habit of blabbing outa secret when nobody's by, how on earth can you resist it when youhave the pleasurable excitement of telling it to all the world? Vanity, vanity, --woman's vanity! Woman never could withstand rank, --never!"The doctor went on railing for a quarter of an hour, and was veryreluctantly appeased by Mrs. Riccabocca's repeated and tearfulassurances that she would never even whisper to herself that her husbandhad ever held any other rank than that of doctor. Riccabocca, with adubious shake of the head, renewed, "I have done with all pomp and pretension. Besides, the young man is aborn gentleman: he seems in good circumstances; he has energy and latentambition; he is akin to L'Estrange's intimate friend: he seems attachedto Violante. I don't think it probable that we could do better. Nay, ifPeschiera fears that I shall be restored to my country, and I learnthe wherefore, and the ground to take, through this young man--why, gratitude is the first virtue of the noble!"

"You speak, then, of Mr. Leslie?"

"To be sure--of whom else?"

Mrs. Riccabocca leaned her cheek on her hand thoughtfully. "Now you havetold me that, I will observe him with different eyes. "

"Anima mia, I don't see how the difference of your eyes will alter theobject they look upon!" grumbled Riccabocca, shaking the ashes out ofhis pipe. 

"The object alters when we see it in a different point of view!" repliedJemima, modestly. "This thread does very well when I look at it in orderto sew on a button, but I should say it would never do to tie up Pompeyin his Kennel. "

"Reasoning by illustration, upon my soul!" ejaculated Riccabocca, amazed. 

"And, " continued Jemima, "when I am to regard one who is to constitutethe happiness of that dear child, and for life, can I regard him as Iwould the pleasant guest of an evening? Ah, trust me, Alphonso; I don'tpretend to be wise like you; but when a woman considers what a man islikely to prove to woman, --his sincerity, his honour, his heart, --oh, trust me, she is wiser than the wisest man!"

Riccabocca continued to gaze on Jemima with unaffected admiration andsurprise. And certainly, to use his phrase, since he had unbosomedhimself to his better half, since he had confided in her, consulted withher, her sense had seemed to quicken, her whole mind to expand. 

"My dear, " said the sage, "I vow and declare that Machiavelli was a foolto you. And I have been as dull as the chair I sit upon, to deny myselfso many years the comfort and counsel of such a--But, corpo di Bacco!forget all about rank; and so now to bed. --One must not holloa tillone's out of the wood, " muttered the ungrateful, suspicious villain, ashe lighted the chamber candle. 

CHAPTER III. 

RICCABOCCA could not confine himself to the precincts within the wallsto which he condemned Violante. Resuming his spectacles, and wrappedin his cloak, he occasionally sallied forth upon a kind of outwatchor reconnoitring expedition, --restricting himself, however, to theimmediate neighbourhood, and never going quite out of sight of hishouse. His favourite walk was to the summit of a hillock overgrown withstunted bush-wood. Here he would sit himself musingly, often till thehoofs of Randal's horse rang on the winding road, as the sun set, overfading herbage, red and vaporous, in autumnal skies. Just below thehillock, and not two hundred yards from his own house, was the onlyother habitation in view, --a charming, thoroughly English cottage, though somewhat imitated from the Swiss, with gable ends, thatched roof, and pretty, projecting casements, opening through creepers and climbingroses. From his height he commanded the gardens of this cottage, and hiseye of artist was pleased, from the first sight, with the beauty whichsome exquisite taste had given to the ground. Even in that cheerlessseason of the year, the garden wore a summer smile; the evergreens wereso bright and various, and the few flow ers still left so hardy and sohealthful. Facing the south, a colonnade, or covered gallery, of rusticwoodwork had been formed, and creeping plants, lately set, were alreadybeginning to clothe its columns. Opposite to this colonnade there was afountain which reminded Riccabocca of his own at the deserted Casino. Itwas indeed singularly like it; the same circular shape, the same girdleof flowers around it. But the jet from it varied every day, fantasticand multiform, like the sports of a Naiad, --sometimes shooting up likea tree, sometimes shaped as a convolvulus, sometimes tossing from itssilver spray a flower of vermilion, or a fruit of gold, --as if at playwith its toy like a happy child. And near the fountain was a largeaviary, large enough to enclose a tree. The Italian could just catch agleam of rich colour from the wings of the birds, as they glanced toand fro within the network, and could hear their songs, contrasting thesilence of the freer populace of air, whom the coming winter had alreadystilled. 

Riccabocca's eye, so alive to all aspects of beauty, luxuriated in theview of this garden. Its pleasantness had a charm that stole him fromhis anxious fear and melancholy memories. 

He never saw but two forms within the demesnes, and he could notdistinguish their features. One was a woman, who seemed to him of staidmanner and homely appearance: she was seen but rarely. The other a man, often pacing to and fro the colonnade, with frequent pauses before theplayful fountain, or the birds that sang louder as he approached. Thislatter form would then disappear within a room, the glass door of whichwas at the extreme end of the colonnade; and if the door were left open, Riccabocca could catch a glimpse of the figure bending over a tablecovered with books. 

Always, however, before the sun set, the man would step forth morebriskly, and occupy himself with the garden, often working at it withgood heart, as if at a task of delight; and then, too, the woman wouldcome out, and stand by as if talking to her companion. Riccabocca'scuriosity grew aroused. He bade Jemima inquire of the old maid-servantwho lived at the cottage, and heard that its owner was a Mr. Oran, --aquiet gentleman, and fond of his book. 

While Riccabocca thus amused himself, Randal had not been prevented, either by his official cares or his schemes on Violante's heart andfortune, from furthering the project that was to unite Frank Hazeldeanand Beatrice di Negra. Indeed, as to the first, a ray of hope wassufficient to fire the ardent and unsuspecting lover. And Randal'sartful misrepresentation of his conference with Mrs. Hazeldean removedall fear of parental displeasure from a mind always too disposed to giveitself up to the temptation of the moment. Beatrice, though her feelingsfor Frank were not those of love, became more and more influenced byRandal's arguments and representations, the more especially as herbrother grew morose, and even menacing, as days slipped on, and shecould give no clew to the retreat of those whom he sought for. Herdebts, too, were really urgent. As Randal's profound knowledge of humaninfirmity had shrewdly conjectured, the scruples of honour and pride, that had made her declare she would not bring to a husband her ownencumbrances, began to yield to the pressure of necessity. She listenedalready, with but faint objections, when Randal urged her not to waitfor the uncertain discovery that was to secure her dowry, but by aprivate marriage with Frank escape at once into freedom and security. While, though he had first held out to young Hazeldean the inducementof Beatrice's dowry as a reason of self-justification in the eyes of thesquire, it was still easier to drop that inducement, which had alwaysrather damped than fired the high spirit and generous heart of the poorGuardsman. And Randal could conscientiously say, that when he had askedthe squire if he expected fortune with Frank's bride, the squire hadreplied, "I don't care. " Thus encouraged by his friend and his ownheart, and the softening manner of a woman who might have charmed many acolder, and fooled many a wiser man, Frank rapidly yielded to the snaresheld out for his perdition. And though as yet he honestly shrank fromproposing to Beatrice or himself a marriage without the consent, andeven the knowledge, of his parents, yet Randal was quite content toleave a nature, however good, so thoroughly impulsive and undisciplined, to the influences of the first strong passion it had ever known. Meanwhile, it was so easy to dissuade Frank from even giving a hint tothe folks at home. "For, " said the wily and able traitor, "though wemay be sure of Mrs. Hazeldean's consent, and her power over your father, when the step is once taken, yet we cannot count for certain on thesquire, he is so choleric and hasty. He might hurry to town, see Madamedi Negra, blurt out some passionate, rude expressions, which would wakeher resentment, and cause her instant rejection. And it might be toolate if he repented afterwards, as he would be sure to do. "

Meanwhile Randal Leslie gave a dinner at the Clarendon Hotel (anextravagance most contrary to his habits), and invited Frank, Mr. Borrowell, and Baron Levy. 

But this house-spider, which glided with so much ease after its flies, through webs so numerous and mazy, had yet to amuse Madame di Negrawith assurances that the fugitives sought for would sooner or later bediscovered. Though Randal baffled and eluded her suspicion that hewas already acquainted with the exiles ("the persons he had thoughtof were, " he said, "quite different from her description;" and he evenpresented to her an old singing-master and a sallow-faced daughter, asthe Italians who had caused his mistake), it was necessary for Beatriceto prove the sincerity of the aid she had promised to her brother, andto introduce Randal to the count. It was no less desirable to Randal toknow, and even win the confidence of this man--his rival. 

The two met at Madame di Negra's house. There is something very strange, and almost mesmerical, in the rapport between two evil natures. Bringtwo honest men together, and it is ten to one if they recognize eachother as honest; differences in temper, manner, even politics, may makeeach misjudge the other. But bring together two men unprincipled andperverted--men who, if born in a cellar, would have been food for thehulks or gallows--and they understand each other by instant sympathy. The eyes of Franzini, Count of Peschiera, and Randal Leslie no soonermet than a gleam of intelligence shot from both. They talked onindifferent subjects, --weather, gossip, politics, --what not. They bowedand they smiled; but all the while, each was watching, plumbing theother's heart, each measuring his strength with his companion; each inlysaying, "This is a very remarkable rascal; am I a match for him?" It wasat dinner they met; and following the English fashion, Madame di Negraleft them alone with their wine. 

Then, for the first time, Count di Peschiera cautiously and adroitlymade a covered push towards the object of the meeting. 

"You have never been abroad, my dear sir? You must contrive to visitme at Vienna. I grant the splendour of your London world; but, honestlyspeaking, it wants the freedom of ours, --a freedom which unites gayetywith polish. For as your society is mixed, there are pretensionand effort with those who have no right to be in it, and artificialcondescension and chilling arrogance with those who have to keep theirinferiors at a certain distance. With us, all being of fixed rank andacknowledged birth, familiarity is at once established. Hence, " addedthe count, with his French lively smile, --"hence there is no place likeVienna for a young man, no place like Vienna for bonnes fortunes. "

"Those make the paradise of the idle, " replied Randal, "but thepurgatory of the busy. I confess frankly to you, my dear count, thatI have as little of the leisure which becomes the aspirer to bonnesfortunes as I have the personal graces which obtain them without aneffort;" and he inclined his head as in compliment. 

"So, " thought the count, "woman is not his weak side. What is?"

"Morbleu! my dear Mr. Leslie, had I thought as you do some years since, I had saved myself from many a trouble. After all, Ambition is the bestmistress to woo; for with her there is always the hope, and never thepossession. "

"Ambition, Count, " replied Randal, still guarding himself in drysententiousness, "is the luxury of the rich, and the necessity of thepoor. "

"Aha, " thought the count, "it comes, as I anticipated from thefirst, --comes to the bribe. " He passed the wine to Randal, filling hisown glass, and draining it carelessly; "Sur mon ame, mon cher, " said thecount, "luxury is ever pleasanter than necessity; and I am resolvedat least to give Ambition a trial; je vais me refugier dans le sein dubonheur domestique, --a married life and a settled home. Peste! If itwere not for ambition, one would die of ennui. A propos, my dear sir, Ihave to thank you for promising my sister your aid in finding a near anddear kinsman of mine, who has taken refuge in your country, and hideshimself even from me. "

"I should be most happy to assist in your search. As yet, however, Ihave only to regret that all my good wishes are fruitless. I should havethought, however, that a man of such rank had been easily found, eventhrough the medium of your own ambassador. "

"Our own ambassador is no very warm friend of mine; and the rank wouldbe no clew, for it is clear that my kinsman has never assumed it sincehe quitted his country. "

"He quitted it, I understand, not exactly from choice, " said Randal, smiling. "Pardon my freedom and curiosity, but will you explain to mea little more than I learn from English rumour (which never accuratelyreports upon foreign matters still more notorious), how a person who hadso much to lose, and so little to win, by revolution, could put himselfinto the same crazy boat with a crew of hair-brained adventurers andvisionary professors. "

"Professors!" repeated the count; "I think you have hit on the veryanswer to your question; not but what men of high birth were as mad asthe canaille. I am the more willing to gratify your curiosity, sinceit will perhaps serve to guide your kind search in my favour. Youmust know, then, that my kinsman was not born the heir to the rank heobtained. He was but a distant relation to the head of the House whichhe afterwards represented. Brought up in an Italian university, he wasdistinguished for his learning and his eccentricities. There too, Isuppose, brooding over old wives' tales about freedom, and so forth, he contracted his carbonaro, chimerical notions for the independence ofItaly. Suddenly, by three deaths, he was elevated, while yet young, toa station and honours which might have satisfied any man in his senses. Que diable! what could the independence of Italy do for him? He and Iwere cousins; we had played together as boys; but our lives had beenseparated till his succession to rank brought us necessarily together. We became exceedingly intimate. And you may judge how I loved him, "said the count, averting his eyes slightly from Randal's quiet, watchfulgaze, "when I add, that I forgave him for enjoying a heritage that, butfor him, had been mine. "

"Ah, you were next heir?"

"And it is a hard trial to be very near a great fortune, and yet just tomiss it. "

"True, " cried Randal, almost impetuously. The count now raised his eyes, and again the two men looked into each other's souls. 

"Harder still, perhaps, " resumed the count, after a shortpause, --"harder still might it have been to some men to forgive therival as well as the heir. "

"Rival! how?"

"A lady, who had been destined by her parents to myself, though we hadnever, I own, been formally betrothed, became the wife of my kinsman. "

"Did he know of your pretensions?"

"I do him the justice to say he did not. He saw and fell in love withthe young lady I speak of. Her parents were dazzled. Her father sentfor me. He apologized, he explained; he set before me, mildly enough, certain youthful imprudences or errors of my own, as an excuse forhis change of mind; and he asked me not only to resign all hope of hisdaughter, but to conceal from her new suitor that I had ever ventured tohope. "

"And you consented?"

"I consented. "

"That was generous. You must indeed have been much attached to yourkinsman. As a lover, I cannot comprehend it; perhaps, my dear count, youmay enable me to understand it better--as a man of the world. "

"Well, " said the count, with his most roue air, "I suppose we are bothmen of the world?"

"Both! certainly, " replied Randal, just in the tone which Peachum mighthave used in courting the confidence of Lockit. 

"As a man of the world, then, I own, " said the count, playing with therings on his fingers, "that if I could not marry the lady myself (andthat seemed to me clear), it was very natural that I should wish to seeher married to my wealthy kinsman. "

"Very natural; it might bring your wealthy kinsman and yourself stillcloser together. "

"This is really a very clever fellow!" thought the count, but he made nodirect reply. 

"Enfin, to cut short a long story, my cousin afterwards got entangled inattempts, the failure of which is historically known. His projects weredetected, himself denounced. He fled, and the emperor, in sequestratinghis estates, was pleased, with rare and singular clemency, to permitme, as his nearest kinsman, to enjoy the revenues of half those estatesduring the royal pleasure; nor was the other half formally confiscated. It was no doubt his Majesty's desire not to extinguish a great Italianname; and if my cousin and his child died in exile, why, of that name, I, a loyal subject of Austria, --I, Franzini, Count di Peschiera, wouldbecome the representative. Such, in a similar case, has been sometimesthe Russian policy towards Polish insurgents. "

"I comprehend perfectly; and I can also conceive that you, in profitingso largely, though so justly, by the fall of your kinsman, may have beenexposed to much unpopularity, even to painful suspicion. "

"Entre nous, mon cher, I care not a stiver for popularity; and as tosuspicion, who is he that can escape from the calumny of the envious?But, unquestionably, it would be most desirable to unite the dividedmembers of our house; and this union I can now effect by the consentof the emperor to my marriage with my kinsman's daughter. You see, therefore, why I have so great an interest in this research?"

"By the marriage articles you could no doubt secure the retention ofthe half you hold; and if you survive your kinsman, you would enjoy thewhole. A most desirable marriage; and, if made, I suppose that wouldsuffice to obtain your cousin's amnesty and grace?"

"You say it. "

"But even without such marriage, since the emperor's clemency has beenextended to so many of the proscribed, it is perhaps probable that yourcousin might be restored?"

"It once seemed to me possible, " said the count, reluctantly; "but sinceI have been in England, I think not. The recent revolution in France, the democratic spirit rising in Europe, tend to throw back the causeof a proscribed rebel. England swarms with revolutionists; my cousin'sresidence in this country is in itself suspicious. The suspicion isincreased by his strange seclusion. There are many Italians here whowould aver that they had met with him, and that he was still engaged inrevolutionary projects. "

"Aver--untruly?"

"Ma foi, it comes to the same thing; 'les absents ont toujours tort. 'I speak to a man of the world. No; without some such guarantee for hisfaith as his daughter's marriage with myself would give, his recall isimprobable. By the heaven above us, it shall be impossible!" The countrose as he said this, --rose as if the mask of simulation had fairlyfallen from the visage of crime; rose tall and towering, a very image ofmasculine power and strength, beside the slight, bended form and sicklyface of the intellectual schemer. And had you seen them thus confrontedand contrasted, you would have felt that if ever the time should comewhen the interest of the one would compel him openly to denounceor boldly to expose the other, the odds were that the brilliant andaudacious reprobate would master the weaker nerve but superior witof the furtive traitor. Randal was startled; but rising also, he saidcarelessly, "What if this guarantee can no longer be given; what if, in despairof return, and in resignation to his altered fortunes, your cousin hasalready married his daughter to some English suitor?"

"Ah, that would indeed be, next to my own marriage with her, the mostfortunate thing that could happen to myself. "

"How? I don't understand!"

"Why, if my cousin has so abjured his birthright, and forsworn his rank;if this heritage, which is so dangerous from its grandeur, pass, in caseof his pardon, to some obscure Englishman, --a foreigner, a native of acountry that has no ties with ours, a country that is the very refugeof levellers and Carbonari--mort de ma vie! do you think that such wouldnot annihilate all chance of my cousin's restoration, and be an excuseeven in the eyes of Italy for formally conferring the sequestratedestates on an Italian? No; unless, indeed, the girl were to marry anEnglishman of such name and birth and connection as would in themselvesbe a guarantee (and how in poverty is this likely?) I should go backto Vienna with a light heart, if I could say, 'My kinswoman is anEnglishman's wife; shall her children be the heirs to a house sorenowned for its lineage, and so formidable for its wealth?' Parbleu!if my cousin were but an adventurer, or merely a professor, he hadbeen pardoned long ago. The great enjoy the honour not to be pardonedeasily. "

Randal fell into deep but brief thought. The count observed him, notface to face, but by the reflection of an opposite mirror. "This manknows something; this man is deliberating; this man can help me, "thought the count. 

But Randal said nothing to confirm these hypotheses. Recovering from hisabstraction, he expressed courteously his satisfaction at the count'sprospects, either way. "And since, after all, " he added, "you mean sowell to your cousin, it occurs to me that you might discover him by avery simple English process. "

"How?"

"Advertise that, if he will come to some place appointed, he will hearof something to his advantage. "

The count shook his head. "He would suspect me, and not come. "

"But he was intimate with you. He joined an insurrection; you were moreprudent. You did not injure him, though you may have benefited yourself. Why should he shun you?"

"The conspirators forgive none who do not conspire; besides, to speakfrankly, he thought I injured him. "

"Could you not conciliate him through his wife--whom you resigned tohim?"

"She is dead, --died before he left the country. "

"Oh, that is unlucky! Still I think an advertisement might do good. Allow me to reflect on that subject. Shall we now join Madame laMarquise?"

On re-entering the drawing-room, the gentlemen found Beatrice in fulldress, seated by the fire, and reading so intently that she did notremark them enter. 

"What so interests you, ma seuur?--the last novel by Balzac, no doubt?"

Beatrice started, and, looking up, showed eyes that were full of tears. "Oh, no! no picture of miserable, vicious, Parisian life. This isbeautiful; there is soul here. "

Randal took up the book which the marchesa laid down; it was the samewhich had charmed the circle at Hazeldean, charmed the innocent andfresh-hearted, charmed now the wearied and tempted votaress of theworld. 

"Hum, " murmured Randal; "the parson was right. This is power, --a sort ofa power. "

"How I should like to know the author! Who can he be? Can you guess?"

"Not I. Some old pedant in spectacles. "

"I think not, I am sure not. Here beats a heart I have ever sighed tofind, and never found. "

"Oh, la naive enfant!" cried the count; "comme son imagination s'egareen reves enchantes. And to think that while you talk like an Arcadian, you are dressed like a princess. "

"Ah, I forgot--the Austrian ambassador's. I shall not go to-night. Thisbook unfits me for the artificial world. "

"Just as you will, my sister. I shall go. I dislike the man, and he me;but ceremonies before men!"

"You are going to the Austrian Embassy?" said Randal. "I, too, shall bethere. We shall meet. " And he took his leave. 

"I like your young friend prodigiously, " said the count, yawning. "Iam sure that he knows of the lost birds, and will stand to them like apointer, if I can but make it his interest to do so. We shall see. "

CHAPTER IV. 

Randal arrived at the ambassador's before the count, and contrived tomix with the young noblemen attached to the embassy, and to whom he wasknown. Standing among these was a young Austrian, on his travels, ofvery high birth, and with an air of noble grace that suited the idealof the old German chivalry. Randal was presented to him, and, after sometalk on general topics, observed, "By the way, Prince, there is now inLondon a countryman of yours, with whom you are, doubtless, familiarlyacquainted, --the Count di Peschiera. "

"He is no countryman of mine. He is an Italian. I know him but by sightand by name, " said the prince, stiffly. 

"He is of very ancient birth, I believe. "

"Unquestionably. His ancestors were gentlemen. "

"And very rich. "

"Indeed! I have understood the contrary. He enjoys, it is true, a largerevenue. "

A young attache, less discreet than the prince; here observed, "Oh, Peschiera! poor fellow, he is too fond of play to be rich. "

"And there is some chance that the kinsman whose revenue he holds mayobtain his pardon, and re-enter into possession of his fortunes--so Ihear, at least, " said Randal, artfully. 

"I shall be glad if it be true, " said the prince, with decision; "and Ispeak the common sentiment at Vienna. That kinsman had a noble spirit, and was, I believe, equally duped and betrayed. Pardon me, sir; but weAustrians are not so bad as we are painted. Have you ever met in Englandthe kinsman you speak of?"

"Never, though he is supposed to reside here; and the count tells methat he has a daughter. "

"The count--ha! I heard something of a scheme, --a wager of that--thatcount's. A daughter! Poor girl! I hope she will escape his pursuit; for, no doubt, he pursues her. "

"Possibly she may already have married an Englishman. "

"I trust not, " said the prince, seriously; "that might at present be aserious obstacle to her father's return. "

"You think so?"

"There can be no doubt of it, " interposed the attache, with a grand andpositive air; "unless, indeed, the Englishman were of a rank equal toher own. "

Here there was a slight, well-bred murmur and buzz at the door, forthe Count di Peschiera himself was announced; and as he entered, hispresence was so striking, and his beauty so dazzling, that whateverthere might be to the prejudice of his character, it seemed instantlyeffaced or forgotten in that irresistible admiration which it is theprerogative of personal attributes alone to create. 

The prince, with a slight curve of his lip at the groups that collectedround the count, turned to Randal, and said, "Can you tell me if adistinguished countryman of yours is in England, Lord L'Estrange?"

"No, Prince, he is not. You know him?"

"Well. "

"He is acquainted with the count's kinsman; and perhaps from him youhave learned to think so highly of that kinsman?"

The prince bowed, and answered as he moved away, "When one man of highhonour vouches for another, he commands the belief of all. "

"Certainly, " soliloquized Randal, "I must not be precipitate. I wasvery near falling into a terrible trap. If I were to marry the girl, andonly, by so doing, settle away her inheritance on Peschiera!--how hardit is to be sufficiently cautious in this world!"

While thus meditating, a member of parliament tapped him on theshoulder. 

"Melancholy, Leslie! I lay a wager I guess your thoughts. "

"Guess, " answered Randal. 

"You were thinking of the place you are so soon to lose. "

"Soon to lose!"

"Why, if ministers go out, you could hardly keep it, I suppose. "

This ominous and horrid member of parliament, Squire Hazeldean'sfavourite county member, Sir John, was one of those legislatorsespecially odious to officials, --an independent "large-acred" member, who would no more take office himself than he would cut down the oaksin his park, and who had no bowels of human feeling for those who hadopposite tastes and less magnificent means. 

"Hem!" said Randal, rather surlily. "In the first place, Sir John, ministers are not going out. "

"Oh, yes, they will go. You know I vote with them generally, and wouldwillingly keep them in; but they are men of honour and spirit; and ifthey can't carry their measures, they must resign; otherwise, by Jove, Iwould turn round and vote them out myself!"

"I have no doubt you would, Sir John; you are quite capable of it; thatrests with you and your constituents. But even if ministers did go out, I am but a poor subaltern in a public office, --I am no minister. Whyshould I go out too?

"Why? Hang it, Leslie, you are laughing at me. A young fellow like youcould never be mean enough to stay in, under the very men who drove outyour friend Egerton?"

"It is not usual for those in the public offices to retire with everychange of government. "

"Certainly not; but always those who are the relations of a retiringminister; always those who have been regarded as politicians, and whomean to enter parliament, as of course you will do at the next election. But you know that as well as I do, --you who are so decided a politician, the writer of that admirable pamphlet! I should not like to tell myfriend Hazeldean, who has a sincere interest in you, that you everdoubted on a question of honour as plain as your A, B, C. "

"Indeed, Sir John, " said Randal, recovering his suavity, while he inlybreathed a dire anathema on his county member, "I am so new to thesethings that what you say never struck me before. No doubt you must beright; at all events I cannot have a better guide and adviser than Mr. Egerton himself. "

SIR JOHN. --"No, certainly; perfect gentleman, Egerton! I wish we couldmake it up with him and Hazeldean. "

RANDAL (sighing). --"Ah, I wish we could!"

SIR JOHN. --"And some chance of it now; for the time is coming when alltrue men of the old school must stick together. "

RANDAL. --"Wisely, admirably said, my dear Sir John. But, pardon me, Imust pay my respects to the ambassador. " Randal escaped, and passing on, saw the ambassador himself in the next room, conferring in a cornerwith Audley Egerton. The ambassador seemed very grave, Egerton calmand impenetrable, as usual. Presently the count passed by, and theambassador bowed to him very stiffly. 

As Randal, some time later, was searching for his cloak below, AudleyEgerton unexpectedly joined him. 

"Ah, Leslie, " said the minister, with more kindness than usual, "if youdon't think the night air too cold for you, let us walk home together. Ihave sent away the carriage. "

This condescension in his patron was so singular, that it quite startledRandal, and gave him a presentiment of some evil. When they were in thestreet, Egerton, after a pause, began, "My dear Mr. Leslie, it was my hope and belief that I had provided foryou at least a competence; and that I might open to you, later, a careeryet more brilliant. Hush! I don't doubt your gratitude; let me proceed. There is a possible chance, after certain decisions that the Governmenthave come to, that we may be beaten in the House of Commons, and ofcourse resign. I tell you this beforehand, for I wish you to have timeto consider what, in that case, would be your best course. My power ofserving you may then probably be over. It would, no doubt (seeing ourclose connection, and my views with regard to your future being so wellknown), --no doubt, he expected that you should give up the place youhold, and follow my fortunes for good or ill. But as I have no personalenemies with the opposite party, and as I have sufficient position inthe world to uphold and sanction your choice, whatever it may be, ifyou think it more prudent to retain your place, tell me so openly, andI think I can contrive that you may do it without loss of character andcredit. In that case, confine your ambition merely to rising graduallyin your office, without mixing in politics. If, on the other hand, youshould prefer to take your chance of my return to office, and so resignyour present place; and, furthermore, should commit yourself to a policythat may then be not only in opposition but unpopular, I will do my bestto introduce you into parliamentary life. I cannot say that I advise thelatter. "

Randal felt as a man feels after a severe fall, --he was literallystunned. At length he faltered out, --

"Can you think, sir, that I should ever desert your fortunes, yourparty, your cause?"

"My dear Leslie, " replied the minister, "you are too young to havecommitted yourself to any men or to any party, except, indeed, in thatunlucky pamphlet. This must not be an affair of sentiment, but of senseand reflection. Let us say no more on the point now; but by consideringthe pros and the cons, you can better judge what to do, should the timefor option suddenly arrive. "

"But I hope that time may not come. "

"I hope so too, and most sincerely, " said the minister, with deliberateand genuine emphasis. 

"What could be so bad for the country?" ejaculated Pandal. "It does notseem to me possible, in the nature of things, that you and your partyshould ever go out!"

"And when we are once out, there will be plenty of wiseacres to say itis out of the nature of things that we should ever come in again. Herewe are at the door. "

CHAPTER V. 

Randal passed a sleepless night; but, indeed, he was one of thosepersons who neither need, nor are accustomed to, much sleep. However, towards morning, when dreams are said to be prophetic, he fell into amost delightful slumber, a slumber peopled by visions fitted to lure on, through labyrinths of law, predestined chancellors, or wreck upon therocks of glory the inebriate souls of youthful ensigns; dreams fromwhich Rood Hall emerged crowned with the towers of Belvoir or Raby, and looking over subject lands and manors wrested from the nefarioususurpation of Thornhills and Hazeldeans; dreams in which AudleyEgerton's gold and power, rooms in Downing Street, and saloons inGrosvenor Square, had passed away to the smiling dreamer, as the empireof Chaldaea passed to Darius the Median. Why visions so belying thegloomy and anxious thoughts that preceded them should visit the pillowof Randal Leslie, surpasses my philosophy to conjecture. He yielded, however, passively to their spell, and was startled to hear the clockstrike eleven as he descended the stairs to breakfast. He was vexed atthe lateness of the hour, for he had meant to have taken advantage ofthe unwonted softness of Egerton, and drawn therefrom some promises orproffers to cheer the prospects which the minister had so chillinglyexpanded before him the preceding night; and it was only at breakfastthat he usually found the opportunity of private conference with hisbusy patron. But Audley Egerton would be sure to have sallied forth; andso he had, only Randal was surprised to hear that he had gone out in hiscarriage, instead of on foot, as was his habit. Randal soon despatchedhis solitary meal, and with a new and sudden affection for his office, thitherwards bent his way. As he passed through Piccadilly, he heardbehind a voice that had lately become familiar to him, and turninground, saw Baron Levy walking side by side, though not arm-in-arm, witha gentleman almost as smart as himself, but with a jauntier step and abrisker air, --a step that, like Diomed's, as described by Shakspeare, --

 "Rises on the toe; that spirit of his In aspiration lifts him from the earth. "

Indeed, one may judge of the spirits and disposition of a man by hisordinary gait and mien in walking. He who habitually pursues abstractthought looks down on the ground. He who is accustomed to suddenimpulses, or is trying to seize upon some necessary recollection, looksup with a kind of jerk. He who is a steady, cautious, merely practicalman, walks on deliberately, his eyes straight before him; and, even inhis most musing moods, observes things around sufficiently to avoid aporter's knot or a butcher's tray. But the man with strong ganglions--ofpushing, lively temperament, who, though practical, is yet speculative;the man who is emulous and active, and ever trying to rise in life;sanguine, alert, bold--walks with a spring, looks rather above the headsof his fellow-passengers, but with a quick, easy turn of his own, whichis lightly set on his shoulders; his mouth is a little open, his eyeis bright, rather restless, but penetrative, his port has somethingof defiance, his form is erect, but without stiffness. Such was theappearance of the baron's companion. And as Randal turned round atLevy's voice, the baron said to his companion, "A young man in the firstcircles--you should book him for your fair lady's parties. How d' yedo, Mr. Leslie? Let me introduce you to Mr. Richard Avenel. " Then, as hehooked his arm into Randal's, he whispered, "Man of first-rate talent, monstrous rich, has two or three parliamentary seats in his pocket, wifegives parties, --her foible. "

"Proud to make your acquaintance, sir, " said Mr. Avenel, lifting hishat. "Fine day. "

"Rather cold too, " said Leslie, who, like all thin persons with weakdigestions, was chilly by temperament; besides, he had enough on hismind to chill his body. 

"So much the healthier, --braces the nerves, " said Mr. Avenel; "but youyoung fellows relax the system by hot rooms and late hours. Fond ofdancing, of course, sir?" Then, without waiting for Randal's negative, Mr. Richard continued rapidly, "Mrs. Avenel has a soiree dansante onThursday, --shall be very happy to see you in Eaton Square. Stop, I havea card;" and he drew out a dozen large invitation-cards, from which heselected one, and presented it to Randal. The baron pressed that younggentleman's arm, and Randal replied courteously that it would give himgreat pleasure to be introduced to Mrs. Avenel. Then, as he was notdesirous to be seen under the wing of Baron Levy, like a pigeon underthat of a hawk, he gently extricated himself, and pleading great haste, walked quickly on towards his office. 

"That young man will make a figure some day, " said the baron. "I don'tknow any one of his age with so few prejudices. He is a connection bymarriage to Audley Egerton, who--"

"Audley Egerton!" exclaimed Mr. Avenel; "a d---d haughty, aristocratic, disagreeable, ungrateful fellow!"

"Why, what do you know of him?"

"He owed his first seat in parliament to the votes of two near relationsof mine, and when I called upon him some time ago, in his office, heabsolutely ordered me out of the room. Hang his impertinence; if ever Ican pay him off, I guess I sha'n't fail for want of good will!"

"Ordered you out of the room? That's not like Egerton, who is civil, ifformal, --at least to most men. You must have offended him in his weakpoint. "

"A man whom the public pays so handsomely should have no weak point. What is Egerton's?"

"Oh, he values himself on being a thorough gentleman, --a man of thenicest honour, " said Levy, with a sneer. "You must have ruffled hisplumes there. How was it?"

"I forget, " answered Mr. Avenel, who was far too well versed in theLondon scale of human dignities since his marriage, not to look backwith a blush at his desire of knighthood. "No use bothering our headsnow about the plumes of an arrogant popinjay. To return to the subjectwe were discussing: you must be sure to let me have this money nextweek. "

"Rely on it. "

"And you'll not let my bills get into the market; keep them under lockand key. "

"So we agreed. "

"It is but a temporary difficulty, --royal mourning, such nonsense; panicin trade, lest these precious ministers go out. I shall soon float overthe troubled waters. "

"By the help of a paper boat, " said the baron, laughing; and the twogentlemen shook hands and parted. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Meanwhile Audley Egerton's carriage had deposited him at the door ofLord Lansmere's house, at Knightsbridge. He asked for the countess, andwas shown into the drawing-room, which was deserted. Egerton was palerthan usual; and as the door opened, he wiped the unwonted moisture fromhis forehead, and there was a quiver on his firm lip. The countesstoo, on entering, showed an emotion almost equally unusual to herself-control. She pressed Audley's hand in silence, and seating herselfby his side, seemed to collect her thoughts. At length she said, "It is rarely indeed that we meet, Mr. Egerton, in spite of yourintimacy with Lansmere and Harley. I go so little into your world, andyou will not voluntarily come to me. "

"Madam, " replied Egerton, "I might evade your kind reproach by statingthat my hours are not at my disposal; but I answer you with plaintruth, --it must be painful to both of us to meet. "

The countess coloured and sighed, but did not dispute the assertion. 

Audley resumed: "And therefore, I presume that, in sending for me, youhave something of moment to communicate?"

"It relates to Harley, " said the countess, as if in apology; "and Iwould take your advice. "

"To Harley! Speak on, I beseech you. "

"My son has probably told you that he has educated and reared a younggirl, with the intention to make her Lady L'Estrange, and hereafterCountess of Lansmere. "

"Harley has no secrets from me, " said Egerton, mournfully. "This younglady has arrived in England, is here, in this house. "

"And Harley too?"

"No, she came over with Lady N------and her daughters. Harley was tofollow shortly, and I expect him daily. Here is his letter. Observe, he has never yet communicated his intentions to this young person, nowentrusted to my care, never spoken to her as the lover. "

Egerton took the letter and read it rapidly, though with attention. 

"True, " said he, as he returned the letter: "and before he does so hewishes you to see Miss Digby and to judge of her yourself, --wishes toknow if you will approve and sanction his choice. "

"It is on this that I would consult you: a girl without rank; thefather, it is true, a gentleman, though almost equivocally one, but themother, I know not what. And Harley, for whom I hoped an alliancewith the first houses in England!" The countess pressed her handsconvulsively together. 

EGERTON. --"He is no more a boy. His talents have been wasted, his lifea wanderer's. He presents to you a chance of resettling his mind, of re-arousing his native powers, of a home besides your own. LadyLansmere, you cannot hesitate!"

LADY LANSMERE. --"I do, I do? After all that I have hoped after all thatI did to prevent--"

EGERTON (interrupting her). --"You owe him now an atonement; that is inyour power, --it is not in mine. " The countess again pressed Audley'shand, and the tears gushed from her eyes. 

"It shall be so. I consent, I consent. I will silence, I will crush backthis proud heart. Alas! it well-nigh broke his own! I am glad youspeak thus. I like to think he owes my consent to you. In that there isatonement for both. "

"You are too generous, madam, " said Egerton, evidently moved, thoughstill, as ever, striving to repress emotion. "And now may I see theyoung lady? This conference pains me; you see even my strong nervesquiver; and at this time I have much to go through, --need of all mystrength and firmness. "

"I hear, indeed, that the Government will probably retire. But it iswith honour: it will be soon called back by the voice of the nation. "

"Let me see the future wife of Harley L'Estrange, " said Egerton, withoutheed of this consolatory exclamation. 

The countess rose and left the room. In a few minutes she returned withHelen Digby. 

Helen was wondrously improved from the pale, delicate child, with thesoft smile and intelligent eyes, who had sat by the side of Leonardin his garret. She was about the middle height, still slight, butbeautifully formed; that exquisite roundness of proportion which conveysso well the idea of woman, in its undulating, pliant grace, --formed toembellish life, and soften away its rude angles; formed to embellish, not to protect. Her face might not have satisfied the critical eye ofan artist, --it was not without defects in regularity; but its expressionwas eminently gentle and prepossessing; and there were few who would nothave exclaimed, "What a lovely countenance!" The mildness of her browwas touched with melancholy--her childhood had left its traces on heryouth. Her step was slow, and her manner shy, subdued, and timid. 

Audley gazed on her with earnestness as she approached him; and thencoming forward, took her hand and kissed it. "I am your guardian'sconstant friend, " said he, and he drew her gently to a seat beside him, in the recess of a window. With a quick glance of his eye towards thecountess, he seemed to imply the wish to converse with Helen somewhatapart. So the countess interpreted the glance; and though she remainedin the room, she seated herself at a distance, and bent over a book. 

It was touching to see how the austere man of business lent himselfto draw forth the mind of this quiet, shrinking girl; and if you hadlistened, you would have comprehended how he came to possess such socialinfluence, and how well, some time or other in the course of his life, he had learned to adapt himself to women. 

He spoke first of Harley L'Estrange, --spoke with tact and delicacy. Helen at first answered by monosyllables, and then, by degrees, withgrateful and open affection. Audley's brow grew shaded. He then spokeof Italy; and though no man had less of the poet in his nature, yetwith the dexterity of one long versed in the world, and who had beenaccustomed to extract evidences from characters most opposed to hisown, he suggested such topics as might serve to arouse poetry in others. Helen's replies betrayed a cultivated taste, and a charming womanlymind; but they betrayed, also, one accustomed to take its colouringsfrom another's, --to appreciate, admire, revere the Lofty and theBeautiful, but humbly and meekly. There was no vivid enthusiasm, noremark of striking originality, no flash of the self-kindling, creativefaculty. Lastly, Egerton turned to England, --to the critical nature ofthe times, to the claims which the country possessed upon all who hadthe ability to serve and guide its troubled destinies. He enlargedwarmly on Harley's natural talents, and rejoiced that he had returned toEngland, perhaps to commence some great career. Helen looked surprised, but her face caught no correspondent glow from Audley's eloquence. He rose, and an expression of disappointment passed over his grave, handsome features, and as quickly vanished. 

"Adieu, my dear Miss Digby; I fear I have wearied you, especially withmy politics. Adieu, Lady Lansmere; no doubt I shall see Harley as soonas he returns. "

Then he hastened from the room, gained his carriage, and ordered thecoachman to drive to Downing Street. He drew down the blinds, and leanedback. A certain languor became visible in his face, and once or twice, he mechanically put his hand to his heart. 

"She is good, amiable, docile, --will make an excellent wife, no doubt, "said he, murmuringly. "But does she love Harley as he has dreamed oflove? No! Has she the power and energy to arouse his faculties, andrestore to the world the Harley of old? No! Meant by Heaven to be theshadow of another's sun--not herself the sun, --this child is not the onewho can atone for the Past and illume the Future. "

CHAPTER VII. 

That evening Harley L'Estrange arrived at his father's house. The fewyears that had passed since we saw him last had made no perceptiblechange in his appearance. He still preserved his elastic youthfulnessof form, and singular variety and play of countenance. He seemedunaffectedly rejoiced to greet his parents, and had something of thegayety and tenderness of a boy returned from school. His manner to Helenbespoke the chivalry that pervaded all the complexities and curvesof his character. It was affectionate, but respectful, --hers to him, subdued, but innocently sweet and gently cordial. Harley was the chieftalker. The aspect of the times was so critical that he could not avoidquestions on politics; and, indeed, he showed an interest in them whichhe had never evinced before. Lord Lansmere was delighted. 

"Why, Harley, you love your country after all?"

"The moment she seems in danger, yes!" replied the Patrician; and theSybarite seemed to rise into the Athenian. Then he asked with eagernessabout his old friend Audley; and, his curiosity satisfied there, heinquired the last literary news. He had heard much of a book latelypublished. He named the one ascribed by Parson Dale to Professor Moss;none of his listeners had read it. 

Harley pished at this, and accused them all of indolence and stupidity, in his own quaint, metaphorical style. Then he said, "And town gossip?"

"We never hear it, " said Lady Lansmere. 

"There is a new plough much talked of at Boodle's, " said Lord Lansmere. 

"God speed it. But is not there a new man much talked of at White's?"

"I don't belong to White's. "

"Nevertheless, you may have heard of him, --a foreigner, a Count diPeschiera. "

"Yes, " said Lord Lansmere; "he was pointed out to me in the Park, --ahandsome man for a foreigner; wears his hair properly cut; looksgentlemanlike and English. "

"Ah, ah! He is here then!" and Harley rubbed his hands. 

"Which road did you take? Did you pass the Simplon?"

"No; I came straight from Vienna. "

Then, relating with lively vein his adventures by the way, he continuedto delight Lord Lansmere by his gayety till the time came to retire torest. As soon as Harley was in his own room his mother joined him. 

"Well, " said he, "I need not ask if you like Miss Digby? Who would not?"

"Harley, my own son, " said the mother, bursting into tears, "be happyyour own way; only be happy, that is all I ask. "

Harley, much affected, replied gratefully and soothingly to this fondinjunction. And then gradually leading his mother on to converseof Helen, asked abruptly, "And of the chance of our happiness, --herhappiness as well as mine, --what is your opinion? Speak frankly. "

"Of her happiness there can be no doubt, " replied the mother, proudly. "Of yours, how can you ask me? Have you not decided on that yourself?"

"But still it cheers and encourages one in any experiment, however wellconsidered, to hear the approval of another. Helen has certainly a mostgentle temper. "

"I should conjecture so. But her mind--"

"Is very well stored. "

"She speaks so little--"

"Yes. I wonder why? She's surely a woman!"

"Pshaw, " said the countess, smiling in spite of herself. 

"But tell me more of the process of your experiment. You took her as achild, and resolved to train her according to your own ideal. Was thateasy?"

"It seemed so. I desired to instil habits of truth: she was already bynature truthful as the day; a taste for Nature and all things natural:that seemed inborn; perceptions of Art as the interpreter of Nature:those were more difficult to teach. I think they may come. You haveheard her play and sing?"

"NO. "

"She will surprise you. She has less talent for drawing; still, allthat teaching could do has been done, --in a word, she is accomplished. Temper, heart, mind, --these all are excellent. " Harley stopped, andsuppressed a sigh. "Certainly I ought to be very happy, " said he; and hebegan to wind up his watch. 

"Of course she must love you, " said the countess, after a pause. "Howcould she fail?"

"Love me! My dear mother, that is the very question I shall have toask. "

"Ask! Love is discovered by a glance; it has no need of asking. "

"I have never discovered it, then, I assure you. The fact is, thatbefore her childhood was passed, I removed her, as you may suppose, from my roof. She resided with an Italian family near my usual abode. Ivisited her often, directed her studies, watched her improvement--"

"And fell in love with her?"

"Fall is such a very violent word. No; I don't remember to have had afall. It was all a smooth inclined plane from the first step, until atlast I said to myself, 'Harley L'Estrange, thy time has come. The budhas blossomed into flower. Take it to thy breast. ' And myself repliedto myself, meekly, 'So be it. ' Then I found that Lady N-----, with herdaughters, was coming to England. I asked her Ladyship to take myward to your house. I wrote to you, and prayed your assent; and, thatgranted, I knew you would obtain my father's. Iam here, --you give me theapproval I sought for. I will speak to Helen to-morrow. Perhaps, afterall, she may reject me. "

"Strange, strange! you speak thus coldly, thus lightly, you, so capableof ardent love!"

"Mother, " said Harley, earnestly, "be satisfied! I am! Love as of old, Ifeel, alas! too well, can visit me never more. But gentle companionship, tender friendship, the relief and the sunlight of woman's smile, hereafter the voices of children, --music that, striking on the heartsof both parents, wakens the most lasting and the purest of allsympathies, --these are my hope. Is the hope so mean, my fond mother?"

Again the countess wept, and her tears were not dried when she left theroom. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Oh, Helen, fair Helen, --type of the quiet, serene, unnoticed, deep-feltexcellence of woman! Woman, less as the ideal that a poet conjures fromthe air, than as the companion of a poet on the earth! Woman, who, withher clear sunny vision of things actual, and the exquisite fibre of herdelicate sense, supplies the deficiencies of him whose foot stumbleson the soil, because his eye is too intent upon the stars! Woman, theprovident, the comforting, angel whose pinions are folded round theheart, guarding there a divine spring unmarred by the winter of theworld! Helen, soft Helen, is it indeed in thee that the wild andbrilliant "lord of wantonness and ease" is to find the regenerationof his life, the rebaptism of his soul? Of what avail thy meek prudenthousehold virtues to one whom Fortune screens from rough trial; whosesorrows lie remote from thy ken; whose spirit, erratic and perturbed, now rising, now falling, needs a vision more subtle than thine topursue, and a strength that can sustain the reason, when it droops, onthe wings of enthusiasm and passion?

And thou, thyself, O nature, shrinking and humble, that needest to becourted forth from the shelter, and developed under the calm and genialatmosphere of holy, happy love--can such affection as Harley L'Estrangemay proffer suffice to thee? Will not the blossoms, yet folded in thepetal, wither away beneath the shade that may protect them from thestorm, and yet shut them from the sun? Thou who, where thou givestlove, seekest, though meekly, for love in return; to be the soul's sweetnecessity, the life's household partner to him who receives all thyfaith and devotion, --canst thou influence the sources of joy and ofsorrow in the heart that does not heave at thy name? Hast thou the charmand the force of the moon, that the tides of that wayward sea shall ebband flow at thy will? Yet who shall say, who conjecture how near twohearts can become, when no guilt lies between them, and time brings theties all its own? Rarest of all things on earth is the union in whichboth, by their contrasts, make harmonious their blending; each supplyingthe defects of the helpmate, and completing, by fusion, one strong humansoul! Happiness enough, where even Peace does but seldom preside, wheneach can bring to the altar, if not the flame, still the incense. Whereman's thoughts are all noble and generous, woman's feelings all gentleand pure, love may follow if it does not precede; and if not, if theroses be missed from the garland, one may sigh for the rose, but one issafe from the thorn. 

The morning was mild, yet somewhat overcast by the mist which announcescoming winter in London, and Helen walked musingly beneath the treesthat surrounded the garden of Lord Lansmere's house. Many leaves wereyet left on the boughs; but they were sere and withered. And the birdschirped at times; but their note was mournful and complaining. Allwithin this house, until Harley's arrival, had been strange andsaddening to Helen's timid and subdued spirits. Lady Lansmere hadreceived her kindly, but with a certain restraint; and the loftiness ofmanner, common to the countess with all but Harley, had awed and chilledthe diffident orphan. Lady Lansmere's very interest in Harley's choice, her attempts to draw Helen out of her reserve, her watchful eyeswhenever Helen shyly spoke or shyly moved, frightened the poor child, and made her unjust to herself. 

The very servants, though staid, grave, and respectful, as suited adignified, old-fashioned household, painfully contrasted the brightwelcoming smiles and free talk of Italian domestics. Her recollectionsof the happy, warm Continental manner, which so sets the bashful attheir ease, made the stately and cold precision of all around her doublyawful and dispiriting. Lord Lansmere himself, who did not as yet knowthe views of Harley, and little dreamed that he was to anticipate adaughter-in-law in the ward, whom he understood Harley, in a freak ofgenerous romance, had adopted, was familiar and courteous, as became ahost; but he looked upon Helen as a mere child, and naturally lefther to the countess. The dim sense of her equivocal position, of hercomparative humbleness of birth and fortunes, oppressed and pained her;and even her gratitude to Harley was made burdensome by a sentiment ofhelplessness. The grateful long to requite. And what could she ever dofor him?

Thus musing, she wandered alone through the curving walks; and this sortof mock-country landscape--London loud, and even visible, beyond thehigh gloomy walls, and no escape from the windows of the square formalhouse--seemed a type of the prison bounds of Rank to one whose soulyearns for simple loving Nature. 

Helen's revery was interrupted by Nero's joyous bark. He had caughtsight of her, and came bounding up, and thrust his large head into herhand. As she stooped to caress the dog, happy at his honest greeting, and tears that had been long gathering at the lids fell silently on hisface (for I know nothing that more moves us to tears than the heartykindness of a dog, when something in human beings has pained or chilledus), she heard behind the musical voice of Harley. Hastily she dried orrepressed her tears, as her guardian came up, and drew her arm withinhis own. 

"I had so little of your conversation last evening, my dear ward, thatI may well monopolize you now, even to the privation of Nero. And so youare once more in your native land?"

Helen sighed softly. 

"May I not hope that you return under fairer auspices than those whichyour childhood knew?"

Helen turned her eyes with ingenuous thankfulness to her guardian, andthe memory of all she owed to him rushed upon her heart. 

Harley renewed, and with earnest, though melancholy sweetness, "Helen, your eyes thank me; but hear me before your words do. I deserve nothanks. I am about to make to you a strange confession of egotism andselfishness. "

"You!--oh, impossible!"

"Judge yourself, and then decide which of us shall have cause to begrateful. Helen, when I was scarcely your age--a boy in years, butmore, methinks, a man at heart, with man's strong energies and sublimeaspirings, than I have ever since been--I loved, and deeply--"

He paused a moment, in evident struggle. Helen listened in mutesurprise, but his emotion awakened her own; her tender woman's heartyearned to console. Unconsciously her arm rested on his less lightly. 

"Deeply, and for sorrow. It is a long tale, that may be told hereafter. The worldly would call my love a madness. I did not reason on it then, Icannot reason on it now. Enough: death smote suddenly, terribly, andto me, mysteriously, her whom I loved. The love lived on. Fortunately, perhaps, for me, I had quick distraction, not to grief, but to its inertindulgence. I was a soldier; I joined our armies. Men called me brave. Flattery! I was a coward before the thought of life. I sought death:like sleep, it does not come at our call. Peace ensued. As when thewinds fall the sails droop, so when excitement ceased, all seemed to meflat and objectless. Heavy, heavy was my heart. Perhaps grief had beenless obstinate, but that I feared I had causes for self-reproach. Sincethen I have been a wanderer, a self-made exile. My boyhood had beenambitious, --all ambition ceased. Flames, when they reach the core of theheart, spread, and leave all in ashes. Let me be brief: I did not meanthus weakly to complain, --I to whom Heaven has given so many blessings!I felt, as it were, separated from the common objects and joys of men. Igrew startled to see how, year by year, wayward humours possessed me. I resolved again to attach myself to some living heart--it was my solechance to rekindle my own. But the one I had loved remained as my typeof woman, and she was different from all I saw. Therefore I said tomyself, 'I will rear from childhood some young fresh life, to grow upinto my ideal. ' As this thought began to haunt me, I chanced to discoveryou. Struck with the romance of your early life, touched by yourcourage, charmed by your affectionate nature, I said to myself, 'Here iswhat I seek. ' Helen, in assuming the guardianship of your 'Life, in allthe culture which I have sought to bestow on your docile childhood, Irepeat, that I have been but the egotist. And now, when you have reachedthat age when it becomes me to speak, and you to listen; now, whenyou are under the sacred roof of my own mother; now I ask you, can youaccept this heart, such as wasted years, and griefs too fondly nursed, have left it? Can you be, at least, my comforter? Can you aid me toregard life as a duty, and recover those aspirations which once soaredfrom the paltry and miserable confines of our frivolous daily being?Helen, here I ask you, can you be all this, and under the nameof--Wife?"

It would be in vain to describe the rapid, varying, indefinable emotionsthat passed through the inexperienced heart of the youthful listeneras Harley thus spoke. He so moved all the springs of amaze, compassion, tender respect, sympathy, child-like gratitude, that when he paused andgently took her hand, she remained bewildered, speechless, overpowered. Harley smiled as he gazed upon her blushing, downcast, expressive face. He conjectured at once that the idea of such proposals had never crossedher mind; that she had never contemplated him in the character of wooer;never even sounded her heart as to the nature of such feelings as hisimage had aroused. 

"My Helen, " he resumed, with a calm pathos of voice, "there is somedisparity of years between us, and perhaps I may not hope henceforth forthat love which youth gives to the young. Permit me simply to ask, whatyou will frankly answer, Can you have seen in our quiet life abroad, orunder the roof of your Italian friends, any one you prefer to me?"

"No, indeed, no!" murmured Helen. "How could I; who is like you?" Then, with a sudden effort--for her innate truthfulness took alarm, and hervery affection for Harley, childlike and reverent, made her tremble lestshe should deceive him--she drew a little aside, and spoke thus, "Oh, my dear guardian, noblest of all human beings, at least in my eyes, forgive, forgive me, if I seem ungrateful, hesitating; but I cannot, cannot think of myself as worthy of you. I never so lifted my eyes. Yourrank, your position--"

"Why should they be eternally my curse? Forget them, and go on. "

"It is not only they, " said Helen, almost sobbing, "though they aremuch; but I your type, your ideal!--I?--impossible! Oh, how can I everbe anything even of use, of aid, of comfort to one like you!"

"You can, Helen--you can, " cried Harley, charmed by such ingenuousmodesty. "May I not keep this hand?" And Helen left her hand inHarley's, and turned away her face, fairly weeping. 

A stately step passed under the wintry trees. 

"My mother, " said Harley L'Estrange, looking up, "I present to you myfuture wife. "

CHAPTER IX. 

With a slow step and an abstracted air, Harley L'Estrange bent his waytowards Egerton's house, after his eventful interview with Helen. He hadjust entered one of the streets leading into Grosvenor Square, whena young man, walking quickly from the opposite direction, came fullagainst him, and drawing back with a brief apology, recognized him, and exclaimed, "What! you in England, Lord L'Estrange! Accept mycongratulations on your return. But you seem scarcely to remember me. "

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Leslie. I remember you now by your smile; butyou are of an age in which it is permitted me to say that you look olderthan when I saw you last. "

"And yet, Lord L'Estrange, it seems to me that you look younger. "

Indeed, this reply was so far true that there appeared less differenceof years than before between Leslie and L'Estrange; for the wrinklesin the schemer's mind were visible in his visage, while Harley's dreamyworship of Truth and Beauty seemed to have preserved to the votary theenduring youth of the divinities. 

Harley received the compliment with a supreme indifference, which mighthave been suitable to a Stoic, but which seemed scarcely natural toa gentleman who had just proposed to a lady many years younger thanhimself. 

Leslie renewed: "Perhaps you are on your way to Mr. Egerton's. If so, you will not find him at home; he is at his office. "

"Thank you. Then to his office I must re-direct my steps. "

"I am going to him myself, " said Randal, hesitatingly. L'Estrange had noprepossessions in favour of Leslie from the little he had seen of thatyoung gentleman; but Randal's remark was an appeal to his habitualurbanity, and he replied, with well-bred readiness, "Let us becompanions so far. "

Randal accepted the arm proffered to him; and Lord L'Estrange, asis usual with one long absent from his native land, bore part as aquestioner in the dialogue that ensued. 

"Egerton is always the same man, I suppose, --too busy for illness, andtoo firm for sorrow?"

"If he ever feel either, he will never stoop to complain. But, indeed, my dear lord, I should like much to know what you think of his health. "

"How! You alarm me!"

"Nay, I did not mean to do that; and pray do not let him know thatI went so far. But I have fancied that he looks a little worn andsuffering. "

"Poor Audley!" said L'Estrange, in a tone of deep affection. "I willsound him, and, be assured, without naming you; for I know well howlittle he likes to be supposed capable of human infirmity. I am obligedto you for your hint, obliged to you for your interest in one so dear tome. "

And Harley's voice was more cordial to Randal than it had ever beenbefore. He then began to inquire what Randal thought of the rumours thathad reached himself as to the probable defeat of the Government, andhow far Audley's spirits were affected by such risks. But Randal here, seeing that Harley could communicate nothing, was reserved and guarded. 

"Loss of office could not, I think, affect a man like Audley, " observedLord L'Estrange. "He would be as great in opposition--perhaps greater;and as to emoluments--"

"The emoluments are good, " interposed Randal, with a half-sigh. 

"Good enough, I suppose, to pay him back about a tenth of what hisplace costs our magnificent friend. No, I will say one thing for Englishstatesmen, no man amongst them ever yet was the richer for place. "

"And Mr. Egerton's private fortune must be large, I take for granted, "said Randal, carelessly. 

"It ought to be, if he has time to look to it. "

Here they passed by the hotel in which lodged the Count di Peschiera. 

Randal stopped. "Will you excuse me for an instant? As we are passingthis hotel, I will just leave my card here. " So saying he gave his cardto a waiter lounging by the door. "For the Count di Peschiera, " said he, aloud. 

L'Estrange started; and as Randal again took his arm, said, "So thatItalian lodges here; and you know him?"

"I know him but slightly, as one knows any foreigner who makes asensation. "

"He makes a sensation?"

"Naturally; for he is handsome, witty, and said to be very rich, --thatis, as long as he receives the revenues of his exiled kinsman. "

"I see you are well informed, Mr. Leslie. And what is supposed to bringhither the Count di Peschiera?"

"I did hear something, which I did not quite understand, about a betof his that he would marry his kinsman's daughter, and so, I conclude, secure to himself all the inheritance; and that he is therefore hereto discover the kinsman and win the heiress. But probably you knowthe rights of the story, and can tell me what credit to give to suchgossip. "

"I know this at least, that if he did lay such a wager, I would adviseyou to take any odds against him that his backers may give, " saidL'Estrange, dryly; and while his lip quivered with anger, his eyegleamed with arch ironical humour. 

"You think, then, that this poor kinsman will not need such an alliancein order to regain his estates?"

"Yes; for I never yet knew a rogue whom I would not bet against, when hebacked his own luck as a rogue against Justice and Providence. "

Randal winced, and felt as if an arrow had grazed his heart; but he soonrecovered. 

"And indeed there is another vague rumour that the young lady inquestion is married already--to some Englishman. " This time it wasHarley who winced. "Good heavens! that cannot be true, --that wouldundo all! An Englishman just at this moment! But some Englishman ofcorrespondent rank I trust, or at least one known for opinions opposedto what an Austrian would call Revolutionary doctrines?"

"I know nothing. But it was supposed merely a private gentleman ofgood family. Would not that suffice? Can the Austrian Court dictate amarriage to the daughter as a condition for grace to the father?"

"No, --not that!" said Harley, greatly disturbed. "But put yourself inthe position of any minister to one of the great European monarchies. Suppose a political insurgent, formidable for station and wealth, hadbeen proscribed, much interest made on his behalf, a powerful partystriving against it; and just when the minister is disposed to relent, he hears that the heiress to this wealth and this station is marriedto the native of a country in which sentiments friendly to thevery opinions for which the insurgent was proscribed are popularlyentertained, and thus that the fortune to be restored may be soemployed as to disturb the national security, the existing order ofthings, --this, too, at the very time when a popular revolution has justoccurred in France, and its effects are felt most in the very land ofthe exile;--suppose all this, and then say if anything could be moreuntoward for the hopes of the banished man, or furnish his adversarieswith stronger arguments against the restoration of his fortune? Butpshaw! this must be a chimera! If true, I should have known of it. "

 [As there have been so many revolutions in France, it may be convenient to suggest that, according to the dates of this story, Harley no doubt alludes to that revolution which exiled Charles X. And placed Louis Philippe on the throne. ]

"I quite agree with your lordship, --there can be no truth in such arumour. Some Englishman, hearing, perhaps, of the probable pardon of theexile, may have counted on an heiress, and spread the report in order tokeep off other candidates. By your account, if successful in his suit, he might fail to find an heiress in the bride. "

"No doubt of that. Whatever might be arranged, I can't conceive thathe would be allowed to get at the fortune, though it might be heldin suspense for his children. But indeed it so rarely happens that anItalian girl of high name marries a foreigner that we must dismiss thisnotion with a smile at the long face of the hypothetical fortune-hunter. Heaven help him, if he exist!"

"Amen!" echoed Randal, devoutly. 

"I hear that Peschiera, 's sister is returned to England. Do you know hertoo?"

"A little. "

"My dear Mr. Leslie, pardon me if I take a liberty not warranted by ouracquaintance. Against the lady I say nothing. Indeed, I have heard somethings which appear to entitle her to compassion and respect. But as toPeschiera all who prize honour suspect him to be a knave, --I know himto be one. Now, I think that the longer we preserve that abhorrence forknavery which is the generous instinct of youth, why, the fairer willbe our manhood, and the more reverend our age. You agree with me?"And Harley suddenly turning, his eyes fell like a flood of light uponRandal's pale and secret countenance. 

"To be sure, " murmured the schemer. 

Harley, surveying him, mechanically recoiled, and withdrew his arm. 

Fortunately for Randal, who somehow or other felt himself slipped intoa false position, he scarce knew how or why, he was here seized by thearm; and a clear, open, manly voice cried, "My dear fellow, how are you?I see you are engaged now; but look into my rooms when you can, in thecourse of the day. "

And with a bow of excuse for his interruption to Lord L'Estrange, thespeaker was then turning away, when Harley said, "No, don't let me take you from your friend, Mr. Leslie. And you neednot be in a hurry to see Egerton; for I shall claim the privilege ofolder friendship for the first interview. "

"It is Mr. Egerton's nephew Frank Hazeldan. "

"Pray, call him back, and present me to him. He has a face that wouldhave gone far to reconcile Timon to Athens. " Randal obeyed, and after afew kindly words to Frank, Harley insisted on leaving the two young mentogether, and walked on to Downing Street with a brisker step. 

CHAPTER X. 

"That Lord L'Estrange seems a very good fellow. "

"So-so; an effeminate humourist, --says the most absurd things, andfancies them wise. Never mind him. You wanted to speak to me, Frank?"

"Yes; I am so obliged to you for introducing me to Levy. I must tell youhow handsomely he has behaved. "

"Stop; allow me to remind you that I did not introduce you to Levy; youhad met him before at Borrowell's, if I recollect right, and he dinedwith us at the Clarendon, --that is all I had to do with bringing youtogether. Indeed I rather cautioned you against him than not. Praydon't think I introduced you to a man who, however pleasant and perhapshonest, is still a money-lender. Your father would be justly angry withme if I had done so. "

"Oh, pooh! you are prejudiced against poor Levy. But just hear: I wassitting very ruefully, thinking over those cursed bills, and how thedeuce I should renew them, when Levy walked into my rooms; andafter telling me of his long friendship for my uncle Egerton and hisadmiration for yourself, and (give me your hand, Randal) saying howtouched he felt by your kind sympathy in my troubles, he openedhis pocket-book, and showed me the bills safe and sound in his ownpossession. "

"How?"

"He had bought them up. 'It must be so disagreeable to me, ' he said, 'tohave them flying about the London moneymarket, and those Jews would besure sooner or later to apply to my father. And now, ' added Levy, 'I amin no immediate hurry for the money, and we must put the interest uponfairer terms. ' In short, nothing could be more liberal than his tone. And he says, he is thinking of a way to relieve me altogether, and willcall about it in a few days, when his plan is matured. After all, I mustowe this to you, Randal. I dare swear you put it into his head. "

"Oh, no, indeed! On the contrary, I still say, Be cautious in all yourdealings with Levy. I don't know, I 'm sure, what he means to propose. Have you heard from the Hall lately?"

"Yes, to-day. Only think--the Riccaboccas have disappeared. My motherwrites me word of it, --a very odd letter. She seems to suspect that Iknow where they are, and reproaches me for 'mystery'--quite enigmatical. But there is one sentence in her letter--see, here it is in thepostscript--which seems to refer to Beatrice: 'I don't ask you to tellme your secrets, Frank, but Randal will no doubt have assured you thatmy first consideration will be for your own happiness, in any matter inwhich your heart is really engaged. '"

"Yes, " said Randal, slowly; "no doubt this refers to Beatrice; but, asI told you, your mother will not interfere one way or the other, --suchinterference would weaken her influence with the squire. Besides, as shesaid, she can't wish, you to marry a foreigner; though once married, shewould--But how do you stand now with the marchesa? Has she consented toaccept you?"

"Not quite; indeed I have not actually proposed. Her manner, though muchsoftened, has not so far emboldened me; and, besides, before a positivedeclaration, I certainly must go down to the Hall and speak at least tomy mother. "

"You must judge for yourself, but don't do anything rash: talk first tome. Here we are at my office. Good-by; and--and pray believe that, inwhatever you do with Levy, I have no hand in it. "

CHAPTER XI. 

Towards the evening, Randal was riding fast on the road to Norwood. Thearrival of Harley, and the conversation that had passed between thatnobleman and Randal, made the latter anxious to ascertain how farRiccabocca was likely to learn L'Estrange's return to England, and tomeet with him. For he felt that, should the latter come to know thatRiccabocca, in his movements, had gone by Randal's advice. Harley wouldfind that Randal had spoken to him disingenuously; and on the otherhand, Riccabocca, placed under the friendly protection of LordL'Estrange, would no longer need Randal Leslie to defend him from themachinations of Peschiera. To a reader happily unaccustomed to diveinto the deep and mazy recesses of a schemer's mind, it might seem thatRandal's interest in retaining a hold over the exile's confidence wouldterminate with the assurances that had reached him, from more thanone quarter, that Violante might cease to be an heiress if shemarried himself. "But perhaps, " suggests some candid and youthfulconjecturer, --"perhaps Randal Leslie is in love with this faircreature?" Randal in love!--no! He was too absorbed by harder passionsfor that blissful folly. Nor, if he could have fallen in love, wasViolante the one to attract that sullen, secret heart; her instinctivenobleness, the very stateliness of her beauty, womanlike though it was, awed him. Men of that kind may love some soft slave, --they cannot lifttheir eyes to a queen. They may look down, --they cannot lookup. But onthe one hand, Randal could not resign altogether the chance of securinga fortune that would realize his most dazzling dreams, upon the mereassurance, however probable, which had so dismayed him; and on the otherhand, should he be compelled to relinquish all idea of such alliance, though he did not contemplate the base perfidy of actually assistingPeschiera's avowed designs, still, if Frank's marriage with Beatriceshould absolutely depend upon her brother's obtaining the knowledgeof Violante's retreat, and that marriage should be as conducive to hisinterests as he thought he could make it, why--he did not then pushhis deductions further, even to himself, --they seemed too black; buthe sighed heavily, and that sigh foreboded how weak would be honourand virtue against avarice and ambition. Therefore, on all accounts, Riccabocca was one of those cards in a sequence, which so calculating aplayer would not throw out of his hand: it might serve for repique, atthe worst it might score well in the game. Intimacy with the Italian wasstill part and parcel in that knowledge which was the synonym of power. 

While the young man was thus meditating, on his road to Norwood, Riccabocca and his Jemima were close conferring in their drawing-room. And if you could have seen them, reader, you would have been seized withequal surprise and curiosity: for some extraordinary communication hadcertainly passed between them. Riccabocca was evidently much agitated, and with emotions not familiar to him. The tears stood in his eyes atthe same time that a smile, the reverse of cynical or sardonic, curvedhis lips; while his wife was leaning her head on his shoulder, her handclasped in his, and, by the expression of her face, you might guessthat he had paid her some very gratifying compliment, of a nature moregenuine and sincere than those which characterized his habitual hollowand dissimulating gallantry. But just at this moment Giacomo entered, and Jemima, with her native English modesty, withdrew in haste fromRiccabocca's sheltering side. 

"Padrone, " said Giacomo, who, whatever his astonishment at theconnubial position he had disturbed, was much too discreet to betrayit, --"Padrone, I see the young Englishman riding towards the house, andI hope, when he arrives, you will not forget the alarming information Igave to you this morning. "

"Ah, ah!" said Riccabocca, his face falling. "If the signorina were butmarried!"

"My very thought, --my constant thought!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "And youreally believe the young Englishman loves her?"

"Why else should he come, Excellency?" asked Giacomo, with greatnaivete. 

"Very true; why, indeed?" said Riccabocca. "Jemima, I cannot endurethe terrors I suffer on that poor child's account. I will open myselffrankly to Randal Leslie. And now, too, that which might have been aserious consideration, in case I return to Italy, will no longer standin our way, Jemima. "

Jemima smiled faintly, and whispered something to Riccabocca, to whichhe replied, "Nonsense, anima mia. I know it will be, --have not a doubt of it. I tellyou it is as nine to four, according to the nicest calculations. I willspeak at once to Randal. He is too young, too timid to speak himself. "

"Certainly, " interposed Giacomo; "how could he dare to speak, let himlove ever so well?"

Jemima shook her head. 

"Oh, never fear, " said Riccabocca, observing this gesture; "I will givehim the trial. If he entertain but mercenary views, I shall soon detectthem. I know human nature pretty well, I think, my love; and, Giacomo, just get me my Machiavelli;--that's right. Now leave me, my dear; I mustreflect and prepare myself. "

When Randal entered the house, Giacomo, with a smile of peculiarsuavity, ushered him into the drawing-room. He found Riccabocca alone, and seated before the fireplace, leaning his face on his hand, with thegreat folio of Machiavelli lying open on the table. 

The Italian received him as courteously as usual; but there was in hismanner a certain serious and thoughtful dignity, which was perhapsthe more imposing, because but rarely assumed. After a few preliminaryobservations, Randal remarked that Frank Hazeldean had informed him ofthe curiosity which the disappearance of the Riccaboccas had excited atthe Hall, and inquired carelessly if the doctor had left instructionsas to the forwarding of any letters that might be directed to him at theCasino. 

"Letters!" said Riccabocca, simply; "I never receive any; or, at least, so rarely, that it was not worth while to take an event so little tobe expected into consideration. No; if any letters do reach the Casino, there they will wait. "

"Then I can see no possibility of indiscretion; no chance of a clew toyour address. "

"Nor I either. "

Satisfied so far, and knowing that it was not in Riecabocca's habitsto read the newspapers, by which he might otherwise have learned ofL'Estrange's arrival in London, Randal then proceeded to inquire, withmuch seeming interest, into the health of Violante, --hoped it did notsuffer by confinement, etc. Riccabocca eyed him gravely while he spoke, and then suddenly rising, that air of dignity to which I have beforereferred became yet more striking. 

"My young friend, " said he, "hear me attentively, and answer me frankly. I know human nature--" Here a slight smile of proud complacency passedthe sage's lips, and his eye glanced towards his Machiavelli. 

"I know human nature, --at least I have studied it, " he renewed moreearnestly, and with less evident self-conceit; "and I believe thatwhen a perfect stranger to me exhibits an interest in my affairs, whichoccasions him no small trouble, --an interest, " continued the wiseman, laying his hand on Randal's shoulder, "which scarcely a son couldexceed, he must be under the influence of some strong personal motive. "

"Oh, sir!" cried Randal, turning a shade more pale, and with a falteringtone. Riccabocca, surveyed him with the tenderness of a superior being, and pursued his deductive theories. 

"In your case, what is that motive? Not political; for I conclude youshare the opinions of your government, and those opinions have notfavoured mine. Not that of pecuniary or ambitious calculations; forhow can such calculations enlist you on behalf of a ruined exile? Whatremains? Why, the motive which at your age is ever the most natural andthe strongest. I don't blame you. Machiavelli himself allows that sucha motive has swayed the wisest minds, and overturned the most solidStates. In a word, young man, you are in love, and with my daughterViolante. "

Randal was so startled by this direct and unexpected charge upon hisown masked batteries, that he did not even attempt his defence. His headdrooped on his breast, and he remained speechless. 

"I do not doubt, " resumed the penetrating judge of human nature, "thatyou would have been withheld by the laudable and generous scruples whichcharacterize your happy age, from voluntarily disclosing to me the stateof your heart. You might suppose that, proud of the position I onceheld, or sanguine in the hope of regaining my inheritance, I mightbe over-ambitious in my matrimonial views for Violante; or that you, anticipating my restoration to honours and fortune, might seem actuatedby the last motives which influence love and youth; and, therefore, mydear young friend, I have departed from the ordinary custom in England, and adopted a very common one in my own country. With us, a suitorseldom presents himself till he is assured of the consent of a father. I have only to say this, --if I am right, and you love my daughter, myfirst object in life is to see her safe and secure; and, in a word--youunderstand me. "

Now, mightily may it comfort and console us ordinary mortals, whoadvance no pretence to superior wisdom and ability, to see the hugemistakes made by both these very sagacious personages, --Dr. Riccabocca, valuing himself on his profound acquaintance with character, and RandalLeslie, accustomed to grope into every hole and corner of thought andaction, wherefrom to extract that knowledge which is power! For whereasthe sage, judging not only by his own heart in youth, but by the generalinfluence of the master passion on the young, had ascribed to Randalsentiments wholly foreign to that able diplomatist's nature, so nosooner had Riccabocca brought his speech to a close, than Randal, judging also by his own heart, and by the general laws which influencemen of the mature age and boasted worldly wisdom of the pupil ofMachiavelli, instantly decided that Riccabocca presumed upon his youthand inexperience, and meant most nefariously to take him in. 

"The poor youth!" thought Riccabocca, "how unprepared he is for thehappiness I give him!"

"The cunning old Jesuit!" thought Randal; "he has certainly learned, since we met last, that he has no chance of regaining his patrimony, andso he wants to impose on me the hand of a girl without a shilling. What other motive can he possibly have? Had his daughter the remotestprobability of becoming the greatest heiress in Italy, would he dream ofbestowing her on me in this off-hand way? The thing stands to reason. "

Actuated by his resentment at the trap thus laid for him, Randal wasabout to disclaim altogether the disinterested and absurd affectionlaid to his charge, when it occurred to him that, by so doing, he mightmortally offend the Italian, since the cunning never forgive those whorefuse to be duped by them, --and it might still be conducive to hisinterest to preserve intimate and familiar terms with Riccabocca;therefore, subduing his first impulse, he exclaimed, "Oh, too generous man! pardon me if I have so long been unable toexpress my amaze, my gratitude; but I cannot--no, I cannot, whileyour prospects remain thus uncertain, avail myself of your--of yourinconsiderate magnanimity. Your rare conduct can only redouble my ownscruples, if you, as I firmly hope and believe, are restored to yourgreat possessions--you would naturally look so much higher than me. Should these hopes fail, then, indeed, it may be different; yet eventhen, what position, what fortune, have I to offer to your daughterworthy of her?"

"You are well born! all gentlemen are equals, " said Riccabocca, with asort of easy nobleness. "You have youth, information, talent, --sourcesof certain wealth in this happy country, --powerful connections; and, infine, if you are satisfied with marrying for love, I shall be contented;if not, speak openly. As to the restoration to my possessions, I canscarcely think that probable while my enemy lives. And even in thatcase, since I saw you last, something has occurred, " added Riccabocca, with a strange smile, which seemed to Randal singularly sinister andmalignant, "that may remove all difficulties. Meanwhile, do not think meso extravagantly magnanimous; do not underrate the satisfaction I mustfeel at knowing Violante safe from the designs of Peschiera, --safe, andforever, under a husband's roof. I will tell you an Italian proverb, --itcontains a truth full of wisdom and terror, "'Hai cinquanta Amici?--non basta. Hai un Nemico?--e troppo. '" ["Haveyou fifty friends?--it is not enough. Have you one enemy?--it is toomuch. "]

"Something has occurred!" echoed Randal, not heeding the conclusion ofthis speech, and scarcely hearing the proverb, which the sage deliveredin his most emphatic and tragic tone. "Something has occurred! My dearfriend, be plainer. What has occurred?" Riccabocca remained silent. "Something that induces you to bestow your daughter on me?" Riccaboccanodded, and emitted a low chuckle. 

"The very laugh of a fiend, " muttered Randal. "Something that makes hernot worth bestowing. He betrays himself. Cunning people always do. "

"Pardon me, " said the Italian, at last, "if I don't answer yourquestion; you will know later; but at present this is a family secret. And now I must turn to another and more alarming cause for my franknessto you. " Here Riccabocca's face changed, and assumed an expression ofmingled rage and fear. "You must know, " he added, sinking his voice, "that Giacomo has seen a strange person loitering about the house, andlooking up at the windows; and he has no doubt--nor have I--that this issome spy or emissary of Peschiera's. "

"Impossible; how could he discover you?"

"I know not; but no one else has any interest in doing so. The man keptat a distance, and Giacomo could not see his face. "

"It may be but a mere idler. Is this all?"

"No; the old woman who serves us said that she was asked at a shop 'ifwe were not Italians'?"

"And she answered?"

"'No;' but owned that 'we had a foreign servant, Giacomo. '"

"I will see to this. Rely on it that if Peschiera has discovered you, I will learn it. Nay, I will hasten from you in order to commenceinquiry. "

"I cannot detain you. May I think that we have now an interest incommon?"

"Oh, indeed yes; but--but--your daughter! How can I dream that one sobeautiful, so peerless, will confirm the hope you have extended to me?"

"The daughter of an Italian is brought up to consider that it is afather's right to dispose of her hand. "

"But the heart?"

"Cospetto!" said the Italian, true to his infamous notions as to thesex, "the heart of a girl is like a convent, --the holier the cloister, the more charitable the door. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Randal had scarcely left the house before Mrs. Riccabocca, who wasaffectionately anxious in all that concerned Violante, rejoined herhusband. 

"I like the young man very well, " said the sage, --"very well indeed. I find him just what I expected, from my general knowledge of humannature; for as love ordinarily goes with youth, so modesty usuallyaccompanies talent. He is young, ergo, he is in love; he has talent, ergo, he is modest, modest and ingenuous. "

"And you think not in any way swayed by interest in his affections?"

"Quite the contrary; and to prove him the more, I have not said a wordas to the worldly advantages which, in any case, would accrue to himfrom an alliance with my daughter. In any case: for if I regain mycountry, her fortune is assured; and if not, I trust" (said the poorexile, lifting his brow with stately and becoming pride) "that I am toowell aware of my child's dignity, as well as my own, to ask any one tomarry her to his own worldly injury. "

"Eh! I don't quite understand you, Alphonso. To be sure, your dear lifeis insured for her marriage portion; but--"

"Pazzie-stuff!" said Riccabocca, petulantly; "her marriage portion wouldbe as nothing to a young man of Randal's birth and prospects. I thinknot of that. But listen: I have never consented to profit by HarleyL'Estrange's friendship for me; my scruples would not extend to myson-in-law. This noble friend has not only high rank, but considerableinfluence, --influence with the government, influence with Randal'spatron, who, between ourselves, does not seem to push the young man ashe might do; I judge by what Randal says. I should write, therefore, before anything was settled, to L'Estrange, and I should say to himsimply, 'I never asked you to save me from penury, but I do ask youto save a daughter of my House from humiliation. I can give to her nodowry; can her husband owe to my friend that advance in an honourablecareer, that opening to energy and talent, which is more than a dowry togenerous ambition?'"

"Oh, it is in vain you would disguise your rank, " cried Jemima, withenthusiasm; "it speaks in all you utter, when your passions are moved. "

The Italian did not seem flattered by that eulogy. "Pish, " said he, "there you are! rank again!"

But Jemima was right. There was something about her husband thatwas grandiose and princely, whenever he escaped from his accursedMachiavelli, and gave fair play to his heart. 

And he spent the next hour or so in thinking over all that he coulddo for Randal, and devising for his intended son-in-law the agreeablesurprise, which Randal was at that very time racking his yet clevererbrains to disappoint. 

These plans conned sufficiently, Riccabocca shut up his Machiavelli, andhunted out of his scanty collection of books, Buffon on Man, and variousother psychological volumes, in which he soon became deeply absorbed. Why were these works the object of the sage's study? Perhaps he will letus know soon, for it is clearly a secret known to his wife; and thoughshe has hitherto kept one secret, that is precisely the reason whyRiccabocca would not wish long to overburden her discretion withanother. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Randal reached home in time to dress for a late dinner at Baron Levy's. 

The baron's style of living was of that character especially affectedboth by the most acknowledged exquisites of that day, and, it must beowned, also, by the most egregious parvenus. For it is noticeablethat it is your parvenu who always comes nearest in fashion (so far asexternals are concerned) to your genuine exquisite. It is your parvenuwho is most particular as to the cut of his coat, and the precision ofhis equipage, and the minutia, of his menage. Those between the parvenuand the exquisite, who know their own consequence, and have somethingsolid to rest upon, are slow in following all the caprices of fashion, and obtuse in observation as to those niceties which neither give themanother ancestor, nor add another thousand to the account at theirbanker's, --as to the last, rather indeed the contrary! There was adecided elegance about the baron's house and his dinner. If he had beenone of the lawful kings of the dandies, you would have cried, "Whatperfect taste!"--but such is human nature, that the dandies who dinedwith him said to each other, "He pretend to imitate D----! vulgar dog!"There was little affectation of your more showy opulence. The furniturein the rooms was apparently simple, but, in truth, costly, from itsluxurious comfort; the ornaments and china scattered about the commodeswere of curious rarity and great value, and the pictures on the wallswere gems. At dinner, no plate was admitted on the table. The Russianfashion, then uncommon, now more prevalent, was adopted, fruit andflowers in old Sevres dishes of priceless vertu, and in sparkling glassof Bohemian fabric. No livery servant was permitted to wait; behind eachguest stood a gentleman dressed so like the guest himself, in fine linenand simple black, that guest and lacquey seemed stereotypes from oneplate. 

The viands were exquisite; the wine came from the cellars of deceasedarchbishops and ambassadors. The company was select; the party did notexceed eight. Four were the eldest sons of peers (from a baron toa duke); one was a professed wit, never to be got without a month'snotice, and, where a parvenu was host, a certainty of green peas andpeaches--out of season; the sixth, to Randal's astonishment, was Mr. Richard Avenel; himself and the baron made up the complement. 

The eldest sons recognized each other with a meaning smile; the mostjuvenile of them, indeed (it was his first year in London), had thegrace to blush and look sheepish. The others were more hardened; butthey all united in regarding with surprise both Randal and Dick Avenel. The former was known to most of them personally, and to all, by repute, as a grave, clever, promising young man, rather prudent than lavish, and never suspected to have got into a scrape. What the deuce did he dothere? Mr. Avenel puzzled them yet more. A middle-aged man, said tobe in business, whom they had observed "about town" (for he had anoticeable face and figure), --that is, seen riding in the Park, orlounging in the pit at the opera, but never set eyes on at a recognizedclub, or in the coteries of their "set;" a man whose wife gave horridthird-rate parties, that took up half a column in the "Morning Post"with a list of "The Company Present, " in which a sprinkling of dowagersfading out of fashion, and a foreign title or two, made the darknessof the obscurer names doubly dark. Why this man should be asked tomeet them, by Baron Levy, too--a decided tuft-hunter and would-beexclusive--called all their faculties into exercise. The wit, who, beingthe son of a small tradesman, but in the very best society, gave himselffar greater airs than the young lords, impertinently solved the mystery. "Depend on it, " whispered he to Spendquick, --"depend on it the man isthe X. Y. Of the 'Times' who offers to lend any sum of money from L10to half-a-million. He's the man who has all your bills; Levy is only hisjackal. "

"'Pon my soul, " said Spendquick, rather alarmed, "if that's the case, one may as well be civil to him. "

"You, certainly, " said the wit. "But I never have found an X. Y. Whowould advance me the L. S. ; and therefore I shall not be more respectfulto X. Y. Than to any other unknown quantity. "

By degrees, as the wine circulated, the party grew gay and sociable. Levy was really an entertaining fellow; had all the gossip of the townat his fingers' ends; and possessed, moreover, that pleasant art ofsaying ill-natured things of the absent, which those present alwaysenjoy. By degrees, too, Mr. Richard Avenel came out; and, as the whisperhad circulated round the table that he was X. Y. , he was listened towith a profound respect, which greatly elevated his spirits. Nay, whenthe wit tried once to show him up or mystify him, Dick answered with abluff spirit, that, though very coarse, was found so humorous by LordSpendquick and other gentlemen similarly situated in the money-marketthat they turned the laugh against the wit, and silenced him for therest of the night, --a circumstance which made the party go off much morepleasantly. After dinner, the conversation, quite that of single men, easy and debonnaire, glanced from the turf and the ballet and the lastscandal towards politics; for the times were such that politics werediscussed everywhere, and three of the young lords were county members. 

Randal said little, but, as was his wont, listened attentively; and hewas aghast to find how general was the belief that the Government wasdoomed. Out of regard to him, and with that delicacy of breeding whichbelongs to a certain society, nothing personal to Egerton was said, except by Avenel, who, however, on blurting out some rude expressionsrespecting that minister, was instantly checked by the baron. "Sparemy friend and Mr. Leslie's near connection, " said he, with a polite butgrave smile. 

"Oh, " said Avenel, "public men, whom we pay, are publicproperty, --aren't they, my Lord?" appealing to Spendquick. 

"Certainly, " said Spendquick, with great spirit, --"public property, orwhy should we pay them? There must be a very strong motive to induce usto do that! I hate paying people. In fact, " he subjoined in an aside, "Inever do. "

"However, " resumed Mr. Avenel, graciously, "I don't want to hurt yourfeelings, Mr. Leslie. As to the feelings of our host, the baron, Icalculate that they have got tolerably tough by the exercise they havegone through. "

"Nevertheless, " said the baron, joining in the laugh which any livelysaying by the supposed X. Y. Was sure to excite, "nevertheless, 'loveme, love my dog, '--love me, love my Egerton. "

Randal started, for his quick ear and subtle intelligence caughtsomething sinister and hostile in the tone with which Levy uttered thisequivocal comparison, and his eye darted towards the baron. But thebaron had bent down his face, and was regaling himself upon an olive. 

By-and-by the party rose from table. The four young noblemen had theirengagements elsewhere, and proposed to separate without re-entering thedrawing-room. As, in Goethe's theory, monads which have affinities witheach other are irresistibly drawn together, so these gay children ofpleasure had, by a common impulse, on rising from table, moved eachto each, and formed a group round the fireplace. Randal stood a littleapart, musing; the wit examined the pictures through his eye-glass; andMr. Avenel drew the baron towards the side-board, and there held him inwhispered conference. This colloquy did not escape the young gentlemenround the fireplace; they glanced towards each other. 

"Settling the percentage on renewal, " said one, sotto voce. "X. Y. Doesnot seem such a very bad fellow, " said another. 

"He looks rich, and talks rich, " said a third. 

"A decided, independent way of expressing his sentiments; those moneyedmen generally have. "

"Good heavens!" ejaculated Spendquick, who had been keeping his eyeanxiously fixed on the pair, "do look; X. Y. Is actually taking outhis pocket-book; he is coming this way. Depend on it he has got ourbills--mine is due to-morrow!"

"And mine too, " said another, edging off. "Why, it is a perfectguet-apens. "

Meanwhile, breaking away from the baron, who appeared anxious to detainhim, and failing in that attempt, turned aside, as if not to see Dick'smovements, --a circumstance which did not escape the notice of thegroup, and confirmed all their suspicions, --Mr. Avenel, with a serious, thoughtful face, and a slow step, approached the group. Nor did thegreat Roman general more nervously "flutter the dove-cots in Corioli, "than did the advance of the supposed X. Y. Agitate the bosoms of LordSpendquick and his sympathizing friends. Pocket-book in hand, andapparently feeling for something formidable within its mystic recesses, step by step came Dick Avenel towards the fireplace. The group stoodstill, fascinated by horror. 

"Hum, " said Mr. Avenel, clearing his throat. 

"I don't like that hum at all, " muttered Spendquick. "Proud to have madeyour acquaintance, gentlemen, " said Dick, bowing. 

The gentlemen thus addressed bowed low in return. 

"My friend the baron thought this not exactly the time to--" Dickstopped a moment; you might have knocked down those four younggentlemen, though four finer specimens of humanity no aristocracy inEurope could produce, --you might have knocked them down with a feather!"But, " renewed Avenel, not finishing his sentence, "I have made it arule in life never to lose securing a good opportunity; in short, tomake the most of the present moment. And, " added he, with a smile whichfroze the blood in Lord Spendquick's veins, "the rule has made me a verywarm man! Therefore, gentlemen, allow me to present you each with oneof these"--every hand retreated behind the back of its well-born owner, when, to the inexpressible relief of all, Dick concluded with, --"alittle soiree dansante, " and extended four cards of invitation. 

"Most happy!" exclaimed Spendquick. "I don't dance in general; but tooblige X--I mean, to have a better acquaintance, sir, with you--I woulddance on the tight-rope. "

There was a good-humoured, pleasant laugh at Spendquick's enthusiasm, and a general shaking of hands and pocketing of the invitation cards. 

"You don't look like a dancing man, " said Avenel, turning to the wit, who was plump and somewhat gouty, --as wits who dine out five days in theweek generally are; "but we shall have supper at one o'clock. "

Infinitely offended and disgusted, the wit replied dryly, "that everyhour of his time was engaged for the rest of the season, " and, with astiff salutation to the baron, took his departure. The rest, in goodspirits, hurried away to their respective cabriolets; and Leslie wasfollowing them into the hall, when the baron, catching hold of him, said, "Stay, I want to talk to you. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

The baron turned into his drawing-room, and Leslie followed. 

"Pleasant young men, those, " said Levy, with a slight sneer, as he threwhimself into an easy-chair and stirred the fire. "And not at all proud;but, to be sure, they are--under great obligations to me. Yes; theyowe me a great deal a propos, I have had a long talk with FrankHazeldean, --fine young man, remarkable capacities for business. I canarrange his affairs for him. I find, on reference to the Will Office, that you were quite right; the Casino property is entailed on Frank. Hewill have the fee simple. He can dispose of the reversion entirely. Sothat there will be no difficulty in our arrangements. "

"But I told you also that Frank had scruples about borrowing on theevent of his father's death. "

"Ay, you did so. Filial affection! I never take that into accountin matters of business. Such little scruples, though they are highlyhonourable to human nature, soon vanish before the prospect of theKing's Bench. And, too, as you so judiciously remarked, our clever youngfriend is in love with Madame di Negra. "

"Did he tell you that?"

"No; but Madame di Negra did!"

"You know her?"

"I know most people in good society, who now and then require a friendin the management of their affairs. And having made sure of the fact youstated, as to Hazeldean's contingent property (excuse my prudence), Ihave accommodated Madame di Negra and bought up her debts. "

"You have--you surprise me!"

"The surprise will vanish on reflection. But you are very new to theworld yet, my dear Leslie. By the way, I have had an interview withPeschiera--"

"About his sister's debts?"

"Partly. A man of the nicest honour is Peschiera. " Aware of Levy's habitof praising people for the qualities in which, according to the judgmentof less penetrating mortals, they were most deficient, Randal onlysmiled at this eulogy, and waited for Levy to resume. But the baron satsilent and thoughtful for a minute or two, and then wholly changed thesubject. 

"I think your father has some property in ----shire, and you probablycan give me a little information as to certain estates of a Mr. Thornhill, estates which, on examination of the title-deeds, I findonce, indeed, belonged to your family. " The baron glanced at a veryelegant memorandum-book. --"The manors of Rood and Dulmansberry, withsundry farms thereon. Mr. Thornhill wants to sell them--an old client ofmine, Thornhill. He has applied to me on the matter. Do you think it animprovable property?"

Randal listened with a livid cheek and a throbbing heart. We have seenthat, if there was one ambitious scheme in his calculation which, thoughnot absolutely generous and heroic, still might win its way to a certainsympathy in the undebased human mind, it was the hope to restore thefallen fortunes of his ancient house, and repossess himself of the longalienated lands that surrounded the dismal wastes of the moulderinghall. And now to hear that those lands were getting into the inexorablegripe of Levy--tears of bitterness stood in his eyes. 

"Thornhill, " continued Levy, who watched the young man'scountenance, --"Thornhill tells me that that part of his property--theold Leslie lands--produces L2, 000 a year, and that the rental couldbe raised. He would take L50, 000 for it, L20, 000 down, and suffer theremaining L30, 000 to lie on mortgage at four per cent. It seems a verygood purchase. What do you say?"

"Don't ask me, " said Randal, stung into rare honesty; "for I had hoped Imight live to repossess myself of that property. "

"Ah, indeed! It would be a very great addition to your consequencein the world, --not from the mere size of the estate, but from itshereditary associations. And if you have any idea of the purchase, believe me, I'll not stand in your way. "

"How can I have any idea of it?"

"But I thought you said you had. "

"I understood that these lands could not be sold till Mr. Thornhill'sson came of age, and joined in getting rid of the entail. "

"Yes, so Thornhill himself supposed, till, on examining the title-deeds, I found he was under a mistake. These lands are not comprised in thesettlement made by old Jasper Thornhill, which ties up the rest ofthe property. The title will be perfect. Thornhill wants to settlethe matter at once, --losses on the turf, you understand; an immediatepurchaser would get still better terms. A Sir John Spratt would give themoney; but the addition of these lands would make the Spratt propertyof more consequence in the county than the Thornhill. So my client wouldrather take a few thousands less from a man who don't set up to be hisrival. Balance of power in counties as well as nations. "

Randal was silent. 

"Well, " said Levy, with great kindness of manner, "I see I pain you;and though I am what my very pleasant guests would call a parvenu, I comprehend your natural feelings as a gentleman of ancient birth. Parvenu! Ah, is it not strange, Leslie, that no wealth, no fashion, no fame can wipe out that blot? They call me a parvenu, and borrow mymoney. They call our friend the wit a parvenu, and submit to all hisinsolence--if they condescend to regard his birth at all--provided theycan but get him to dinner. They call the best debater in the parliamentof England a parvenu, and will entreat him, some day or other, to beprime minister, and ask him for stars and garters. A droll world, and nowonder the parvenus want to upset it. "

Randal had hitherto supposed that this notorious tufthunter, this dandycapitalist, this money-lender, whose whole fortune had been wrung fromthe wants and follies of an aristocracy, was naturally a firm supporterof things as they are--how could things be better for men like BaronLevy? But the usurer's burst of democratic spleen did not surprise hisprecocious and acute faculty of observation. He had before remarked, that it is the persons who fawn most upon an aristocracy, and profit themost by the fawning, who are ever at heart its bitterest disparagers. Why is this? Because one full half of democratic opinion is made up ofenvy; and we can only envy what is brought before our eyes, andwhat, while very near to us, is still unattainable. No man envies anarchangel. 

"But, " said Levy, throwing himself back in his chair, "a new order ofthings is commencing; we shall see. Leslie, it is lucky for you thatyou did not enter parliament under the government; it would be yourpolitical ruin for life. "

"You think, then, that the ministry really cannot last?"

"Of course I do; and what is more, I think that a ministry of the sameprinciples cannot be restored. You are a young man of talent and spirit;your birth is nothing compared to the rank of the reigning party; itwould tell, to a certain degree, in a democratic one. I say, you shouldbe more civil to Avenel; he could return you to parliament at the nextelection. "

"The next election! In six years! We have just had a general election. "

"There will be another before this year, or half of it, or perhaps aquarter of it, is out. "

"What makes you think so?"

"Leslie, let there be confidence between us; we can help each other. Shall we be friends?"

"With all my heart. But though you may help me, how can I help you?"

"You have helped me already to Frank Hazeldean and the Casino estate. All clever men can help me. Come, then, we are friends; and what I sayis secret. You ask me why I think there will be a general election sosoon? I will answer you frankly. Of all the public men I ever met with, there is no one who has so clear a vision of things immediately beforehim as Audley Egerton. "

"He has that character. Not far-seeing, but clear-sighted to a certainlimit. "

"Exactly so. No one better, therefore, knows public opinion and itsimmediate ebb and flow. "

"Granted. "

"Egerton, then, counts on a general election within three months, and Ihave lent him the money for it. "

"Lent him the money! Egerton borrow money of you, the rich AudleyEgerton!"

"Rich!" repeated Levy, in a tone impossible to describe, andaccompanying the word with that movement of the middle finger and thumb, commonly called a "snap, " which indicates profound contempt. 

He said no more. Randal sat stupefied. At length the latter muttered, "But if Egerton is really not rich; if he lose office, and without thehope of return to it--"

"If so, he is ruined!" said Levy, coldly; "and therefore, from regard toyou, and feeling interest in your future fate, I say, Rest no hopes offortune or career upon Audley Egerton. Keep your place for the present, but be prepared at the next election to stand upon popular principles. Avenel shall return you to parliament; and the rest is with luck andenergy. And now, I'll not detain you longer, " said Levy, rising andringing the bell. The servant entered. "Is my carriage here?"

"Yes, Baron. "

"Can I set you down anywhere?"

"No, thank you, I prefer walking. "

"Adieu, then. And mind you remember the soiree dansante at Mrs. Avenel's. " Randal mechanically shook the hand extended to him, and wentdown the stairs. 

The fresh frosty air roused his intellectual faculties, which Levy'sominous words had almost paralyzed. 

And the first thing the clever schemer said to himself was this, "But what can be the man's motive in what he said to me?"

The next was, --

"Egerton ruined! What am I, then?" And the third was, "And that fair remnant of the old Leslie property! L20, 000 down--how toget the sum? Why should Levy have spoken to me of this?"

And lastly, the soliloquy rounded back--"The man's motives! Hismotives!"

Meanwhile, the baron threw himself into his chariot--the mostcomfortable, easy chariot you can possibly conceive, single man'schariot, perfect taste, --no married man ever had such a chariot; and ina few minutes he was at ---------'s hotel, and in the presence of GiulioFranzini, Count di Peschiera. 

"Mon cher, " said the baron, in very good French, and in a tone of themost familiar equality with the descendant of the princes and heroes ofgrand medieval Italy, --"mon cher, give me one of your excellent cigars. I think I have put all matters in train. "

"You have found out--"

"No; not so fast yet, " said the baron, lighting the cigar extended tohim. "But you said that you should be perfectly contented if it onlycost you L20, 000 to marry off your sister (to whom that sum is legallydue), and to marry yourself to the heiress. "

"I did, indeed. "

"Then I have no doubt I shall manage both objects for that sum, ifRandal Leslie really knows where the young lady is, and can assist you. Most promising, able man is Randal Leslie--but innocent as a babe justborn. "

"Ha, ha! Innocent? Que diable!"

"Innocent as this cigar, mon cher, --strong certainly, but smoked veryeasily. Soyez tranquille!"

CHAPTER XV. 

Who has not seen, who not admired, that noble picture by Daniel Maclise, which refreshes the immortal name of my ancestor Caxton! For myself, while with national pride I heard the admiring murmurs of the foreignerswho grouped around it (nothing, indeed, of which our nation may be moreproud had they seen in the Crystal Palace), --heard, with no less a pridein the generous nature of fellow-artists, the warm applause of livingand deathless masters sanctioning the enthusiasm of the popular crowd, what struck me more than the precision of drawing, for which the artisthas been always renowned, and the just, though gorgeous affluence ofcolour which he has more recently acquired, was the profound depth ofconception, out of which this great work had so elaborately arisen. Thatmonk, with his scowl towards the printer and his back on the Bible overwhich his form casts a shadow--the whole transition between the medievalChristianity of cell and cloister, and the modern Christianity thatrejoices in the daylight, is depicted there, in the shadow that obscuresthe Book, in the scowl that is fixed upon the Book-diffuser;--thatsombre, musing face of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, with the beautyof Napoleon, darkened to the expression of a Fiend, looking far andanxiously into futurity, as if foreseeing there what antagonism wasabout to be created to the schemes of secret crime and unrelentingforce; the chivalrous head of the accomplished Rivers, seen but inprofile, under his helmet, as if the age when Chivalry must defend itsnoble attributes in steel was already half passed away; and, not leastgrand of all, the rude thews and sinews of the artisan forced intoservice on the type, and the ray of intellect, fierce, and menacingrevolutions yet to be, struggling through his rugged features, andacross his low knitted brow, --all this, which showed how deeply theidea of the discovery in its good and its evil, its saving light andits perilous storms, had sunk into the artist's soul, charmed me aseffecting the exact union between sentiment and execution, which is thetrue and rare consummation of the Ideal in Art. But observe, whilein these personages of the group are depicted the deeper and graveragencies implicated in the bright but terrible invention, observe howlittle the light epicures of the hour heed the scowl of the monk, or therestless gesture of Richard, or the troubled gleam in the eyes of theartisan, King Edward, handsome Poco curante, delighted in the surpriseof a child, with a new toy, and Clarence, with his curious, yetcareless, glance, --all the while Caxton himself, calm, serene, untroubled, intent solely upon the manifestation of his discovery, andno doubt supremely indifferent whether the first proofs of it shall bededicated to a Rivers or an Edward, a Richard or a Henry, Plantagenet orTudor--'t is all the same to that comely, gentle-looking man. So is itever with your Abstract Science!--not a jot cares its passionless logicfor the woe or weal of a generation or two. The stream, once emergedfrom its source, passes on into the great Intellectual Sea, smiling overthe wretch that it drowns, or under the keel of the ship which it servesas a slave. 

Now, when about to commence the present chapter on the Varietiesof Life, this masterpiece of thoughtful art forced itself on myrecollection, and illustrated what I designed to convey. In the surfaceof every age it is often that which but amuses for the moment theordinary children of pleasant existence, the Edwards and the Clarences(be they kings and dukes, or simplest of simple subjects), whichafterwards towers out as the great serious epoch of the time. When welook back upon human records, how the eye settles upon WRITERS asthe main landmarks of the past! We talk of the age of Augustus, ofElizabeth, of Louis XIV. , of Anne, as the notable eras of the world. Why? Because it is their writers who have made them so. Intervalsbetween one age of authors and another lie unnoticed, as the flats andcommon lands of uncultured history. And yet, strange to say, when theseauthors are living amongst us, they occupy a very small portion of ourthoughts, and fill up but desultory interstices in the bitumen and tufowherefrom we build up the Babylon of our lives. So it is, and perhaps soit should be, whether it pleases the conceit of penmen or not. Life ismeant to be active; and books, though they give the action to futuregenerations, administer but to the holiday of the present. 

And so, with this long preface, I turn suddenly from the Randals andthe Egertons, and the Levys, Avenels, and Peschieras, from the plotsand passions of practical life, and drop the reader suddenly into one ofthose obscure retreats wherein Thought weaves, from unnoticed moments, anew link to the chain that unites the ages. 

Within a small room, the single window of which opened on a fanciful andfairy-like garden that has been before described, sat a young man alone. He had been writing; the ink was not dry on his manuscript, but histhoughts had been suddenly interrupted from his work, and his eyes, nowlifted from the letter which had occasioned that interruption, sparkledwith delight. "He will come, " exclaimed the young man; "come here, --tothe home which I owe to him. I have not been unworthy of his friendship. And she--" his breast heaved, but the joy faded from his face. "Oh, strange, strange, that I feel sad at the thought to see her again! Seeher--Ah, no! my own comforting Helen, my own Child-angel! Her I cannever see again! The grown woman--that is not my Helen. And yet--andyet, " he resumed after a pause, "if ever she read the pages in whichthought flowed and trembled under her distant starry light, if evershe see how her image has rested with me, and feel that, while othersbelieve that I invent, I have but remembered, will she not, for amoment, be my own Helen again? Again, in heart and in fancy, stand by myside on the desolate bridge, hand in hand, orphans both, as we stoodin the days so sorrowful, yet, as I recall them, so sweet? Helen inEngland--it is a dream!"

He rose, half-consciously, and went to the window. The fountain playedmerrily before his eyes, and the birds in the aviary carolled loud tohis ear. "And in this house, " he murmured, "I saw her last! And there, where the fountain now throws its spray on high, --there her benefactorand mine told me that I was to lose her, that I might win--fame. Alas!"

At this time a woman, whose dress was somewhat above her mien and air, which, though not without a certain respectability, were very homely, entered the room; and seeing the young man standing thus thoughtful bythe window, paused. She was used to his habits; and since his successin life, had learned to respect them. So she did not disturb his revery, but began softly to arrange the room, dusting, with the corner of herapron, the various articles of furniture, putting a stray chair or twoin its right place, but not touching a single paper. Virtuous woman, andrare as virtuous!

The young man turned at last, with a deep, yet not altogether painfulsigh, "My dear mother, good day to you. Ah, you do well to make the room lookits best. Happy news! I expect a visitor!"

"Dear me, Leonard, will he want lunch--or what?"

"Nay, I think not, Mother. It is he to whom we owe all, --'Haec otiafecit. ' Pardon my Latin; it is Lord L'Estrange. "

The face of Mrs. Fairfield (the reader has long since divined the name)changed instantly, and betrayed a nervous twitch of all the muscles, which gave her a family likeness to old Mrs. Avenel. 

"Do not be alarmed, Mother. He is the kindest--"

"Don't talk so; I can't bear it!" cried Mrs. Fairfield. 

"No wonder you are affected by the recollection of all his benefits. Butwhen once you have seen him, you will find yourself ever after at yourease. And so, pray smile and look as good as you are; for I am proud ofyour open honest look when you are pleased, Mother. And he must see yourheart in your face, as I do. "

With this, Leonard put his arm round the widow's neck and kissed her. She clung to him fondly for a moment, and he felt her tremble from headto foot. Then she broke from his embrace, and hurried out of the room. Leonard thought perhaps she had gone to improve her dress, or to carryher housewife energies to the decoration of the other rooms; for "thehouse" was Mrs. Fairfield's hobby and passion; and now that she workedno more, save for her amusement, it was her main occupation. The hoursshe contrived to spend daily in bustling about those little rooms, andleaving everything therein to all appearance precisely the same, were among the marvels in life which the genius of Leonard had nevercomprehended. But she was always so delighted when Mr. Norreys, or somerare visitor came, and said, --Mr. Norreys never failed to do so, -"Howneatly all is kept here. What could Leonard do without you, Mrs. Fairfield?"

And, to Norreys's infinite amusement, Mrs. Fairfield always returned thesame answer. "'Deed, sir, and thank you kindly, but 't is my belief thatthe drawin'-room would be awful dusty. "

Once more left alone, Leonard's mind returned to the state of revery, and his face assumed the expression that had now become to it habitual. Thus seen, he was changed much since we last beheld him. His cheek wasmore pale and thin, his lips more firmly compressed, his eye morefixed and abstract. You could detect, if I may borrow a touching Frenchexpression, that "Sorrow had passed by there. " But the melancholy on hiscountenance was ineffably sweet and serene, and on his ample foreheadthere was that power, so rarely seen in early youth, --the power that hasconquered, and betrays its conquests but in calm. The period of doubt, of struggle, of defiance, was gone, perhaps forever; genius and soulwere reconciled to human life. It was a face most lovable; so gentle andpeaceful in its character. No want of fire; on the contrary, the firewas so clear and so steadfast, that it conveyed but the impression oflight. The candour of boyhood, the simplicity of the villager, werestill there, --refined by intelligence, but intelligence that seemed tohave traversed through knowledge, not with the 'footstep, but the wing, unsullied by the mire, tending towards the star, seeking through thevarious grades of Being but the lovelier forms of truth and goodness; athome, as should be the Art that consummates the Beautiful, --

 "In den heitern Regionen Wo die reinen Formen wohnen. "

 [At home--"In the serene regions Where dwell the pure forms. "]

From this revery Leonard did not seek to rouse himself, till the bell atthe garden gate rang loud and shrill; and then starting up and hurryinginto the hall, his hand was grasped in Harley's. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A full and happy hour passed away in Harley's questions and Leonard'sanswers, --the dialogue that naturally ensued between the two, on thefirst interview after an absence of years so eventful to the youngerman. 

The history of Leonard during this interval was almost solely internal, the struggle of intellect with its own difficulties, the wanderings ofimagination through its own adventurous worlds. 

The first aim of Norreys, in preparing the mind of his pupil for itsvocation, had been to establish the equilibrium of its powers, to calminto harmony the elements rudely shaken by the trials and passions ofthe old hard outer life. 

The theory of Norreys was briefly this: The education of a superiorhuman being is but the development of ideas in one for the benefit ofothers. To this end, attention should be directed, --1st, To the valueof the ideas collected; 2dly, To their discipline; 3dly, To theirexpression. For the first, acquirement is necessary; for the second, discipline; for the third, art. The first comprehends knowledge purelyintellectual, whether derived from observation, memory, reflection, books, or men, Aristotle or Fleet Street. The second demands training, not only intellectual, but moral; the purifying and exaltation ofmotives; the formation of habits; in which method is but a part of adivine and harmonious symmetry, a union of intellect and conscience. Ideas of value, stored by the first process; marshalled into force, andplaced under guidance, by the second, --it is the result of the third, toplace them before the world in the most attractive or commanding form. This may be done by actions no less than words; but the adaptation ofmeans to end, the passage of ideas from the brain of one man into thelives and souls of all, no less in action than in books, requires study. Action has its art as well as literature. Here Norreys had but to dealwith the calling of the scholar, the formation of the writer, and soto guide the perceptions towards those varieties in the sublime andbeautiful, the just combination of which is at once CREATION. Manhimself is but a combination of elements. He who combines in nature, creates in art. Such, very succinctly and inadequately expressed, wasthe system upon which Norreys proceeded to regulate and perfect thegreat native powers of his pupil; and though the reader may perhaps saythat no system laid down by another can either form genius or dictateto its results, yet probably nine-tenths at least of those in whomwe recognize the luminaries of our race have passed, unconsciouslyto themselves (for self-education is rarely conscious of its phases), through each of these processes. And no one who pauses to reflectwill deny, that according to this theory, illustrated by a man of vastexperience, profound knowledge, and exquisite taste, the strugglesof genius would be infinitely lessened, its vision cleared andstrengthened, and the distance between effort and success notablyabridged. 

Norreys, however, was far too deep a reasoner to fall into the error ofmodern teachers, who suppose that education can dispense with labour. Nomind becomes muscular without rude and early exercise. Labour should bestrenuous, but in right directions. All that we can do for it is to savethe waste of time in blundering into needless toils. 

The master had thus first employed his neophyte in arranging andcompiling materials for a great critical work in which Norreys himselfwas engaged. In this stage of scholastic preparation, Leonard wasnecessarily led to the acquisition of languages, for which he had greataptitude; the foundations of a large and comprehensive erudition weresolidly constructed. He traced by the ploughshare the walls of thedestined city. Habits of accuracy and of generalization became formedinsensibly; and that precious faculty which seizes, amidstaccumulated materials, those that serve the object for which they areexplored, --that faculty which quadruples all force, by concentrating iton one point, --once roused into action, gave purpose to every toil andquickness to each perception. But Norreys did not confine his pupilsolely to the mute world of a library; he introduced him to some of thefirst minds in arts, science, and letters, and active life. "These, "said he, "are the living ideas of the present, out of which books forthe future will be written: study them; and here, as in the volumes ofthe past, diligently amass and deliberately compile. "

By degrees Norreys led on that young ardent mind from the selection ofideas to their aesthetic analysis, --from compilation to criticism; butcriticism severe, close, and logical, --a reason for each word of praiseor of blame. Led in this stage of his career to examine into the lawsof beauty, a new light broke upon his mind; from amidst the masses ofmarble he had piled around him rose the vision of the statue. 

And so, suddenly, one day Norreys said to him, "I need a compiler nolonger, --maintain yourself by your own creations. " And Leonard wrote, and a work flowered up from the seed deep buried, and the soil wellcleared to the rays of the sun and the healthful influence of expandedair. 

That first work did not penetrate to a very wide circle of readers, notfrom any perceptible fault of its own--there is luck in these things;the first anonymous work of an original genius is rarely at onceeminently successful. But the more experienced recognized the promise ofthe book. Publishers, who have an instinct in the discovery ofavailable talent, which often forestalls the appreciation of the public, volunteered liberal offers. "Be fully successful this time, " saidNorreys; "think not of models nor of style. Strike at once at thecommon human heart, --throw away the corks, swim out boldly. One wordmore, --never write a page till you have walked from your room to TempleBar, and, mingling with men, and reading the human face, learn why greatpoets have mostly passed their lives in cities. "

Thus Leonard wrote again, and woke one morning to find himself famous. So far as the chances of all professions dependent on health willpermit, present independence, and, with foresight and economy, theprospects of future competence were secured. 

"And, indeed, " said Leonard, concluding a longer but a simpler narrativethan is here told, --"indeed, there is some chance that I may obtain atonce a sum that will leave me free for the rest of my life to select myown subjects, and write without care for remuneration. This is what Icall the true (and, perhaps, alas! the rare) independence of him whodevotes himself to letters. Norreys, having seen my boyish plan for theimprovement of certain machinery in the steam engine, insisted on mygiving much time to mechanics. The study that once pleased me so greatlynow seemed dull; but I went into it with good heart; and the result is, that I have improved so far on my original idea, that my scheme hasmet the approbation of one of our most scientific engineers: and I amassured that the patent for it will be purchased of me upon terms whichI am ashamed to name to you, so disproportioned do they seem to thevalue of so simple a discovery. Meanwhile, I am already rich enough tohave realized the two dreams of my heart, --to make a home in the cottagewhere I had last seen you and Helen--I mean Miss Digby; and to invite tothat home her who had sheltered my infancy. "

"Your mother, where is she? Let me see her. "

Leonard ran out to call the widow, but to his surprise and vexationlearned that she had quitted the house before L'Estrange arrived. 

He came back, perplexed how to explain what seemed ungracious andungrateful, and spoke with hesitating lip and flushed cheek of thewidow's natural timidity and sense of her own homely station. "And sooverpowered is she, " added Leonard, "by the recollection of all that weowe to you, that she never hears your name without agitation or tears, and trembled like a leaf at the thought of seeing you. "

"Ha!" said Harley, with visible emotion. "Is it so?" And he bent down, shading his face with his hand. "And, " he renewed, after a pause, butnot looking up--"and you ascribe this fear of seeing me, this agitationat my name, solely to an exaggerated sense of--of the circumstancesattending my acquaintance with yourself?"

"And, perhaps, to a sort of shame that the mother of one you have madeher proud of is but a peasant. "

"That is all?" said Harley, earnestly, now looking up and fixing eyes inwhich stood tears upon Leonard's ingenuous brow. 

"Oh, my dear Lord, what else can it be? Do not judge her harshly. "

L'Estrange arose abruptly, pressed Leonard's hand, muttered somethingnot audible, and then drawing his young friend's arm in his, led himinto the garden, and turned the conversation back to its former topics. 

Leonard's heart yearned to ask after Helen, and yet something withheldhim from doing so, till, seeing Harley did not volunteer to speak ofher, he could not resist his impulse. "And Helen--Miss Digby--is shemuch changed?"

"Changed, no--yes; very much. "

"Very much!" Leonard sighed. 

"I shall see her again?"

"Certainly, " said Harley, in a tone of surprise. "How can you doubt it?And I reserve to you the pleasure of saying that you are renowned. You blush; well, I will say that for you. But you shall give her yourbooks. "

"She has not yet read them, then?--not the last? The first was notworthy of her attention, " said Leonard, disappointed. "She has only justarrived in England; and, though your books reached me in Germany, shewas not then with me. When I have settled some business that will takeme from town, I shall present you to her and my mother. " There was acertain embarrassment in Harley's voice as he spoke; and, turning roundabruptly, he exclaimed, "But you have shown poetry even here. I couldnot have conceived that so much beauty could be drawn from what appearedto me the most commonplace of all suburban gardens. Why, surely, wherethat charming fountain now plays stood the rude bench in which I readyour verses. "

"It is true; I wished to unite all together my happiest associations. Ithink I told you, my Lord, in one of my letters, that I had owed a veryhappy, yet very struggling time in my boyhood to the singular kindnessand generous instructions of a foreigner whom I served. This fountainis copied from one that I made in his garden, and by the margin of whichmany a summer day I have sat and dreamed of fame and knowledge. "

"True, you told me of that; and your foreigner will be pleased to hearof your success, and no less so of your grateful recollections. By theway, you did not mention his name. "

"Riccabocca. "

"Riccabocca! My own dear and noble friend!--is it possible? One of myreasons for returning to England is connected with him. You shall godown with me and see him. I meant to start this evening. "

"My dear Lord, " said Leonard, "I think that you may spare yourself solong a journey. I have reason to suspect that Signor Riccabocca ismy nearest neighbour. Two days ago I was in the garden, when suddenlylifting my eyes to yon hillock I perceived the form of a man seatedamongst the brushwood; and though I could not see his features, therewas something in the very outline of his figure and his peculiarposture, that irresistibly reminded me of Riccabocca. I hastened out ofthe garden and ascended the hill, but he was gone. My suspicions were sostrong that I caused inquiry to be made at the different shops scatteredabout, and learned that a family consisting of a gentleman, his wife, and daughter had lately come to live in a house that you must havepassed in your way hither, standing a little back from the road, surrounded by high walls; and though they were said to be English, yetfrom the description given to me of the gentleman's person by one whohad noticed it, by the fact of a foreign servant in their employ, andby the very name 'Richmouth, ' assigned to the newcomers, I can scarcelydoubt that it is the family you seek. "

"And you have not called to ascertain?"

"Pardon me, but the family so evidently shunning observation (no one butthe master himself ever seen without the walls), the adoption of anothername too, led me to infer that Signor Riccabocca has some strong motivefor concealment; and now, with my improved knowledge of life, andrecalling all the past, I cannot but suppose that Riccabocca was notwhat he appeared. Hence, I have hesitated on formally obtruding myselfupon his secrets, whatever they be, and have rather watched for somechance occasion to meet him in his walks. "

"You did right, my dear Leonard; but my reasons for seeing my old friendforbid all scruples of delicacy, and I will go at once to his house. "

"You will tell me, my Lord, if I am right. "

"I hope to be allowed to do so. Pray, stay at home till I return. And now, ere I go, one question more: You indulge conjectures as toRiccabocca, because he has changed his name, --why have you dropped yourown?"

"I wished to have no name, " said Leonard, colouring deeply, "but thatwhich I could make myself. "

"Proud poet, this I can comprehend. But from what reason did you assumethe strange and fantastic name of Oran?"

The flush on Leonard's face became deeper. "My Lord, " said he, in a lowvoice, "it is a childish fancy of mine; it is an anagram. "

"Ah!"

"At a time when my cravings after knowledge were likely much to mislead, and perhaps undo me, I chanced on some poems that suddenly affectedmy whole mind, and led me up into purer air; and I was told that thesepoems were written in youth by one who had beauty and genius, --onewho was in her grave, --a relation of my own, and her familiar name wasNora--"

"Ah, " again ejaculated Lord L'Estrange, and his arm pressed heavily uponLeonard's. 

"So, somehow or other, " continued the young author, falteringly, "Iwished that if ever I won to a poet's fame, it might be to my own heart, at least, associated with this name of Nora; with her whom death hadrobbed of the fame that she might otherwise have won; with her who--"

He paused, greatly agitated. 

Harley was no less so. But, as if by a sudden impulse, the soldier bentdown his manly head and kissed the poet's brow; then he hastened to thegate, flung himself on his horse, and rode away. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Lord L'Estrange did not proceed at once to Riecabocca's house. He wasunder the influence of a remembrance too deep and too strong to yieldeasily to the lukewarm claim of friendship. He rode fast and far; andimpossible it would be to define the feelings that passed through a mindso acutely sensitive, and so rootedly tenacious of all affections. When, recalling his duty to the Italian, he once more struck into the road toNorwood, the slow pace of his horse was significant of his own exhaustedspirits; a deep dejection had succeeded to feverish excitement. "Vain task, " he murmured, "to wean myself from the dead! Yet I am nowbetrothed to another; and she, with all her virtues, is not the oneto--" He stopped short in generous self-rebuke. "Too late to think ofthat! Now, all that should remain to me is to insure the happinessof the life to which I have pledged my own. But--" He sighed as he somurmured. On reaching the vicinity of Riccabocca's house, he put uphis horse at a little inn, and proceeded on foot across the heathlandtowards the dull square building, which Leonard's description hadsufficed to indicate as the exile's new home. It was long before anyone answered his summons at the gate. Not till he had thrice rung did hehear a heavy step on the gravel walk within; then the wicket within thegate was partially drawn aside, a dark eye gleamed out, and a voice inimperfect English asked who was there. 

"Lord L'Estrange; and if I am right as to the person I seek, that namewill at once admit me. "

The door flew open as did that of the mystic cavern at the soundof "Open, Sesame;" and Giacomo, almost weeping with joyous emotion, exclaimed in Italian, "The good Lord! Holy San Giacomo! thou hast heardme at last! We are safe now. " And dropping the blunderbuss with which hehad taken the precaution to arm himself, he lifted Harley's hand to hislips, in the affectionate greeting familiar to his countrymen. 

"And the padrone?" asked Harley, as he entered the jealous precincts. 

"Oh, he is just gone out; but he will not be long. You will wait forhim?"

"Certainly. What lady is that I see at the far end of the garden?"

"Bless her, it is our signorina. I will run and tell her you are come. "

"That I am come; but she cannot know me even by name. "

"Ah, Excellency, can you think so? Many and many a time has she talkedto me of you, and I have heard her pray to the holy Madonna to blessyou, and in a voice so sweet--"

"Stay, I will present myself to her. Go into the house, and we will waitwithout for the padrone. Nay, I need the air, my friend. " Harley, as hesaid this, broke from Giacomo, and approached Violante. 

The poor child, in her solitary walk in the obscurer parts of the dullgarden, had escaped the eye of Giacomo when he had gone forth to answerthe bell; and she, unconscious of the fears of which she was the object, had felt something of youthful curiosity at the summons at the gate, and the sight of a stranger in close and friendly conference with theunsocial Giacomo. 

As Harley now neared her with that singular grace of movement whichbelonged to him, a thrill shot through her heart, she knew not why. Shedid not recognize his likeness to the sketch taken by her father fromhis recollections of Harley's early youth. She did not guess who he was;and yet she felt herself colour, and, naturally fearless though she was, turned away with a vague alarm. 

"Pardon my want of ceremony, Signorina, " said Harley, in Italian; "but Iam so old a friend of your father's that I cannot feel as a stranger toyourself. "

Then Violante lifted to him her dark eyes so intelligent and soinnocent, --eyes full of surprise, but not displeased surprise. AndHarley himself stood amazed, and almost abashed, by the rich andmarvellous beauty that beamed upon him. "My father's friend, " she saidhesitatingly, "and I never to have seen you!"

"Ah, Signorina, " said Harley (and something of its native humour, halfarch, half sad, played round his lip), "you are mistaken there; you haveseen me before, and you received me much more kindly then. "

"Signor!" said Violante, more and more surprised, and with a yet richercolour on her cheeks. 

Harley, who had now recovered from the first effect of her beauty, andwho regarded her as men of his years and character are apt to regardladies in their teens, as more child than woman, suffered himself to beamused by her perplexity; for it was in his nature that the graver andmore mournful he felt at heart, the more he sought to give play and whimto his spirits. 

"Indeed, Signorina, " said he, demurely, "you insisted then on placingone of those fair hands in mine; the other (forgive me the fidelity ofmy recollections) was affectionately thrown around my neck. "

"Signor!" again exclaimed Violante; but this time there was anger in hervoice as well as surprise, and nothing could be more charming than herlook of pride and resentment. 

Harley smiled again, but with so much kindly sweetness, that the angervanished at once, or rather Violante felt angry with herself that shewas no longer angry with him. But she had looked so beautiful inher anger, that Harley wished, perhaps, to see her angry again. So, composing his lips from their propitiatory smile, he resumed gravely, "Your flatterers will tell you, Signorina, that you are much improvedsince then, but I liked you better as you were; not but what I hope toreturn some day what you then so generously pressed upon me. "

"Pressed upon you!--I? Signor, you are under some strange mistake. "

"Alas! no; but the female heart is so capricious and fickle! You pressedit upon me, I assure you. I own that I was not loath to accept it. "

"Pressed it! Pressed what?"

"Your kiss, my child, " said Harley; and then added, with a serioustenderness, "and I again say that I hope to return it some day, when Isee you, by the side of father and of husband, in your native land, --thefairest bride on whom the skies of Italy ever smiled! And now, pardon ahermit and a soldier for his rude jests, and give your hand, in token ofthat pardon, to Harley L'Estrange. "

Violante, who at the first words of his address had recoiled, with avague belief that the stranger was out of his mind, sprang forward as itclosed, and in all the vivid enthusiasm of her nature pressed the handheld out to her with both her own. "Harley L'Estrange! the preserver ofmy father's life!" she cried; and her eyes were fixed on his with suchevident gratitude and reverence, that Harley felt at once confusedand delighted. She did not think at that instant of the hero of herdreams, --she thought but of him who had saved her father. But, as hiseyes sank before her own, and his head, uncovered, bowed over the handhe held, she recognized the likeness to the features on which she hadso often gazed. The first bloom of youth was gone, but enough of youthstill remained to soften the lapse of years, and to leave to manhood theattractions which charm the eye. Instinctively she withdrew her handsfrom his clasp, and in her turn looked down. 

In this pause of embarrassment to both, Riccabocca let himself into thegarden by his own latch-key, and, startled to see a man by the side ofViolante, sprang forward with an abrupt and angry cry. Harley heard, andturned. 

As if restored to courage and self-possession by the sense of herfather's presence, Violante again took the hand of the visitor. "Father, " she said simply, "it is he, --he is come at last. " And then, retiring a few steps, she contemplated them both; and her face wasradiant with happiness, as if something, long silently missed and lookedfor, was as silently found, and life had no more a want, nor the heart avoid. 

BOOK TENTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

UPON THIS FACT, --THAT THE WORLD IS STILL MUCH THE SAME AS IT ALWAYS HASBEEN. 

It is observed by a very pleasant writer, read nowadays only by thebrave pertinacious few who still struggle hard to rescue from the Houseof Pluto the souls of departed authors, jostled and chased as thosesouls are by the noisy footsteps of the living, --it is observed by theadmirable Charron, that "judgment and wisdom is not only the best, butthe happiest portion God Almighty hath distributed amongst men; forthough this distribution be made with a very uneven hand, yet nobodythinks himself stinted or ill-dealt with, but he that hath never solittle is contented in this respect. "

And, certainly, the present narrative may serve in notable illustrationof the remark so dryly made by the witty and wise preacher. For whetherour friend Riccabocca deduce theories for daily life from the greatfolio of Machiavelli; or that promising young gentleman, Mr. RandalLeslie, interpret the power of knowledge into the art of being tooknowing for dull honest folks to cope with him; or acute Dick Avenelpush his way up the social ascent with a blow for those before, and akick for those behind him, after the approved fashion of your strong NewMan; or Baron Levy--that cynical impersonation of Gold--compare himselfto the Magnetic Rock in the Arabian tale, to which the nails in everyship that approaches the influence of the loadstone fly from the planks, and a shipwreck per day adds its waifs to the Rock, --questionless, atleast; it is, that each of those personages believes that Providence hasbestowed on him an elder son's inheritance of wisdom. Nor, were we toglance towards the obscurer paths of life, should we find good ParsonDale deem himself worse off than the rest of the world in this preciouscommodity, --as, indeed, he has signally evinced of late in that shrewdguess of his touching Professor Moss. Even plain Squire Hazeldean takesit for granted that he could teach Audley Egerton a thing or two worthknowing in politics; Mr. Stirn thinks that there is no branch of usefullore on which he could not instruct the squire; while Sprott the tinker, with his bag full of tracts and lucifer matches, regards the wholeframework of modern society, from a rick to a constitution, with theprofound disdain of a revolutionary philosopher. Considering that everyindividual thus brings into the stock of the world so vast a share ofintelligence, it cannot but excite our wonder to find that Oxenstiern ispopularly held to be right when he said, "See, my son, how little wisdomit requires to govern States, "--that is, Men! That so many millionsof persons, each with a profound assurance that he is possessed of anexalted sagacity, should concur in the ascendancy of a few inferiorintellects, according to a few stupid, prosy, matter-of-fact rules asold as the hills, is a phenomenon very discreditable to the spirit andenergy of the aggregate human species! It creates no surprise that onesensible watch-dog should control the movements of a flock of sillygrass-eating sheep; but that two or three silly grass-eatingsheep should give the law to whole flocks of such mighty sensiblewatch-dogs--Diavolo! Dr. Riecabocca, explain that, if you can! Andwonderfully strange it is, that notwithstanding all the march ofenlightenment, notwithstanding our progressive discoveries in thelaws of Nature, our railways, steam-engines, animal magnetism, andelectrobiology, --we have never made any improvement that is generallyacknowledged, since men ceased to be troglodytes and nomads, in theold-fashioned gamut of flats and sharps, which attunes into irregularsocial jog-trot all the generations that pass from the cradle to thegrave; still, "the desire for something have have not" impels all theenergies that keep us in movement, for good or for ill, according to thechecks or the directions of each favourite desire. 

A friend of mine once said to a millionaire, whom he saw forever engagedin making money which he never seemed to have any pleasure in spending, "Pray, Mr ----, will you answer me one question: You are said to havetwo millions, and you spend L600 a year. In order to rest and enjoy, what will content you?"

"A little more, " answered the millionaire. That "little more" is themainspring of civilization. Nobody ever gets it!

"Philus, " saith a Latin writer, "was not so rich as Laelius; Laelius wasnot so rich as Scipio; Scipio was not so rich as Crassus; and Crassuswas not so rich--as he wished to be!" If John Bull were once contented, Manchester might shut up its mills. It is the "little more" that makes amere trifle of the National Debt!--Long life to it!

Still, mend our law-books as we will, one is forced to confess thatknaves are often seen in fine linen, and honest men in the most shabbyold rags; and still, notwithstanding the exceptions, knavery is a veryhazardous game, and honesty, on the whole, by far the best policy. Still, most of the Ten Commandments remain at the core of all thePandects and Institutes that keep our hands off our neighbours'throats, wives, and pockets; still, every year shows that the parson'smaxim--"non quieta movere "--is as prudent for the health of communitiesas when Apollo recommended his votaries not to rake up a fever bystirring the Lake Camarina; still, people, thank Heaven, decline toreside in parallelograms, and the surest token that we live under a freegovernment is when we are governed by persons whom we have a fullright to imply, by our censure and ridicule, are blockheads compared toourselves! Stop that delightful privilege, and, by Jove! sir, there isneither pleasure nor honour in being governed at all! You might as wellbe--a Frenchman!

CHAPTER II. 

The Italian and his friend are closeted together. 

"And why have you left your home in -----shire, and why this new changeof name?"

"Peschiera is in England. "

"I know it. "

"And bent on discovering me; and, it is said, of stealing from me mychild. "

"He has had the assurance to lay wagers that he will win the handof your heiress. I know that too; and therefore I have come toEngland, --first to baffle his design--for I do not think your fearsaltogether exaggerated, --and next to learn from you how to follow upa clew which, unless I am too sanguine, may lead to his ruin, and yourunconditional restoration. Listen to me. You are aware that, afterthe skirmish with Peschiera's armed hirelings sent in search of you, Ireceived a polite message from the Austrian government, requesting meto leave its Italian domains. Now, as I hold it the obvious duty of anyforeigner admitted to the hospitality of a State, to refrain from allparticipation in its civil disturbances, so I thought my honour assailedat this intimation, and went at once to Vienna, to explain to theminister there (to whom I was personally known), that though I had, asbecame man to man, aided to protect a refugee, who had taken shelterunder my roof, from the infuriated soldiers at the command of hisprivate foe, I had not only not shared in any attempt at revolt, butdissuaded, as far as I could, my Italian friends from their enterprise;and that because, without discussing its merits, I believed, as amilitary man and a cool spectator, the enterprise could only terminatein fruitless bloodshed. I was enabled to establish my explanationby satisfactory proof; and my acquaintance with the minister assumedsomething of the character of friendship. I was then in a position toadvocate your cause, and to state your original reluctance to enter intothe plots of the insurgents. I admitted freely that you had such naturaldesire for the independence of your native land, that, had the standardof Italy been boldly hoisted by its legitimate chiefs, or at the commonuprising of its whole people, you would have been found in the van, amidst the ranks of your countrymen; but I maintained that you wouldnever have shared in a conspiracy frantic in itself, and defiled by thelawless schemes and sordid ambition of its main projectors, had you notbeen betrayed and decoyed into it by the misrepresentations anddomestic treachery of your kinsman, --the very man who denounced you. Unfortunately, of this statement I had no proof but your own word. Imade, however, so far an impression in your favour, and, it may be, against the traitor, that your property was not confiscated to theState, nor handed over, upon the plea of your civil death, to yourkinsman. "

"How!--I do not understand. Peschiera has the property?"

"He holds the revenues but of one half upon pleasure, and they would bewithdrawn, could I succeed in establishing the case that exists againsthim. I was forbidden before to mention this to you; the minister, notinexcusably, submitted you to the probation of unconditional exile. Your grace might depend upon your own forbearance from furtherconspiracies--forgive the word. I need not say I was permitted to returnto Lombardy. I found, on my arrival, that--that your unhappy wifehad been to my house, and exhibited great despair at hearing of mydeparture. "

Riccabocca knit his dark brows, and breathed hard. 

"I did not judge it necessary to acquaint you with this circumstance, nor did it much affect me. I believed in her guilt--and what could nowavail her remorse, if remorse she felt? Shortly afterwards, I heard thatshe was no more. "

"Yes, " muttered Riccabocca, "she died in the same year that I leftItaly. It must be a strong reason that can excuse a friend for remindingme even that she once lived!"

"I come at once to that reason, " said L'Estrange, gently. "This autumn Iwas roaming through Switzerland, and, in one of my pedestrian excursionsamidst the mountains, I met with an accident, which confined me for somedays to a sofa at a little inn in an obscure village. My hostess wasan Italian; and as I had left my servant at a town at some distance, Irequired her attention till I could write to him to come to me. I wasthankful for her cares, and amused by her Italian babble. We became verygood friends. She told me she had been servant to a lady of great rank, who had died in Switzerland; and that, being enriched by the generosityof her mistress, she had married a Swiss innkeeper, and his people hadbecome hers. My servant arrived, and my hostess learned my name, whichshe did not know before. She came into my room greatly agitated. Inbrief, this woman had been servant to your wife. She had accompaniedher to my villa, and known of her anxiety to see me, as your friend. The Government had assigned to your wife your palace at Milan, with acompetent income. She had refused to accept of either. Failing to seeme, she had set off towards England, resolved upon seeing yourself; forthe journals had stated that to England you had escaped. "

"She dared! shameless! And see, but a moment before, I had forgottenall but her grave in a foreign soil, --and these tears had forgiven her, "murmured the Italian. 

"Let them forgive her still, " said Harley, with all his exquisitesweetness of look and tone. "I resume. On entering Switzerland yourwife's health, which you know was always delicate, gave way. To fatigueand anxiety succeeded fever, and delirium ensued. She had taken with herbut this one female attendant--the sole one she could trust--on leavinghome. She suspected Peschiera to have bribed her household. In thepresence of this woman she raved of her innocence, in accents of terrorand aversion denounced your kinsman, and called on you to vindicate hername and your own. "

"Ravings indeed! Poor Paulina!" groaned Riccabocca, covering his facewith both hands. 

"But in her delirium there were lucid intervals. In one of these sherose, in spite of all her servants could do to restrain her, took fromher desk several letters, and reading them over, exclaimed piteously, 'But how to get them to him; whom to trust? And his friend is gone!'Then an idea seemed suddenly to flash upon her, for she uttered a joyousexclamation, sat down, and wrote long and rapidly, enclosed what shewrote with all the letters, in one packet, which she sealed carefully, and bade her servant carry to the post, with many injunctions to takeit with her own hand, and pay the charge on it. 'For oh!' said she (Irepeat the words as my informant told them to me), --'for oh! this is mysole chance to prove to my husband that, though I have erred, I am notthe guilty thing he believes me; the sole chance, too, to redeem myerror, and restore, perhaps, to my husband his country, to my childher heritage. ' The servant took the letter to the post; and when shereturned, her lady was asleep, with a smile upon her face. But from thatsleep she woke again delirious, and before the next morning her soulhad fled. " Here Riccabocca lifted one hand from his face and graspedHarley's arm, as if mutely beseeching him to pause. The heart of the manstruggled hard with his pride and his philosophy; and it was long beforeHarley could lead him to regard the worldly prospects which this lastcommunication from his wife might open to his ruined fortunes, --not, indeed, till Riccabocca had persuaded himself, and half persuaded Harley(for strong, indeed, was all presumption of guilt against the dead), that his wife's protestations of innocence from all but error had beenbut ravings. 

"Be this as it may, " said Harley, "there seems every reason to supposethat the letters enclosed were Peschiera's correspondence, and that, ifso, these would establish the proof of his influence over your wife, and of his perfidious machinations against yourself. I resolved, beforecoming hither, to go round by Vienna. There I heard, with dismay, thatPeschiera had not only obtained the imperial sanction to demand yourdaughter's hand, but had boasted to his profligate circle that he shouldsucceed; and he was actually on his road to England. I saw at once thatcould this design, by any fraud or artifice, be successful with Violante(for of your consent, I need not say, I did not dream), the discoveryof the packet, whatever its contents, would be useless; Peschiera's endwould be secured. I saw also that his success would suffice forever toclear his name; for his success must imply your consent (it would be todisgrace your daughter, to assert that she had married without it), andyour consent would be his acquittal. I saw, too, with alarm, that toall means for the accomplishment of his project he would be urged bydespair; for his debts are great, and his character nothing but newwealth can support. I knew that he was able, bold, determined, and thathe had taken with him a large supply of money borrowed upon usury, --ina word, I trembled for you both. I have now seen your daughter, and Itremble no more. Accomplished seducer as Peschiera boasts himself, thefirst look upon her face so sweet, yet so noble, convinced me that sheis proof against a legion of Peschieras. Now, then, return we to thisall-important subject, --to this packet. It never reached you. Long yearshave passed since then. 

"Does it exist still? Into whose hands would it have fallen?

"Try to summon up all your recollections. The servant could not rememberthe name of the person to whom it was addressed; she only insisted thatthe name began with a B, that it was directed to England, and that toEngland she accordingly paid the postage. Whom then, with a name thatbegins with B, or (in case the servant's memory here mislead her) whomdid you or your wife know, during your visit to England, with sufficientintimacy to make it probable that she would select such a person for herconfidant?"

"I cannot conceive, " said Riccabocca, shaking his head. "We came toEngland shortly after our marriage. Paulina was affected by the climate. She spoke not a word of English, and indeed not even French, asmight have been expected from her birth, for her father was poor, and thoroughly Italian. She refused all society. I went, it is true, somewhat into the London world, --enough to induce me to shrink from thecontrast that my second visit as a beggared refugee would have madeto the reception I met with on my first; but I formed no intimatefriendships. I recall no one whom she could have written to as intimatewith me. "

"But, " persisted Harley, "think again. Was there no lady well acquaintedwith Italian, and with whom, perhaps, for that very reason, your wifebecame familiar?"

"Ah, it is true. There was one old lady of retired habits, but who hadbeen much in Italy. Lady--Lady--I remember--Lady Jane Horton. "

"Horton--Lady Jane!" exclaimed Harley; "again; thrice in one day!--isthis wound never to scar over?" Then, noting Riccabocca's look ofsurprise, he said, "Excuse me, my friend; I listen to you with renewedinterest. Lady Jane was a distant relation of my own; she judged me, perhaps, harshly--and I have some painful associations with her name;but she was a woman of many virtues. Your wife knew her?"

"Not, however, intimately; still, better than any one else in London. But Paulina would not have written to her; she knew that Lady Jane haddied shortly after her own departure from England. I myself was summonedback to Italy on pressing business; she was too unwell to journey withme as rapidly as I was obliged to travel; indeed, illness detainedher several weeks in England. In this interval she might have madeacquaintances. Ah, now I see; I guess. You say the name began with B. Paulina, in my absence, engaged a companion, --a Mrs. Bertram. This ladyaccompanied her abroad. Paulina became excessively attached to her, sheknew Italian so well. Mrs. Bertram left her on the road, and returned toEngland, for some private affairs of her own. I forget why or wherefore;if, indeed, I ever asked or learned. Paulina missed her sadly, oftentalked of her, wondered why she never heard from her. No doubt it was tothis Mrs. Bertram that she wrote!"

"And you don't know the lady's friends, or address?"

"No. "

"Nor who recommended her to your wife?"

"No. "

"Probably Lady Jane Horton?"

"It may be so. 

"Very likely. "

"I will follow up this track, slight as it is. "

"But if Mrs. Bertram received the communication, how comes it that itnever reached myself--Oh, fool that I am, how should it! I, who guardedso carefully my incognito!"

"True. This your wife could not foresee; she would naturally imaginethat your residence in England would be easily discovered. But manyyears must have passed since your wife lost sight of this Mrs. Bertram, if their acquaintance was made so soon after your marriage; and now itis a long time to retrace, --before even your Violante was born. "

"Alas! yes. I lost two fair sons in the interval. Violante was born tome as the child of sorrow. "

"And to make sorrow lovely! how beautiful she is!" The father smiledproudly. 

"Where, in the loftiest houses of Europe, find a husband worthy of sucha prize?"

"You forget that I am still an exile, she still dowerless. You forgetthat I am pursued by Peschiera; that I would rather see her a beggar'swife--than--Pah, the very thought maddens me, it is so foul. Corpo diBacco! I have been glad to find her a husband already. "

"Already! Then that young man spoke truly?"

"What young man?"

"Randal Leslie. How! You know him?" Here a brief explanation followed. Harley heard with attentive ear, and marked vexation, the particulars ofRiccabocca's connection and implied engagement with Leslie. 

"There is something very suspicious to me in all this, " said he. 

"Why should this young man have so sounded me as to Violante's chance oflosing fortune if she married, an Englishman?"

"Did he? Oh, pooh! Excuse him. It was but his natural wish to seemignorant of all about me. He did not know enough of my intimacy with youto betray my secret. "

"But he knew enough of it--must have known enough--to have made it rightthat he should tell you I was in England. He does not seem to have doneso. "

"No; that is strange--yet scarcely strange; for, when we last met, hishead was full of other things, --love and marriage. Basta! youth will beyouth. "

"He has no youth left in him!" exclaimed Harley, passionately. "I doubtif he ever had any. He is one of those men who come into the world withthe pulse of a centenarian. You and I never shall be as old as he was inlong clothes. Ah, you may laugh; but I am never wrong in my instincts. I disliked him at the first, --his eye, his smile, his voice, his veryfootstep. It is madness in you to countenance such a marriage; it maydestroy all chance of your restoration. "

"Better that than infringe my word once passed. "

"No, no, " exclaimed Harley; "your word is not passed, it shall not bepassed. Nay, never look so piteously at me. At all events, pause tillwe know more of this young man. If he be worthy of her without a dower, why, then, let him lose you your heritage. I should have no more tosay. "

"But why lose me my heritage? There is no law in Austria which candictate to a father what husband to choose for his daughter. "

"Certainly not. But you are out of the pale of law itself just atpresent; and it would surely be a reason for State policy to withholdyour pardon, and it would be to the loss of that favour with your owncountrymen, which would now make that pardon so popular, if it wereknown that the representative of your name were debased by yourdaughter's alliance with an English adventurer, --a clerk in a publicoffice. Oh, sage in theory, why are you such a simpleton in action?"

Nothing moved by this taunt, Riceabocca rubbed his hands, and thenstretched them comfortably over the fire. 

"My friend, " said he, "the representation of my name would pass to myson. "

"But you have no son. "

"Hush! I am going to have one; my Jemima informed me of it yesterdaymorning; and it was upon that information that I resolved to speak toLeslie. Am I a simpleton now?"

"Going to have a son, " repeated Harley, looking very bewildered; "how doyou know it is to be a son?"

"Physiologists are agreed, " said the sage, positively, "that where thehusband is much older than the wife, and there has been a long intervalwithout children before she condescends to increase the population ofthe world, she (that is, it is at least as nine to four)--she bringsinto the world a male. I consider that point therefore as settled, according to the calculations of statisticians and the researches ofnaturalists. "

Harley could not help laughing, though he was still angry and disturbed. 

"The same man as ever; always the fool of philosophy. "

"Cospetto!" said Riccabocca. "I am rather the philosopher of fools. Andtalking of that, shall I present you to my Jemima?"

"Yes; but in turn I must present you to one who remembers with gratitudeyour kindness, and whom your philosophy, for a wonder, has not ruined. Some time or other you must explain that to me. Excuse me for a moment;I will go for him. 

"For him, --for whom? In my position I must be cautious; and--"

"I will answer for his faith and discretion. Meanwhile order dinner, andlet me and my friend stay to share it. "

"Dinner? Corpo di Bacco!--not that Bacchus can help us here. What willJemima say?"

"Henpecked man, settle that with your connubial tyrant. But dinner itmust be. "

I leave the reader to imagine the delight of Leonard at seeing once moreRiccabocca unchanged and Violante so improved, and the kind Jemima too;and their wonder at him and his history, his books and his fame. Henarrated his struggles and adventures with a simplicity that removedfrom a story so personal the character of egotism. But when he came tospeak of Helen he was brief and reserved. 

Violante would have questioned more closely; but, to Leonard's relief, Harley interposed. 

"You shall see her whom he speaks of before long, and question heryourself. "

With these words, Harley turned the young man's narrative into newdirections; and Leonard's words again flowed freely. Thus the eveningpassed away happily to all save Riccabocca. For the thought of his deadwife rose ever and anon before the exile; but when it did, and becametoo painful, he crept nearer to Jemima, and looked in her simple face, and pressed her cordial hand. And yet the monster had implied to Harleythat his comforter was a fool, --so she was, to love so contemptible aslanderer of herself and her sex. 

Violante was in a state of blissful excitement; she could not analyzeher own joy. But her conversation was chiefly with Leonard; and themost silent of all was Harley. He sat listening to Leonard's warm yetunpretending eloquence, --that eloquence which flows so naturally fromgenius, when thoroughly at its ease, and not chilled back on itselfby hard, unsympathizing hearers; listened, yet more charmed, to thesentiments less profound, yet no less earnest, --sentiments so feminine, yet so noble, with which Violante's fresh virgin heart responded to thepoet's kindling soul. Those sentiments of hers were so unlike allhe heard in the common world, so akin to himself in his gone youth!Occasionally--at some high thought of her own, or some lofty linefrom Italian song, that she cited with lighted eyes, and in melodiousaccents--occasionally he reared his knightly head, and his lip quivered, as if he had heard the sound of a trumpet. The inertness of long yearswas shaken. The Heroic, that lay deep beneath all the humours of histemperament, was reached, appealed to; and stirred within him, rousingup all the bright associations connected with it, and long dormant. Whenhe arose to take leave, surprised at the lateness of the hour, Harleysaid, in a tone that bespoke the sincerity of the compliment, "I thankyou for the happiest hours I have known for years. " His eye dwelt onViolante as he spoke. 

But timidity returned to her with his words, at his look; and it was nolonger the inspired muse, but the bashful girl that stood before him. 

"And when shall I see you again?" asked Riccabocca, disconsolately, following his guest to the door. 

"When? Why, of course, to-morrow. Adieu! my friend. No wonder you haveborne your exile so patiently, --with such a child!"

He took Leonard's arm, and walked with him to the inn where he had lefthis horse. Leonard spoke of Violante with enthusiasm. Harley was silent. 

CHAPTER III. 

The next day a somewhat old-fashioned, but exceedingly patrician, equipage stopped at Riccabocca's garden-gate. Giacomo, who, from abedroom window, had caught sight of its winding towards the house, wasseized with undefinable terror when he beheld it pause before theirwalls, and heard the shrill summons at the portal. He rushed into hismaster's presence, and implored him not to stir, --not to allow anyone to give ingress to the enemies the machine might disgorge. "I haveheard, " said he, "how a town in Italy--I think it was Bologna--was oncetaken and given to the sword, by incautiously admitting a wooden horsefull of the troops of Barbarossa and all manner of bombs and Congreverockets. "

"The story is differently told in Virgil, " quoth Riccabocca, peepingout of the window. "Nevertheless, the machine looks very large andsuspicious; unloose Pompey. "

"Father, " said Violante, colouring, "it is your friend, Lord L'Estrange;I hear his voice. "

"Are you sure?"

"Quite. How can I be mistaken?"

"Go, then, Giacomo; but take Pompey with thee, --and give the alarm if weare deceived. "

But Violante was right; and in a few moments Lord L'Estrange was seenwalking up the garden, and giving the arm to two ladies. 

"Ah, " said Riccabocca, composing his dressing-robe round him, "go, mychild, and summon Jemima. Man to man; but, for Heaven's sake, woman towoman. "

Harley had brought his mother and Helen, in compliment to the ladies ofhis friend's household. 

The proud countess knew that she was in the presence of Adversity, andher salute to Riccabocca was only less respectful than that with whichshe would have rendered homage to her sovereign. But Riccabocca, alwaysgallant to the sex that he pretended to despise, was not to be outdonein ceremony; and the bow which replied to the courtesy would haveedified the rising generation, and delighted such surviving relics ofthe old Court breeding as may linger yet amidst the gloomy pomp of theFaubourg St. Germain. These dues paid to etiquette, the countess brieflyintroduced Helen as Miss Digby, and seated herself near the exile. Ina few moments the two elder personages became quite at home with eachother; and, really, perhaps Riccabocca had never, since we have knownhim, showed to such advantage as by the side of his polished, butsomewhat formal visitor. Both had lived so little with our modern, ill-bred age! They took out their manners of a former race, with asort of pride in airing once more such fine lace and superb brocade. Riccabocca gave truce to the shrewd but homely wisdom of his proverbs, perhaps he remembered that Lord Chesterfield denounces proverbs asvulgar; and gaunt though his figure, and far from elegant though hisdressing-robe, there was that about him which spoke undeniably of thegrand seigneur, --of one to whom a Marquis de Dangeau would have offereda fauteuil by the side of the Rohans and Montmorencies. 

Meanwhile Helen and Harley seated themselves a little apart, and wereboth silent, --the first, from timidity; the second, from abstraction. At length the door opened, and Harley suddenly sprang to hisfeet, --Violante and Jemima entered. Lady Lansinere's eyes first restedon the daughter, and she could scarcely refrain from an exclamation ofadmiring surprise; but then, when she caught sight of Mrs. Riccabocca'ssomewhat humble, yet not obsequious mien, --looking a little shy, alittle homely, yet still thoroughly a gentlewoman (though of your plain, rural kind of that genus), she turned from the daughter, and with thesavoir vivre of the fine old school, paid her first respects to thewife; respects literally, for her manner implied respect, --but itwas more kind, simple, and cordial than the respect she had shown toRiccabocca; as the sage himself had said, here "it was Woman to Woman. "And then she took Violante's hand in both hers, and gazed on her as ifshe could not resist the pleasure of contemplating so much beauty. "Myson, " she said softly, and with a half sigh, --"my son in vain told menot to be surprised. This is the first time I have ever known realityexceed description!"

Violante's blush here made her still more beautiful; and as the countessreturned to Riccabocca, she stole gently to Helen's side. 

"Miss Digby, my ward, " said Harley, pointedly, observing that hismother had neglected her duty of presenting Helen to the ladies. He thenreseated himself, and conversed with Mrs. Riccabocca; but his bright, quick eye glanced over at the two girls. They were about the sameage--and youth was all that, to the superficial eye, they seemed to havein common. A greater contrast could not well be conceived; and, what isstrange, both gained by it. Violante's brilliant loveliness seemed yetmore dazzling, and Helen's fair, gentle face yet more winning. Neitherhad mixed much with girls of her own age; each took to the other atfirst sight. Violante, as the less shy, began the conversation. 

"You are his ward, --Lord L'Estrange's?"

"Yes. "

"Perhaps you came with him from Italy?"

"No, not exactly; but I have been in Italy for some years. "

"Ah! you regret--nay, I am foolish--you return to your native land. But the skies in Italy are so blue, --here it seems as if Nature wantedcolours. "

"Lord L'Estrange says that you were very young when you left Italy; youremember it well. He, too, prefers Italy to England. "

"He! Impossible!"

"Why impossible, fair sceptic?" cried Harley, interrupting himself inthe midst of a speech to Jemima. 

Violante had not dreamed that she could be overheard--she was speakinglow; but, though visibly embarrassed, she answered distinctly, "Because in England there is the noblest career for noble minds. "

Harley was startled, and replied, with a slight sigh, "At your age Ishould have said as you do. But this England of ours is so crowded withnoble minds that they only jostle each other, and the career is onecloud of dust. "

"So, I have read, seems a battle to a common soldier, but not to thechief. "

"You have read good descriptions of battles, I see. "

Mrs. Riccabocca, who thought this remark a taunt upon herstep-daughter's studies, hastened to Violante's relief. 

"Her papa made her read the history of Italy, and I believe that is fullof battles. "

HARLEY. --"All history is, and all women are fond of war and of warriors. I wonder why?"

VIOLANTE (turning to Helen, and in a very low voice, resolved thatHarley should not hear this time). --"We can guess why, --can we not?"

HARLEY (hearing every word, as if it had been spoken in St. Paul'sWhispering Gallery). --"If you can guess, Helen, pray tell me. "

HELEN (shaking her pretty head, and answering with a livelier smile thanusual). --"But I am not fond of war and warriors. "

HARLEY (to Violante). --"Then I must appeal at once to you, self-convicted Bellona that you are. Is it from the cruelty natural tothe female disposition?"

VIOLANTE (with a sweet musical laugh). "From two propensities still morenatural to it. "

HARLEY. --"YOU puzzle me: what can they be?"

VIOLANTE. --"Pity and admiration; we pity the weak and admire the brave. "

Harley inclined his head, and was silent. 

Lady Lansmere had suspended her conversation with Riccabocca to listento this dialogue. "Charming!" she cried. 

"You have explained what has often perplexed me. Ah, Harley, I am gladto see that your satire is foiled: you have no reply to that. "

"No; I willingly own myself defeated, too glad to claim the signorina'spity, since my cavalry sword hangs on the wall, and I can have no longera professional pretence to her admiration. "

He then rose, and glanced towards the window. "But I see a moreformidable disputant for my conqueror to encounter is coming into thefield, --one whose profession it is to substitute some other romance forthat of camp and siege. "

"Our friend Leonard, " said Riccabocca, turning his eye also towards thewindow. "True; as Quevedo says, wittily, 'Ever since there has beenso great a demand for type, there has been much less lead to spare forcannon-balls. '"

Here Leonard entered. Harley had sent Lady Lansmere's footman to himwith a note, that prepared him to meet Helen. As he came into the room, Harley took him by the hand and led him to Lady Lansmere. 

"The friend of whom I spoke. Welcome him now for my sake, ever after forhis own;" and then, scarcely allowing time for the countess's elegantand gracious response, he drew Leonard towards Helen. "Children, " saidhe, with a touching voice, that thrilled through the hearts of both, "goand seat yourselves yonder, and talk together of the past. Signorina, Iinvite you to renewed discussion upon the abstruse metaphysical subjectyou have started; let us see if we cannot find gentler sources for pityand admiration than war and warriors. " He took Violante aside to thewindow. "You remember that Leonard, in telling you his history lastnight, spoke, you thought, rather too briefly of the little girl who hadbeen his companion in the rudest time of his trials. When you wouldhave questioned more, I interrupted you, and said, 'You should see hershortly, and question her yourself. ' And now what think you of HelenDigby? Hush, speak low. But her ears are not so sharp as mine. "

VIOLANTE. --"Ah! that is the fair creature whom Leonard called hischild-angel? What a lovely innocent face!--the angel is there still. "

HARLEY (pleased both at the praise and with her who gave it). --"Youthink so; and you are right. Helen is not communicative. But finenatures are like fine poems, --a glance at the first two lines sufficesfor a guess into the beauty that waits you if you read on. "

Violante gazed on Leonard and Helen as they sat apart. Leonard was thespeaker, Helen the listener; and though the former had, in his narrativethe night before, been indeed brief as to the episode in his lifeconnected with the orphan, enough had been said to interest Violantein the pathos of their former position towards each other, and in thehappiness they must feel in their meeting again, --separated for years onthe wide sea of life, now both saved from the storm and shipwreck. Thetears came into her eyes. "True, " she said, very softly, "there is morehere to move pity and admiration than in--" She paused. 

HARLEY. --"Complete the sentence. Are you ashamed to retract? Fie on yourpride and obstinacy!"

VIOLANTE. --"No; but even here there have been war and heroism, --the warof genius with adversity, and heroism in the comforter who shared itand consoled. Ah, wherever pity and admiration are both felt, somethingnobler than mere sorrow must have gone before: the heroic must exist. "

"Helen does not know what the word 'heroic' means, " said Harley, rathersadly; "you must teach her. "

"Is it possible, " thought he as he spoke, "that a Randal Leslie couldhave charmed this grand creature? No 'Heroic' surely, in that sleekyoung placeman. --Your father, " he said aloud, and fixing his eyes on herface, "sees much, he tells me, of a young man about Leonard's age, as todate; but I never estimate the age of men by the parish register, andI should speak of that so-called young man as a contemporary of mygreat-grandfather, --I mean Mr. Randal Leslie. Do you like him?"

"Like him, " said Violante, slowly, and as if sounding her ownmind, --"like him--yes. "

"Why?" asked Harley, with dry and curt indignation. "His visits seem toplease my dear father. Certainly I like him. "

"Hum. He professes to like you, I suppose?"

Violante laughed unsuspiciously. She had half a mind to reply, "Is thatso strange?" But her respect for Harley stopped her. The words wouldhave seemed to her pert. "I am told he is clever, " resumed Harley. 

"Oh, certainly. "

"And he is rather handsome. But I like Leonard's face better. "

"Better--that is not the word. Leonard's face is as that of one who hasgazed so often upon Heaven; and Mr. Leslie's--there is neither sunlightnor starlight reflected there. "

"My dear Violante?" exclaimed Harley, overjoyed; and he pressed herhand. 

The blood rushed over the girl's cheek and brow; her hand trembled inhis. But Harley's familiar exclamation might have come from a father'slips. 

At this moment Helen softly approached them, and looking timidly intoher guardian's face, said, "Leonard's mother is with him: he asks me tocall and see her. May I?"

"May you! A pretty notion the signorina must form of your enslaved stateof pupilage, when she hears you ask that question. Of course you may. "

"Will you come with us?"

Harley looked embarrassed. He thought of the widow's agitation at hisname; of that desire to shun him, which Leonard had confessed, and ofwhich he thought he divined the cause. And so divining, he too shrankfrom such a meeting. 

"Another time, then, " said he, after a pause. Helen looked disappointed, but said no more. 

Violante was surprised at this ungracious answer. She would have blamedit as unfeeling in another; but all that Harley did was right in hereyes. 

"Cannot I go with Miss Digby?" said she, "and my mother will go too. Weboth know Mrs. Fairfield. We shall be so pleased to see her again. "

"So be it, " said Harley; "I will wait here with your father till youcome back. Oh, as to my mother, she will excuse the--excuse MadameRiccabocca, and you too. See how charmed she is with your father. I muststay to watch over the conjugal interests of mine. "

But Mrs. Riccabocca had too much good old country breeding to leave thecountess; and Harley was forced himself to appeal to Lady Lansmere. Whenhe had explained the case in point, the countess rose and said, "But I will call myself, with Miss Digby. "

"No, " said Harley, gravely, but in a whisper. "No; I would rather not. Iwill explain later. "

"Then, " said the countess aloud, after a glance of surprise at her son, "I must insist on your performing this visit, my dear madam, and you, Signorina. In truth, I have something to say confidentially to--"

"To me, " interrupted Riccabocca. "Ah, Madame la Comtesse, you restore meto five-and-twenty. Go, quick, O jealous and injured wife; go, both ofyou, quick; and you, too, Harley. "

"Nay, " said Lady Lansmere, in the same tone, "Harley must stay, for mydesign is not at present upon destroying your matrimonial happiness, whatever it may be later. It is a design so innocent that my son will bea partner in it. "

Here the countess put her lips to Harley's ear, and whispered. Hereceived her communication in attentive silence; but when she had done, pressed her hand, and bowed his head, as if in assent to a proposal. 

In a few minutes the three ladies and Leonard were on their road to theneighbouring cottage. 

Violante, with her usual delicate intuition, thought that Leonard andHelen must have much to say to each other; and (ignorant, as Leonardhimself was, of Helen's engagement to Harley) began already, in theromance natural to her age, to predict for them happy and united days inthe future. So she took her stepmother's arm, and left Helen and Leonardto follow. 

"I wonder, " she said musingly, "how Miss Digby became Lord L'Estrange'sward. I hope she is not very rich, nor very high-born. "

"La, my love, " said the good Jemima, "that is not like you; you are notenvious of her, poor girl?"

"Envious! Dear mamma, what a word! But don't you think Leonard and MissDigby seem born for each other? And then the recollections of theirchildhood--the thoughts of childhood are so deep, and its memories sostrangely soft!" The long lashes drooped over Violante's musing eyes asshe spoke. "And therefore, " she said, after a pause, --"therefore I hopedthat Miss Digby might not be very rich nor very high-born. "

"I understand you now, Violante, " exclaimed Jemima, her own earlypassion for match-making instantly returning to her; "for as Leonard, however clever and distinguished, is still the son of Mark Fairfield thecarpenter, it would spoil all if--Miss Digby was, as you say, rich andhigh-born. I agree with you, --a very pretty match, a very pretty match, indeed. I wish dear--Mrs. Dale were here now, --she is so clever insettling such matters. "

Meanwhile Leonard and Helen walked side by side a few paces in the rear. He had not offered her his arm. They had been silent hitherto since theyleft Riccabocca's house. 

Helen now spoke first. In similar cases it is generally the woman, beshe ever so timid, who does speak first. And here Helen was the bolder;for Leonard did not disguise from himself the nature of his feelings, and Helen was engaged to another, and her pure heart was fortified bythe trust reposed in it. 

"And have you ever heard more of the good Dr. Morgan, who had powdersagainst sorrow, and who meant to be so kind to us, --though, " she added, colouring, "we did not think so then?"

"He took my child-angel from me, " said Leonard, with visible emotion;"and if she had not returned, where and what should I be now? But I haveforgiven him. No, I have never met him since. "

"And that terrible Mr. Burley?"

"Poor, poor Burley! He, too, is vanished out of my present life. I havemade many inquiries after him; all I can hear is that he went abroad, supposed as a correspondent to some journal. I should like so much tosee him again, now that perhaps I could help him as he helped me. "

"Helped you--ah!"

Leonard smiled with a beating heart, as he saw again the dear prudent, warning look, and involuntarily drew closer to Helen. She seemed morerestored to him and to her former self. 

"Helped me much by his instructions; more, perhaps, by his very faults. You cannot guess, Helen, --I beg pardon, Miss Digby, but I forgot that weare no longer children, --you cannot guess how much we men, and more thanall, perhaps, we writers whose task it is to unravel the web of humanactions, owe even to our own past errors; and if we learned nothing bythe errors of others, we should be dull indeed. We must know where theroads divide, and have marked where they lead to, before we can erectour sign-post; and books are the sign-posts in human life. "

"Books! and I have not yet read yours. And Lord L'Estrange tells me youare famous now. Yet you remember me still, --the poor orphan child, whomyou first saw weeping at her father's grave, and with whom you burdenedyour own young life, over-burdened already. No, still call me Helen--youmust always be to me a brother! Lord L'Estrange feels that; he said soto me when he told me that we were to meet again. He is so generous, sonoble. Brother!" cried Helen, suddenly, and extending her hand, witha sweet but sublime look in her gentle face, --"brother, we will neverforfeit his esteem; we will both do our best to repay him! Will wenot?--say so!"

Leonard felt overpowered by contending and unanalyzed emotions. Touchedalmost to tears by the affectionate address, thrilled by the handthat pressed his own, and yet with a vague fear, a consciousness thatsomething more than the words themselves was implied, --something thatchecked all hope. And this word "brother, " once so precious and so dear, why did he shrink from it now; why could he not too say the sweet word"sister"?

"She is above me now and evermore!" he thought mournfully; and the tonesof his voice, when he spoke again, were changed. The appeal to renewedintimacy but made him more distant, and to that appeal itself he made nodirect answer; for Mrs. Riccabocca, now turning round, and pointing tothe cottage which came in view, with its picturesque gable-ends, criedout, "But is that your house, Leonard? I never saw anything so pretty. "

"You do not remember it then, " said Leonard to Helen, in accents ofmelancholy reproach, --"there where I saw you last? I doubted whetherto keep it exactly as it was, and I said, '--No! the association isnot changed because we try to surround it with whatever beauty we cancreate; the dearer the association, the more the Beautiful becomes to itnatural. ' Perhaps you don't understand this, --perhaps it is only we poorpoets who do. "

"I understand it, " said Helen, gently. She looked wistfully at thecottage. 

"So changed! I have so often pictured it to myself, never, never likethis; yet I loved it, commonplace as it was to my recollection; and thegarret, and the tree in the carpenter's yard. "

She did not give these thoughts utterance. And they now entered thegarden. 

CHAPTER IV. 

Mrs. Fairfield was a proud woman when she received Mrs. Riccabocca andViolante in her grand house; for a grand house to her was that cottageto which her boy Lenny had brought her home. Proud, indeed, ever wasWidow Fairfield; but she thought then in her secret heart, that if evershe could receive in the drawing-room of that grand house the great Mrs. Hazeldean, who had so lectured her for refusing to live any longer inthe humble, tenement rented of the squire, the cup of human bliss wouldbe filled, and she could contentedly die of the pride of it. She didnot much notice Helen, --her attention was too absorbed by the ladies whorenewed their old acquaintance with her, and she carried them all overthe house, yea, into the very kitchen; and so, somehow or other, therewas a short time when Helen and Leonard found themselves alone. It wasin the study. Helen had unconsciously seated herself in Leonard's ownchair, and she was gazing with anxious and wistful interest on thescattered papers, looking so disorderly (though, in truth, in thatdisorder there was method, but method only known to the owner), and atthe venerable well-worn books, in all languages, lying on the floor, onthe chairs--anywhere. I must confess that Helen's first tidy womanlikeidea was a great desire to arrange the litter. "Poor Leonard, " shethought to herself, "the rest of the house so neat, but no one to takecare of his own room and of him!"

As if he divined her thought, Leonard smiled and said, "It would be acruel kindness to the spider, if the gentlest band in the world tried toset its cobweb to rights. "

HELEN. --"You were not quite so bad in the old days. "

LEONARD. --"Yet even then you were obliged to take care of the money. Ihave more books now, and more money. My present housekeeper lets me takecare of the books, but she is less indulgent as to the money. "

HELEN (archly). --"Are you as absent as ever?"

LEONARD. --"Much more so, I fear. The habit is incorrigible, MissDigby--"

HELEN. --"Not Miss Digby; sister, if you like. "

LEONARD (evading the word that implied so forbidden anaffinity). --"Helen, will you grant me a favour? Your eyes and your smilesay 'yes. ' Will you lay aside, for one minute, your shawl and bonnet?What! can you be surprised that I ask it? Can you not understand thatI wish for one minute to think that you are at home again under thisroof?"

Helen cast down her eyes, and seemed troubled; then she raised them, with a soft angelic candour in their dovelike blue, and, as if inshelter from all thoughts of more warm affection, again murmured"brother, " and did as he asked her. 

So there she sat, amongst the dull books, by his table, near the openwindow, her fair hair parted on her forehead, looking so good, so calm, so happy! Leonard wondered at his own self-command. His heart yearned toher with such inexpressible love, his lips so longed to murmur, "Ah, as now so could it be forever! Is the home too mean?" But that word"brother" was as a talisman between her and him. Yet she looked so athome--perhaps so at home she felt!--more certainly than she had yetlearned to do in that stiff stately house in which she was soon to havea daughter's rights. Was she suddenly made aware of this, that she sosuddenly arose, and with a look of alarm and distress on her face. 

"But--we are keeping Lady Lansmere too long, " she said falteringly. "Wemust go now, " and she hastily took up her shawl and bonnet. 

Just then Mrs. Fairfield entered with the visitors, and began makingexcuses for inattention to Miss Digby, whose identity with Leonard'schild-angel she had not yet learned. 

Helen received these apologies with her usual sweetness. "Nay, " shesaid, "your son and I are such old friends, how could you stand onceremony with me?"

"Old friends!" Mrs. Fairfield stared amazed, and then surveyed thefair speaker more curiously than she had yet done. "Pretty, nice-spokenthing, " thought the widow; "as nice-spoken as Miss Violante, andhumbler-looking like, --though, as to dress, I never see anything soelegant out of a picter. "

Helen now appropriated Mrs. Riccabocca's arm; and, after a kindleave-taking with the widow, the ladies returned towards Riccabocca'shouse. 

Mrs. Fairfield, however, ran after them with Leonard's hat and gloves, which he had forgotten. 

"'Deed, boy, " she said, kindly, yet scoldingly, "but there'd be no morefine books, if the Lord had not fixed your head on your shoulders. Youwould not think it, marm, " she added to Mrs. Riccabocca, "but sin' hehas left you, he's not the 'cute lad he was; very helpless at times, marm!"

Helen could not resist turning round, and looking at Leonard, with a slysmile. 

The widow saw the smile, and catching Leonard by the arm, whispered, "But where before have you seen that pretty young lady? Old friends!"

"Ah, Mother, " said Leonard, sadly, "it is a long tale; you have heardthe beginning, who can guess the end?" and he escaped. But Helen stillleaned on the arm of Mrs. Riccabocca, and, in the walk back, it seemedto Leonard as if the winter had re-settled in the sky. 

Yet he was by the side of Violante, and she spoke to him with suchpraise of Helen! Alas! it is not always so sweet as folks say tohear the praises of one we love. Sometimes those praises seem to askironically, "And what right hast thou to hope because thou lovest? Alllove her. "

CHAPTER V. 

No sooner had Lady Lansmere found herself alone with Riccabocca andHarley than she laid her hand on the exile's arm, and, addressing himby a title she had not before given him, and from which he appeared toshrink nervously, said, "Harley, in bringing me to visit you, was forcedto reveal to me your incognito, for I should have discovered it. Youmay not remember me, in spite of your gallantry; but I mixed more in theworld than I do now, during your first visit to England, and once satnext to you at dinner at Carlton House. Nay, no compliments, but listento me. Harley tells me you have cause for some alarm respecting thedesigns of an audacious and unprincipled adventurer, I may call him; foradventurers are of all ranks. Suffer your daughter to come to me on avisit, as long as you please. With me, at least, she will be safe; andif you, too, and the--"

"Stop, my dear madam, " interrupted Riccabocca, with great vivacity;"your kindness overpowers me. I thank you most gratefully for yourinvitation to my child; but--"

"Nay, " in his turn interrupted Harley, "no buts. I was not aware of mymother's intention when she entered this room. But since she whisperedit to me, I have reflected on it, and am convinced that it is but aprudent precaution. Your retreat is known to Mr. Leslie, he is known toPeschiera. Grant that no indiscretion of Mr. Leslie's betray thesecret; still I have reason to believe that the count guesses Randal'sacquaintance with you. Audley Egerton this morning told me he hadgathered that, not from the young man himself, but from questions put tohimself by Madame di Negra; and Peschiera might and would set spies totrack Leslie to every house that he visits, --might and would, still morenaturally, set spies to track myself. Were this man an Englishman, Ishould laugh at his machinations; but he is an Italian, and has been aconspirator. What he could do I know not; but an assassin can penetrateinto a camp, and a traitor can creep through closed walls to one'shearth. With my mother, Violante must be safe; that you cannot oppose. And why not come yourself?"

Riccabocca had no reply to these arguments, so far as they affectedViolante; indeed, they awakened the almost superstitious terror withwhich he regarded his enemy, and he consented at once that Violanteshould accept the invitation proffered. But he refused it for himselfand Jemima. 

"To say truth, " said he, simply, "I made a secret vow, on re-enteringEngland, that I would associate with none who knew the rank I hadformerly held in my own land. I felt that all my philosophy was neededto reconcile and habituate myself to my altered circumstances. In orderto find in my present existence, however humble, those blessings whichmake all life noble, --dignity and peace, --it was necessary for poor, weak human nature wholly to dismiss the past. It would unsettle mesadly, could I come to your house, renew awhile, in your kindness andrespect--nay, in the very atmosphere of your society--the sense of whatI have been; and then (should the more than doubtful chance of recallfrom my exile fail me) to awake, and find myself for the rest of lifewhat I am. And though, were I alone, I might trust myself perhaps to thedanger, yet my wife: she is happy and contented now; would she be so, if you had once spoiled her for the simple position of Dr. Riccabocca'swife? Should I not have to listen to regrets and hopes and fears thatwould prick sharp through my thin cloak of philosophy? Even as it is, since in a moment of weakness I confided my secret to her, I have had'my rank' thrown at me, --with a careless hand, it is true, but it hitshard nevertheless. No stone hurts like one taken from the ruins of one'sown home; and the grander the home, why, the heavier the stone! Protect, dear madam, protect my daughter, since her father doubts his own powerto do so. But--ask no more. "

Riccabocca was immovable here; and the matter was settled as he decided, it being agreed that Violante should be still styled but the daughter ofDr. Riccabocca. 

"And now, one word more, " said Harley. "Do not confide to Mr. Lesliethese arrangements; do not let him know where Violante is placed, --atleast, until I authorize such confidence in him. It is sufficientexcuse that it is no use to know unless he called to see her, and hismovements, as I said before, may be watched. You can give the samereason to suspend his visits to yourself. Suffer me, meanwhile, tomature my judgment on this young man. In the meanwhile, also, I thinkthat I shall have means of ascertaining the real nature of Peschiera'sschemes. His sister has sought to know me; I will give her the occasion. I have heard some things of her in my last residence abroad, which makeme believe that she cannot be wholly the count's tool in any schemesnakedly villanous; that she has some finer qualities in her than I oncesupposed; and that she can be won from his influence. It is a state ofwar; we will carry it into the enemy's camp. You will promise me, then, to refrain from all further confidence in Mr. Leslie?"

"For the present, yes, " said Riccabocca, reluctantly. 

"Do not even say that you have seen me, unless he first tell you thatI am in England, and wish to learn your residence. I will give him fulloccasion to do so. Pish! don't hesitate; you know your own proverb--

 "'Boccha chiusa, ed occhio aperto Non fece mai nissun deserto. '

"The closed mouth and the open eye, ' etc. "

"That's very true, " said the doctor, much struck. "Very true. 'In bocchachiusa non c'entrano mosche. ' One can't swallow flies if one keeps one'smouth shut. Corpo di Bacco! that's very true indeed. "

CHAPTER VI. 

Violante and Jemima were both greatly surprised, as the reader maysuppose, when they heard, on their return, the arrangements alreadymade for the former. The countess insisted on taking her at once, andRiccabocca briefly said, "Certainly, the sooner the better. " Violantewas stunned and bewildered. Jemima hastened to make up a little bundleof things necessary, with many a woman's sigh that the poor wardrobecontained so few things befitting. But among the clothes she slipped apurse, containing the savings of months, perhaps of years, and with it afew affectionate lines, begging Violante to ask the countess to buy herall that was proper for her father's child. There is always somethinghurried and uncomfortable in the abrupt and unexpected withdrawal of anymember from a quiet household. The small party broke into still smallerknots. Violante hung on her father, and listened vaguely to his not verylucid explanations. The countess approached Leonard, and, accordingto the usual mode with persons of quality addressing young authors, complimented him highly on the books she had not read, but which her sonassured her were so remarkable. She was a little anxious to know whereHarley had first met with Mr. Oran, whom he called his friend; but shewas too highbred to inquire, or to express any wonder that rank shouldbe friends with genius. She took it for granted that they had formedtheir acquaintance abroad. 

Harley conversed with Helen. --"You are not sorry that Violante is comingto us? She will be just such a companion for you as I could desire; ofyour own years too. "

HELEN (ingenuously). --"It is hard to think I am not younger than sheis. "

HARLEY. --"Why, my dear Helen?"

HELEN. --"She is so brilliant. She talks so beautifully. And I--"

HARLEY. --"And you want but the habit of talking, to do justice to yourown beautiful thoughts. "

Helen looked at him gratefully, but shook her head. It was a commontrick of hers, and always when she was praised. 

At last the preparations were made, the farewell was said, Violante wasin the carriage by Lady Lansmere's side. Slowly moved on the statelyequipage with its four horses and trim postilions, heraldic badges ontheir shoulders, in the style rarely seen in the neighbourhood of themetropolis, and now fast vanishing even amidst distant counties. 

Riccabocca, Jemima, and Jackeymo continued to gaze after it from thegate. 

"She is gone, " said Jackeymo, brushing his eyes with his coat-sleeve. "But it is a load off one's mind. "

"And another load on one's heart, " murmured Riccabocca. "Don't cry, Jemima; it may be bad for you, and bad for him that is to come. Itis astonishing how the humours of the mother may affect the unborn. Ishould not like to have a son who has a more than usual propensity totears. "

The poor philosopher tried to smile; but it was a bad attempt. He wentslowly in, and shut himself with his books. But he could not read. Hiswhole mind was unsettled. And though, like all parents, he had beenanxious to rid himself of a beloved daughter for life, now that she wasgone but for a while, a string seemed broken in the Music of Home. 

CHAPTER VII. 

The evening of the same day, as Egerton, who was to entertain a largeparty at dinner, was changing his dress, Harley walked into his room. 

Egerton dismissed his valet by a sign, and continued his toilet. 

"Excuse me, my dear Harley, I have only ten minutes to give you. Iexpect one of the royal dukes, and punctuality is the stern virtue ofmen of business, and the graceful courtesy of princes. "

Harley had usually a jest for his friend's aphorisms; but he had nonenow. He laid his hand kindly on Egerton's shoulder. "Before I speak ofmy business, tell me how you are, --better?"

"Better, --nay, I am always well. Pooh! I may look a little tired, --yearsof toil will tell on the countenance. But that matters little: theperiod of life has passed with me when one cares how one looks in theglass. "

As he spoke, Egerton completed his dress, and came to the hearth, standing there, erect and dignified as usual, still far handsomer thanmany a younger man, and with a form that seemed to have ample vigour tosupport for many a year the sad and glorious burden of power. 

"So now to your business, Harley. "

"In the first place, I want you to present me, at the earliestopportunity, to Madame di Negra. You say she wished to know me. "

"Are you serious?"

"Yes. "

"Well, then, she receives this evening. I did not mean to go; but whenmy party breaks up--"

"You can call for me at The Travellers. Do!"

"Next, you knew Lady Jane Horton better even than I did, at least in thelast year of her life. " Harley sighed, and Egerton turned and stirredthe fire. 

"Pray, did you ever see at her house, or hear her speak of, a Mrs. Bertram?"

"Of whom?" said Egerton, in a hollow voice, his face still turnedtowards the fire. 

"A Mrs. Bertram; but heavens! my dear fellow, what is the matter? Areyou ill?"

"A spasm at the heart, that is all; don't ring, I shall be betterpresently; go on talking. Mrs. --why do you ask?"

"Why? I have hardly time to explain; but I am, as I told you, resolvedon righting my old Italian friend, if Heaven will help me, as it everdoes help the just when they bestir themselves; and this Mrs. Bertram ismixed up in my friend's affairs. "

"His! How is that possible?"

Harley rapidly and succinctly explained. Audley listened attentively, with his eyes fixed on the floor, and still seeming to labour undergreat difficulty of breathing. 

At last he answered, "I remember something of this Mrs. --Mrs. --Bertram. But your inquiries after her would be useless. I think I have heard thatshe is long since dead; nay, I am sure of it. "

"Dead!--that is most unfortunate. But do you know any of her relationsor friends? Can you suggest any mode of tracing this packet, if it cameto her hands?"

"No. "

"And Lady Jane had scarcely any friend that I remember except my mother, and she knows nothing of this Mrs. Bertram. How unlucky! I think I shalladvertise. Yet, no. I could only distinguish this Mrs. Bertram from anyother of the same name, by stating with whom she had gone abroad, andthat would catch the attention of Peschiera, and set him to counterworkus. "

"And what avails it?" said Egerton. "She whom you seek is no more--nomore!" He paused, and went on rapidly: "The packet did not arrivein England till years after her death, was no doubt returned to thepost-office, is destroyed long ago. "

Harley looked very much disappointed. Egerton went on in a sort of set, mechanical voice, as if not thinking of what he said, but speaking fromthe dry practical mode of reasoning which was habitual to him, and bywhich the man of the world destroys the hopes of an enthusiast. Thenstarting up at the sound of the first thundering knock at the streetdoor, he said, "Hark! you must excuse me. "

"I leave you, my dear Audley. But I must again ask, Are you better now?"

"Much, much, --quite well: I will call for you, --probably between elevenand twelve. "

CHAPTER VIII. 

If any one could be more surprised at seeing Lord L'Estrange at thehouse of Madame di Negra that evening than the fair hostess herself, it was Randal Leslie. Something instinctively told him that this visitthreatened interference with whatever might be his ultimate projectsin regard to Riccabocca and Violante. But Randal Leslie was not one ofthose who shrink from an intellectual combat. On the contrary, he wastoo confident of his powers of intrigue not to take a delight in theirexercise. He could not conceive that the indolent Harley could be amatch for his own restless activity and dogged perseverance. But in avery few moments fear crept on him. No man of his day could produce amore brilliant effect than Lord L'Estrange, when he deigned to desireit. Without much pretence to that personal beauty which strikes at firstsight, he still retained all the charm of countenance, and all the graceof manner, which had made him in boyhood the spoiled darling of society. Madame di Negra had collected but a small circle round her; still it wasof the elite of the great world, --not, indeed, those more precise andreserved dames de chateau, whom the lighter and easier of the fairdispensers of fashion ridicule as prudes; but nevertheless, ladieswere there, as unblemished in reputation, as high in rank, flirts andcoquettes, perhaps, --nothing more; in short, "charming women, "--thegay butterflies that hover over the stiff parterre. And there wereambassadors and ministers, and wits and brilliant debaters, andfirst-rate dandies (dandies, when first-rate, are generally veryagreeable men). Amongst all these various persons, Harley, so long astranger to the London world, seemed to make himself at home with theease of an Alcibiades. Many of the less juvenile ladies remembered him, and rushed to claim his acquaintance, with nods and becks, and wreathedsmiles. He had ready compliment for each. And few indeed were there, men or women, for whom Harley L'Estrange had not appropriate attraction. Distinguished reputation as soldier and scholar for the grave; whim andpleasantry for the gay; novelty for the sated; and for the more vulgarnatures was he not Lord L'Estrange, unmarried, possessed already ofa large independence, and heir to an ancient earldom, and some fiftythousands a year?

Not till he had succeeded in the general effect--which, it must beowned, he did his best to create--did Harley seriously and especiallydevote himself to his hostess. And then he seated himself by her side;and, as if in compliment to both, less pressing admirers insensiblyslipped away and edged off. 

Frank Hazeldean was the last to quit his ground behind Madame di Negra'schair; but when he found that the two began to talk in Italian, and hecould not understand a word they said, he too--fancying, poor fellow, that he looked foolish, and cursing his Eton education that hadneglected, for languages spoken by the dead, of which he had learnedlittle, those still in use among the living, of which he had learnednought--retreated towards Randal, and asked wistfully, "Pray, what ageshould you say L'Estrange was? He must be devilish old, in spite of hislooks. Why, he was at Waterloo!"

"He is young enough to be a terrible rival, " answered Randal, withartful truth. 

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 Harleyand Beatrice now conversed in a low tone, and Beatrice seemed agitated, and Harley earnest. Randal himself grew more and more perplexed. WasLord L'Estrange really enamoured of the marchesa? If so, farewell to allhopes of Frank's marriage with her! Or was he merely playing a part inRiccabocca's interest; pretending to be the lover, in order to obtainan influence over her mind, rule her through her ambition, and securean ally against her brother? Was this finesse compatible with Randal'snotions of Harley's character? Was it consistent with that chivalric andsoldierly spirit of honour which the frank nobleman affected, to makelove to a woman in mere ruse de guerre? Could mere friendship forRiccabocca be a sufficient inducement to a man, who, whatever hisweaknesses or his errors, seemed to wear on his very forehead a soulabove deceit, to stoop to paltry means, even for a worthy end? At thisquestion, a new thought flashed upon Randal, --might not Lord L'Estrangehave speculated himself upon winning Violante; would not that accountfor all the exertions he had made on behalf of her inheritance at thecourt of Vienna, --exertions of which Peschiera and Beatrice had bothcomplained? Those objections which the Austrian government might taketo Violante's marriage with some obscure Englishman would probablynot exist against a man like Harley L'Estrange, whose family not onlybelonged to the highest aristocracy of England, but had always supportedopinions in vogue amongst the leading governments of Europe. Harleyhimself, it is true, had never taken part in politics, but his notionswere, no doubt, those of a high-born soldier, who had fought, inalliance with Austria, for the restoration of the Bourbons. And thisimmense wealth--which Violante might lose, if she married one likeRandal himself--her marriage with the heir of the Lansmeres mightactually tend only to secure. Could Harley, with all his ownexpectations, be indifferent to such a prize?--and no doubt he hadlearned Violante's rare beauty in his correspondence with Riccabocca. 

Thus considered, it seemed natural to Randal's estimate of human naturethat Harley's more prudish scruples of honour, as regards what is due towomen, could not resist a temptation so strong. Mere friendship was nota motive powerful enough to shake them, but ambition was. 

While Randal was thus cogitating, Frank thus suffering, and many awhisper, in comment on the evident flirtation between the beautifulhostess and the accomplished guest, reached the ears both of thebrooding schemer and the jealous lover, the conversation between the twoobjects of remark and gossip had taken a new turn. Indeed, Beatrice hadmade an effort to change it. 

"It is long, my Lord, " said she, still speaking Italian, "since I haveheard sentiments like those you address to me; and if I do not feelmyself wholly unworthy of them, it is from the pleasure I have felt inreading sentiments equally foreign to the language of the world in whichI live. " She took a book from the table as she spoke: "Have you seenthis work?"

Harley glanced at the title-page. "To be sure I have, and I know theauthor. "

"I envy you that honour. I should so like also to know one who hasdiscovered to me deeps in my own heart which I had never explored. "

"Charming marchesa, if the book has done this, believe me that I havepaid you no false compliment, --formed no overflattering estimate of yournature; for the charm of the work is but in its simple appeal to goodand generous emotions, and it can charm none in whom those emotionsexist not!"

"Nay, that cannot be true, or why is it so popular?"

"Because good and generous emotions are more common to the human heartthan 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 roomwith significant irony. 

"As I thought; you call this little room 'the world. ' Be it so. I willventure to say, that if the people in this room were suddenly convertedinto an audience before a stage, and you were as consummate in theactor'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, youwould be hissed. But let any other woman, with half your powers, arise and utter sentiments sweet and womanly, or honest and lofty, andapplause would flow from every lip, and tears rush to many a worldlyeye. The true proof of the inherent nobleness of our common nature isin the sympathy it betrays with what is noble wherever crowds arecollected. Never believe the world is base; if it were so, no societycould hold together for a day. But you would know the author of thisbook? I will bring him to you. "

"Do. "

"And now, " said Harley, rising, and with his candid, winning smile, "doyou think we shall ever be friends?"

"You have startled me so that I can scarcely answer. But why would yoube friends with me?"

"Because you need a friend. You have none?"

"Strange flatterer!" said Beatrice, smiling, though very sadly; andlooking up, her eye caught Randal's. 

"Pooh!" said Harley, "you are too penetrating to believe that youinspire friendship there. Ah, do you suppose that; all the while I havebeen conversing with you, I have not noticed the watchful gaze of Mr. Randal Leslie? What tie can possibly connect you together I know notyet; but I soon shall. "

"Indeed! you talk like one of the old Council of Venice. You try hard tomake me fear you, " said Beatrice, seeking to escape from the graverkind of impression Harley had made on her, by the affectation partly ofcoquetry, partly of levity. 

"And I, " said L'Estrange, calmly, "tell you already that I fear you nomore. " He bowed, and passed through the crowd to rejoin Audley, who wasseated in a corner whispering with some of his political colleagues. Before Harley reached the minister, he found himself close to Randal andyoung Hazeldean. 

He bowed to the first, and extended his hand to the last. Randal feltthe distinction, and his sullen, bitter pride was deeply galled, --afeeling of hate towards Harley passed into his mind. He was pleased tosee the cold hesitation with which Frank just touched the hand offeredto him. But Randal had not been the only person whose watch uponBeatrice the keen-eyed Harley had noticed. Harley had seen theangry looks of Frank Hazeldean, and divined the cause. So he smiledforgivingly at the slight he had received. "You are like me, Mr. Hazeldean, " said he. "You think something of the heart should go withall courtesy that bespeaks friendship--

 "'The hand of Douglas is his own. '"

Here Harley drew aside Randal. "Mr. Leslie, a word with you. If I wishedto know the retreat of Dr. Riccabocca, in order to render him a greatservice, would you confide to me that secret?"

"That woman has let out her suspicions that I know the exile's retreat, "thought Randal; and with quick presence of mind, he replied at once, "My Lord, yonder stands a connection of Dr. Riccabocca's. Mr. Hazeldeanis surely the person to whom you should address this inquiry. "

"Not so, Mr. Leslie; for I suspect that he cannot answer it, and thatyou can. Well, I will ask something that it seems to me you may grantwithout hesitation. Should you see Dr. Riccabocca, tell him that I amin England, and so leave it to him to communicate with me or not; butperhaps you have already done so?"

"Lord L'Estrange, " said Randal, bowing low, with pointed formality, "excuse me if I decline either to disclaim or acquiesce in the knowledgeyou impute to me. If I am acquainted with any secret intrusted to me byDr. Riccabocca, it is for me to use my own discretion how best to guardit. And for the rest, after the Scotch earl, whose words your Lordshiphas quoted, refused to touch the hand of Marmion, Douglas could scarcelyhave called Marmion back in order to give him--a message!"

Harley was not prepared for this tone in Mr. Egerton's protege, and hisown gallant nature was rather pleased than irritated by a haughtinessthat at least seemed to bespeak independence of spirit. Nevertheless, L'Estrange's suspicions of Randal were too strong to be easily setaside, and therefore he replied, civilly, but with covert taunt, "I submit to your rebuke, Mr. Leslie, though I meant not the offence youwould ascribe to me. I regret my unlucky quotation yet the more, since the wit of your retort has obliged you to identify yourselfwith Marmion, who, though a clever and brave fellow, was anuncommonly--tricky one. " And so Harley, certainly having the best of it, moved on, and joined Egerton, and in a few minutes more both left theroom. 

"What was L'Estrange saying to you?" asked Frank. "Something aboutBeatrice, I am sure. "

"No; only quoting poetry. "

"Then what made you look so angry, my dear fellow? I know it was yourkind feeling for me. As you say, he is a formidable rival. But thatcan't be his own hair. Do you think he wears a toupet? I am sure he waspraising Beatrice. He is evidently very much smitten with her. But Idon't think she is a woman to be caught by mere rank and fortune! Doyou? Why can't you speak?"

"If you do not get her consent soon, I think she is lost to you, " saidRandal, slowly; and before Frank could recover his dismay, glided fromthe house. 

CHAPTER IX. 

Violante's first evening at the Lansmeres had passed more happily to herthan the first evening under the same roof had done to Helen. True thatshe missed her father much, Jemima somewhat; but she so identified herfather's cause with Harley that she had a sort of vague feeling thatit was to promote that cause that she was on this visit to Harley'sparents. And the countess, it must be owned, was more emphaticallycordial to her than she had ever yet been to Captain Digby's orphan. Butperhaps the real difference in the heart of either girl was this, thatHelen felt awe of Lady Lansmere, and Violante felt only love for LordL'Estrange's mother. Violante, too, was one of those persons whom areserved and formal person, like the countess, "can get on with, " as thephrase goes. Not so poor little Helen, --so shy herself, and so hard tocoax into more than gentle monosyllables. And Lady Lansmere's favouritetalk was always of Harley. Helen had listened to such talk with respectand interest. Violante listened to it with inquisitive eagerness, withblushing delight. The mother's heart noticed the distinction between thetwo, and no wonder that that heart moved more to Violante than to Helen. Lord Lansmere, too, like most gentlemen of his age, clumped all youngladies together as a harmless, amiable, but singularly stupid class ofthe genus-Petticoat, meant to look pretty, play the piano, and talkto each other about frocks and sweethearts. Therefore this animated, dazzling creature, with her infinite variety of look and play of mind, took him by surprise, charmed him into attention, and warmed himinto gallantry. Helen sat in her quiet corner, at her work, sometimeslistening with almost mournful, though certainly unenvious, admirationat Violante's vivid, yet ever unconscious, eloquence of word andthought, sometimes plunged deep into her own secret meditations. And allthe while the work went on the same, under the small, noiseless fingers. This was one of Helen's habits that irritated the nerves of LadyLansmere. She despised young ladies who were fond of work. She did notcomprehend how often it is the resource of the sweet womanly mind, notfrom want of thought, but from the silence and the depth of it. Violantewas surprised, and perhaps disappointed, that Harley had left the housebefore dinner, and did not return all the evening. But Lady Lansmere, inmaking excuse for his absence, on the plea of engagements, found so goodan opportunity to talk of his ways in general, --of his rare promise inboyhood, of her regret at the inaction of his maturity, of her hopeto see him yet do justice to his natural powers, --that Violante almostceased to miss him. 

And when Lady Lansmere conducted her to her room, and, kissing her cheektenderly, said, "But you are just the person Harley admires, --just theperson to rouse him from melancholy dreams, of which his wild humoursare now but the vain disguise"--Violante crossed her arms on her bosom, and her bright eyes, deepened into tenderness, seemed to ask, "Hemelancholy--and why?"

On leaving Violante's room, Lady Lansmere paused before the door ofHelen's; and, after musing a little while, entered softly. 

Helen had dismissed her maid; and, at the moment Lady Lansmere entered, she was kneeling at the foot of the bed, her hands clasped before herface. 

Her form, thus seen, looked so youthful and child-like, the attitudeitself was so holy and so touching, that the proud and cold expressionon Lady Lansmere's face changed. She shaded the light involuntarily, andseated herself in silence that she might not disturb the act of prayer. 

When Helen rose, she was startled to see the countess seated by thefire, and hastily drew her hand across her eyes. She had been weeping. 

Lady Lansmere did not, however, turn to observe those traces of tears, which Helen feared were too visible. The countess was too absorbed inher own thoughts; and as Helen timidly approached, she said--still withher eyes on the clear low fire--"I beg your pardon, Miss Digby, formy intrusion; but my son has left it to me to prepare Lord Lansmere tolearn the offer you have done Harley the honour to accept. I have notyet spoken to my Lord; it may be days before I find a fitting occasionto do so; meanwhile I feel assured that your sense of propriety willmake you agree, with me that it is due to Lord L'Estrange's father, thatstrangers should not learn arrangements of such moment in his familybefore his own consent be obtained. "

Here the countess came to a full pause; and poor Helen, finding herselfcalled upon for some reply to this chilling speech, stammered out, scarce audibly, "Certainly, madam, I never dreamed of--"

"That is right, my dear, " interrupted Lady Lansmere, rising suddenly, and as if greatly relieved. "I could not doubt your superiority toordinary girls of your age, with whom these matters are never secret fora moment. Therefore, of course, you will not mention, at present, whathas passed between you and Harley, to any of the friends with whom youmay correspond. "

"I have no correspondents, no friends, Lady Lansmere, " said Helen, deprecatingly, and trying hard not to cry. 

"I am very glad to hear it, my dear; young ladies never should have. Friends, especially friends who correspond, are the worst enemies theycan have. Good-night, Miss Digby. I need not add, by the way, thatthough we are bound to show all kindness to this young Italian lady, still she is wholly unconnected with our family; and you will be asprudent with her as you would have been with your correspondents, hadyou had the misfortune to have any. "

Lady Lansmere said the last words with a smile, and left an ungenialkiss (the stepmother's kiss) on Helen's bended brow. She then left theroom, and Helen sat on the seat vacated by the stately, unloving form, and again covered her face with her hands, and again wept. But when sherose at last, and the light fell upon her face, that soft face was sadindeed, but serene, --serene, as with some inward sense of duty, sad, aswith the resignation which accepts patience instead of hope. 

CHAPTER X. 

The next morning Harley appeared at breakfast. He was in gay spirits, and conversed more freely with Violante than he had yet done. Heseemed to amuse himself by attacking all she said, and provoking her toargument. Violante was naturally a very earnest person; whether grave orgay, she spoke with her heart on her lips, and her soul in her eyes. She did not yet comprehend the light vein of Harley's irony, so she grewpiqued and chafed; and she was so lovely in anger; it so brightened thebeauty and animated her words, that no wonder Harley thus maliciouslyteased her. But what, perhaps, she liked still less than theteasing--though she could not tell why--was the kind of familiarity thatHarley assumed with her, --a familiarity as if he had known her all herlife, --that of a good-humoured elder brother, or a bachelor uncle. ToHelen, on the contrary, when he did not address her apart, his mannerwas more respectful. He did not call her by her Christian name, as hedid Violante, but "Miss Digby, " and softened his tone and inclined hishead when he spoke to her. Nor did he presume to jest at the very fewand brief sentences he drew from Helen, but rather listened to them withdeference, and invariably honoured them with approval. After breakfasthe asked Violante to play or sing; and when she frankly owned how littleshe had cultivated those accomplishments, he persuaded Helen to sit downto the piano, and stood by her side while she did so, turning over theleaves of her music-book with the ready devotion of an admiring amateur. Helen always played well, but less well than usual that day, for hergenerous nature felt abashed. It was as if she were showing off tomortify Violante. But Violante, on the other hand, was so passionatelyfond of music that she had no feeling left for the sense of her owninferiority. Yet she sighed when Helen rose, and Harley thanked MissDigby for the delight she had given him. 

The day was fine. Lady Lansmere proposed to walk in the garden. Whilethe ladies went up-stairs for their shawls and bonnets, Harley lightedhis cigar, and stepped from the window upon the lawn. Lady Lansmerejoined him before the girls came out. 

"Harley, " said she, taking his arm, "what a charming companion you haveintroduced to us! I never met with any that both pleased and delightedme like this dear Violante. Most girls who possess some power ofconversation, and who have dared to think for themselves, are sopedantic, or so masculine; but she is always so simple, and always stillthe girl. Ah, Harley!"

"Why that sigh, my dear mother?"

"I was thinking how exactly she would have suited you, --how proud Ishould have been of such a daughter-in-law, and how happy you would havebeen with such a wife. "

Harley started. "Tut, " said he, peevishly, "she is a mere child; youforget my years. "

"Why, " said Lady Lansmere, surprised, "Helen is quite as young asViolante. "

"In dates-yes. But Helen's character is so staid; what it is now it willbe ever; and Helen, from gratitude, respect, or pity, condescends toaccept the ruins of my heart, while this bright Italian has the soul ofa Juliet, and would expect in a husband all the passion of a Romeo. Nay, Mother, hush. Do you forget that I am engaged, --and of my own free willand choice? Poor dear Helen! A propos, have you spoken to my father, asyou undertook to do?"

"Not yet. I must seize the right moment. You know that my Lord requiresmanagement. "

"My dear mother, that female notion of managing us men costs you ladiesa great waste of time, and occasions us a great deal of sorrow. Men areeasily managed by plain truth. We are brought up to respect it, strangeas it may seem to you!"

Lady Lansmere smiled with the air of superior wisdom, and the experienceof an accomplished wife. "Leave it to me, Harley, and rely on my Lord'sconsent. "

Harley knew that Lady Lansmere always succeeded in obtaining herway with his father; and he felt that the earl might naturally bedisappointed in such an alliance, and, without due propitiation, evincethat disappointment in his manner to Helen. Harley was bound to save herfrom all chance of such humiliation. He did not wish her to think thatshe was not welcomed into his family; therefore he said, "I resignmyself to your promise and your diplomacy. Meanwhile, as you love me, bekind to my betrothed. "

"Am I not so?"

"Hem. Are you as kind as if she were the great heiress you believeViolante to be?"

"Is it, " answered Lady Lansmere, evading the question--"is it becauseone is an heiress and the other is not that you make so marked adifference in your own manner to the two; treating Violante as a spoiltchild, and Miss Digby as--"

"The destined wife of Lord L'Estrange, and the daughter-in-law of LadyLansmere, --yes. "

The countess suppressed an impatient exclamation that rose to her lips, for Harley's brow wore that serious aspect which it rarely assumed savewhen he was in those moods in which men must be soothed, not resisted. And after a pause he went on, "I am going to leave you to-day. I haveengaged apartments at the Clarendon. I intend to gratify your wish, sooften expressed, that I should enjoy what are called the pleasures of myrank, and the privileges of single-blessedness, --celebrate my adieu tocelibacy, and blaze once more, with the splendour of a setting sun, uponHyde Park and May Fair. "

"You are a positive enigma. Leave our house, just when you are betrothedto its inmate! Is that the natural conduct of a lover?"

"How can your woman eyes be so dull, and your woman heart so obtuse?"answered Harley, half laughing, half scolding. "Can you not guess that Iwish that Helen and myself should both lose the association of mere wardand guardian; that the very familiarity of our intercourse under thesame roof almost forbids us to be lovers; that we lose the joy to meet, and the pang to part. Don't you remember the story of the Frenchman, whofor twenty years loved a lady, and never missed passing his evenings ather house. She became a widow. 'I wish you joy, ' cried his friend; 'youmay now marry the woman you have so long adored. ' 'Alas!' said thepoor Frenchman, profoundly dejected; 'and if so, where shall I spend myevenings?'"

Here Violante and Helen were seen in the garden, walking affectionatelyarm in arm. 

"I don't perceive the point of your witty, heartless anecdote, " saidLady Lansmere, obstinately. "Settle that, however, with Miss Digby. But to leave the very day after your friend's daughter comes as aguest!--what will she think of it?"

Lord L'Estrange looked steadfastly at his mother. "Does it matter muchwhat she thinks of me, --of a man engaged to another; and old enough tobe--"

"I wish to heaven you would not talk of your age, Harley; it is areflection upon mine; and I never saw you look so well nor so handsome. "With that she drew him on towards the young ladies; and, taking Helen'sarm, asked her, aside, "If she knew that Lord L'Estrange had engagedrooms at the Clarendon; and if she understood why?" As while she saidthis she moved on, Harley was left by Violante's side. 

"You will be very dull here, I fear, my poor child, " said he. 

"Dull! But why will you call me child? Am I so very--very child-like?"

"Certainly, you are to me, --a mere infant. Have I not seen you one; haveI not held you in my arms?"

VIOLANTE. --"But that was a long time ago!"

HARLEY. --"True. But if years have not stood still for you, they have notbeen stationary for me. There is the same difference between us now thatthere was then. And, therefore, permit me still to call you child, andas child to treat you!"

VIOLANTE. --"I will do no such thing. Do you know that I always thought Iwas good-tempered till this morning. "

HARLEY. --"And what undeceived you? Did you break your doll?"

VIOLANTE (with an indignant flash from her darkeyes). --"There!--again!--you delight in provoking me!"

HARLEY. --"It was the doll, then. Don't cry; I will get you another. "

Violante plucked her arm from him, and walked away towards the countessin speechless scorn. Harley's brow contracted, in thought and in gloom. He stood still for a moment or so, and then joined the ladies. 

"I am trespassing sadly on your morning; but I wait for a visitor whomI sent to before you were up. He is to be here at twelve. With yourpermission, I will dine with you tomorrow, and you will invite him tomeet me. "

"Certainly. And who is your friend? I guess--the young author?"

"Leonard Fairfield, " cried Violante, who had conquered, or felt ashamed, of her short-lived anger. 

"Fairfield!" repeated Lady Lansmere. "I thought, Harley, you said thename was Oran. "

"He has assumed the latter name. He is the son of Mark Fairfield, whomarried an Avenel. Did you recognize no family likeness?--none in thoseeyes, Mother?" said Harley, sinking his voice into a whisper. 

"No;" answered the countess, falteringly. 

Harley, observing that Violante was now speaking to Helen about Leonard, and that neither was listening to him, resumed in the same low tone, "And his mother--Nora's sister--shrank from seeing me! That is thereason why I wished you not to call. She has not told the young manwhy she shrank from seeing me; nor have I explained it to him as yet. Perhaps I never shall. "

"Indeed, dearest Harley, " said the countess, with great gentleness, "I wish you too much to forget the folly--well, I will not say thatword--the sorrows of your boyhood, not to hope that you will ratherstrive against such painful memories than renew them by unnecessaryconfidence to any one; least of all to the relation of--"

"Enough! don't name her; the very name pains me. And as to confidence, there are but two persons in the world to whom I ever bare the oldwounds, --yourself and Egerton. Let this pass. Ha!--a ring at thebell--that is he!"

CHAPTER XI. 

Leonard entered on the scene, and joined the party in the garden. Thecountess, perhaps to please her son, was more than civil, --she wasmarkedly kind to him. She noticed him more attentively than she hadhitherto done; and, with all her prejudices of birth, was struck to findthe son of Mark Fairfield the carpenter so thoroughly the gentleman. Hemight not have the exact tone and phrase by which Convention stereotypesthose born and schooled in a certain world; but the aristocrats ofNature can dispense with such trite minutia? And Leonard had lived, of late at least, in the best society that exists for the polish oflanguage and the refinement of manners, --the society in which the mostgraceful ideas are clothed in the most graceful forms; the society whichreally, though indirectly, gives the law to courts; the society ofthe most classic authors, in the various ages in which literature hasflowered forth from civilization. And if there was something in theexquisite sweetness of Leonard's voice, look, and manner, which thecountess acknowledged to attain that perfection in high breeding, which, under the name of "suavity, " steals its way into the heart, so herinterest in him was aroused by a certain subdued melancholy whichis rarely without distinction, and never without charm. He and Helenexchanged but few words. There was but one occasion in which they couldhave spoken apart, and Helen herself contrived to elude it. His facebrightened at Lady Lansmere's cordial invitation, and he glanced atHelen as he accepted it; but her eye did not meet his own. 

"And now, " said Harley, whistling to Nero, whom his ward was silentlycaressing, "I must take Leonard away. Adieu! all of you, till to-morrowat dinner. Miss Violante, is the doll to have blue eyes or black?"

Violante turned her own black eyes in mute appeal to Lady Lansmere, andnestled to that lady's side as if in refuge from unworthy insult. 

CHAPTER XII. 

"Let the carriage go to the Clarendon, " said Harley to his servant; "Iand Mr. Oran will walk to town. Leonard, I think you would rejoice at anoccasion to serve your old friends, Dr. Riccabocca and his daughter?"

"Serve them! Oh, yes. " And there instantly returned to Leonard therecollection of Violante's words when, on leaving his quiet village, he had sighed to part from all those he loved; and the little dark-eyedgirl had said, proudly, yet consolingly, "But to SERVE those you love!"He turned to L'Estrange, with beaming, inquisitive eyes. 

"I said to our friend, " resumed Harley, "that I would vouch for yourhonour as my own. I am about to prove my words, and to confide thesecrets which your penetration has indeed divined, --our friend is notwhat he seems. " Harley then briefly related to Leonard the particularsof the exile's history, the rank he had held in his native land, themanner in which, partly through the misrepresentations of a kinsman hehad trusted, partly through the influence of a wife he had loved, he hadbeen drawn into schemes which he believed bounded to the emancipationof Italy from a foreign yoke by the united exertions of her best andbravest sons. 

"A noble ambition!" interrupted Leonard, manfully. "And pardon me, myLord, I should not have thought that you would speak of it in a tonethat implies blame. "

"The ambition in itself was noble, " answered Harley; "but the cause towhich it was devoted became defiled in its dark channel throughSecret Societies. It is the misfortune of all miscellaneous politicalcombinations, that with the purest motives of their more generousmembers are ever mixed the most sordid interests, and the fiercestpassions of mean confederates. When those combinations act openly, andin daylight, under the eye of Public Opinion, the healthier elementsusually prevail; where they are shrouded in mystery, where theyare subjected to no censor in the discussion of the impartial anddispassionate, where chiefs working in the dark exact blind obedience, and every man who is at war with law is at once admitted as a friend offreedom, the history of the world tells us that patriotism soon passesaway. Where all is in public, public virtue, by the natural sympathiesof the common mind, and by the wholesome control of shame, is likely toobtain ascendancy; where all is in private, and shame is but for him whorefuses the abnegation of his conscience, each man seeks the indulgenceof his private vice. And hence in Secret Societies (from which mayyet proceed great danger to all Europe) we find but foul and hatefulEleusinia, affording pretexts to the ambition of the great, to thelicense of the penniless, to the passions of the revengeful, to theanarchy of the ignorant. In a word, the societies of these ItalianCarbonari did but engender schemes in which the abler chiefs disguisednew forms of despotism, and in which the revolutionary many lookedforward to the overthrow of all the institutions that stand between Lawand Chaos. Naturally, therefore, " added L'Estrange, dryly, "when theirschemes were detected, and the conspiracy foiled, it was for the silly, honest men entrapped into the league to suffer, the leaders turnedking's evidence, and the common mercenaries became--banditti. " Harleythen proceeded to state that it was just when the soi-disant Riccaboccahad discovered the true nature and ulterior views of the conspiratorshe had joined, and actually withdrawn from their councils, that he wasdenounced by the kinsman who had duped him into the enterprise, and whonow profited by his treason. Harley next spoke of the packet despatchedby Riccabocca's dying wife, as it was supposed, to Mrs. Bertram; and ofthe hopes he founded on the contents of that packet, if discovered. Hethen referred to the design which had brought Peschiera to England, --adesign which that personage had avowed with such effrontery to hiscompanions at Vienna, that he had publicly laid wagers on his success. 

"But these men can know nothing of England, of the safety of Englishlaws, " said Leonard, naturally. "We take it for granted that Riccabocca, if I am still so to call him, refuses his consent to the marriagebetween his daughter and his foe. Where, then, the danger? This count, even if Violante were not under your mother's roof, could not get anopportunity to see her. He could not attack the house and carry her offlike a feudal baron in the middle ages. "

"All this is very true, " answered Harley. "Yet I have found through lifethat we cannot estimate danger by external circumstances, but by thecharacter of those from whom it is threatened. This count is a man ofsingular audacity, of no mean natural talents, --talents practised inevery art of duplicity and intrigue; one of those men whose boast it isthat they succeed in whatever they undertake; and he is, here, urged onthe one hand by all that can whet the avarice, and on the other, by allthat can give invention to despair. Therefore, though I cannot guesswhat plan he may possibly adopt, I never doubt that some plan, formedwith cunning and pursued with daring, will be embraced the moment hediscovers Violante's retreat, --unless, indeed, we can forestall allperil by the restoration of her father, and the detection of the fraudand falsehood to which Peschiera owes the fortune he appropriates. Thus, while we must prosecute to the utmost our inquiries for the missingdocuments, so it should be our care to possess ourselves, if possible, of such knowledge of the count's machinations as may enable us to defeatthem. Now, it was with satisfaction that I learned in Germany thatPeschiera's sister was in London. I knew enough both of his dispositionand of the intimacy between himself and this lady, to make me think itprobable he will seek to make her his instrument and accomplice, shouldhe require one. Peschiera (as you may suppose by his audacious wager) isnot one of those secret villains who would cut off their right hand ifit could betray the knowledge of what was done by the left, --ratherone of those self-confident vaunting knaves of high animal spirits, andconscience so obtuse that it clouds their intellect, who must havesome one to whom they can boast of their abilities and confide theirprojects. And Peschiera has done all he can to render this poor womanso wholly dependent on him as to be his slave and his tool. But Ihave learned certain traits in her character that show it to beimpressionable to good, and with tendencies to honour. Peschiera hadtaken advantage of the admiration she excited, some years ago, in a richyoung Englishman, to entice this admirer into gambling, and soughtto make his sister both a decoy and an instrument in his designs ofplunder. She did not encourage the addresses of our countryman, but shewarned him of the snare laid for him, and entreated him to leave theplace lest her brother should discover and punish her honesty. TheEnglishman told me this himself. In fine, my hope of detaching thislady from Peschiera's interests, and inducing her to forewarn us of hispurpose, consists but in the innocent, and, I hope, laudable artifice, of redeeming herself, --of appealing to, and calling into disusedexercise, the better springs of her nature. "

Leonard listened with admiration and some surprise to the singularlysubtle and sagacious insight into character which Harley evinced inthe brief clear strokes by which he had thus depicted Peschiera andBeatrice, and was struck by the boldness with which Harley rested awhole system of action upon a few deductions drawn from his reasoningson human motive and characteristic bias. Leonard had not expected tofind so much practical acuteness in a man who, however accomplished, usually seemed indifferent, dreamy, and abstracted to the ordinarythings of life. But Harley L'Estrange was one of those whose powerslie dormant till circumstance applies to them all they need foractivity, --the stimulant of a motive. 

Harley resumed: "After a conversation I had with the lady last night, it occurred to me that in this part of our diplomacy you could renderus essential service. Madame di Negra--such is the sister's name--hasconceived an admiration for your genius, and a strong desire to knowyou personally. I have promised to present you to her; and I shall doso after a preliminary caution. The lady is very handsome, and veryfascinating. It is possible that your heart and your senses may not beproof against her attractions. "

"Oh, do not fear that!" exclaimed Leonard, with a tone of conviction soearnest that Harley smiled. 

"Forewarned is not always forearmed against the might of beauty, my dearLeonard; so I cannot at once accept your assurance. But listen to me!Watch yourself narrowly, and if you find that you are likely to becaptivated, promise, on your honour, to retreat at once from the field. I have no right, for the sake of another, to expose you to danger; andMadame di Negra, whatever may be her good qualities, is the last personI should wish to see you in love with. "

"In love with her! Impossible!"

"Impossible is a strong word, " returned Harley; "still I own fairly (andthis belief alone warrants me in trusting you to her fascinations), thatI do think, as far as one man can judge of another, that she is not thewoman to attract you; and if filled by one pure and generous object inyour intercourse with her, you will see her with purged eyes. Still Iclaim your promise as one of honour. "

"I give it, " said Leonard, positively. "But how can I serve Riccabocca?How aid in--"

"Thus, " interrupted Harley: "the spell of your writings is, that, unconsciously to ourselves, they make us better and nobler. And yourwritings are but the impressions struck off from your mind. Yourconversation, when you are roused, has the same effect. And as you growmore familiar with Madame di Negra, I wish you to speak of your boyhood, your youth. Describe the exile as you have seen him, --so touchingamidst his foibles, so grand amidst the petty privations of his fallenfortunes, so benevolent while poring over his hateful Machiavelli, so stingless in his wisdom of the serpent, so playfully astute in hisinnocence of the dove--I leave the picture to your knowledge of humourand pathos. Describe Violante brooding over her Italian Poets, andfilled with dreams of her fatherland; describe her with all the flashesof her princely nature, shining forth through humble circumstance andobscure position; waken in your listener compassion, respect, admirationfor her kindred exiles, --and I think our work is done. She willrecognize evidently those whom her brother seeks. She will questionyou closely where you met with them, where they now are. Protect thatsecret; say at once that it is not your own. Against your descriptionsand the feelings they excite, she will not be guarded as against mine. And there are other reasons why your influence over this woman of mixednature may be more direct and effectual than my own. "

"Nay, I cannot conceive that. "

"Believe it, without asking me to explain, " answered Harley. 

For he did not judge it necessary to say to Leonard: "I am high-born andwealthy, you a peasant's son, and living by your exertions. This womanis ambitious and distressed. She might have projects on me that wouldcounteract mine on her. You she would but listen to, and receive, through the sentiments of good or of poetical that are in her; you shewould have no interest to subjugate, no motive to ensnare. "

"And now, " said Harley, turning the subject, "I have another object inview. This foolish sage friend of ours, in his bewilderment and fears, has sought to save Violante from one rogue by promising her hand to aman who, unless my instincts deceive me, I suspect much disposed to beanother. Sacrifice such exuberance of life and spirit to that bloodlessheart, to that cold and earthward intellect! By Heaven, it shall notbe!"

"But whom can the exile possibly have seen of birth and fortunes torender him a fitting spouse for his daughter? Whom, my Lord, exceptyourself?"

"Me!" exclaimed Harley, angrily, and changing colour. "I worthy of sucha creature?--I, with my habits! I, silken egotist that I am! And you, apoet, to form such an estimate of one who might be the queen of a poet'sdream!"

"My Lord, when we sat the other night round Riccabocca's hearth, whenI heard her speak, and observed you listen, I said to myself, from suchknowledge of human nature as comes, we know not how, to us poets, --Isaid, 'Harley L'Estrange has looked long and wistfully on the heavens, and he now hears the murmur of the wings that can waft him towardsthem. ' And then I sighed, for I thought how the world rules us all inspite of ourselves, and I said, 'What pity for both, that the exile'sdaughter is not the worldly equal of the peer's son!' And you toosighed, as I thus thought; and I fancied that, while you listened tothe music of the wing, you felt the iron of the chain. But the exile'sdaughter is your equal in birth, and you are her equal in heart and insoul. "

"My poor Leonard, you rave, " answered Harley, calmly. "And if Violanteis not to be some young prince's bride, she should be some youngpoet's. "

"Poet's! Oh, no!" said Leonard, with a gentle laugh. "Poets need reposewhere they love!"

Harley was struck by the answer, and mused over it in silence. "Icomprehend, " thought he; "it is a new light that dawns on me. What isneeded by the man whose whole life is one strain after glory--whose soulsinks, in fatigue, to the companionship of earth--is not the love of anature like his own. He is right, --it is repose! While I!--it is true;boy that he is, his intuitions are wiser than all my experience! It isexcitement, energy, elevation, that Love should bestow on me. But I havechosen; and, at least, with Helen my life will be calm, and my hearthsacred. Let the rest sleep in the same grave as my youth. "

"But, " said Leonard, wishing kindly to arouse his noble friend from arevery which he felt was mournful, though he did not divine its truecause, --"but you have not yet told me the name of the signorina'ssuitor. May I know?"

"Probably one you never heard of. Randal Leslie, --a placeman. Yourefused a place; you were right. "

"Randal Leslie? Heaven forbid!" cried Leonard, revealing his surprise atthe name. 

"Amen! But what do you know of him?

"Leonard related the story of Burley's pamphlet. "

Harley seemed delighted to hear his suspicions of Randal confirmed. "The paltry pretender;--and yet I fancied that he might be formidable!However, we must dismiss him for the present, --we are approaching Madamedi Negra's house. Prepare yourself, and remember your promise. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

Some days have passed by. Leonard and Beatrice di Negra have alreadymade friends. Harley is satisfied with his young friend's report. Hehimself has been actively occupied. He has sought, but hitherto in vain, all trace of Mrs. Bertram; he has put that investigation into the handsof his lawyer, and his lawyer has not been more fortunate than himself. Moreover, Harley has blazed forth again in the London world, andpromises again de faire fureur; but he has always found time to spendsome hours in the twenty-four at his father's house. He has continuedmuch the same tone with Violante, and she begins to accustom herself toit, and reply saucily. His calm courtship to Helen flows on in silence. Leonard, too, has been a frequent guest at the Lansmeres: all welcomeand like him there. Peschiera has not evinced any sign of the deadlymachinations ascribed to him. He goes less into the drawing-room world;for in that world he meets Lord L'Estrange; and brilliant and handsomethough Peschiera be, Lord L'Estrange, like Rob Roy Macgregor, is "onhis native heath, " and has the decided advantage over the foreigner. Peschiera, however, shines in the clubs, and plays high. Still, scarcelyan evening passes in which he and Baron Levy do not meet. 

Audley Egerton has been intensely occupied with affairs, only seen onceby Harley. Harley then was about to deliver himself of his sentimentsrespecting Randal Leslie, and to communicate the story of Burley and thepamphlet. Egerton stopped him short. 

"My dear Harley, don't try to set me against this young man. I wish tohear nothing in his disfavour. In the first place, it would not alterthe line of conduct I mean to adopt with regard to him. He is my wife'skinsman; I charged myself with his career, as a wish of hers, andtherefore as a duty to myself. In attaching him so young to my own fate, I drew him necessarily away from the professions in which his industryand talents (for he has both in no common degree) would have secured hisfortunes; therefore, be he bad, be he good, I shall try to providefor him as I best can; and, moreover, cold as I am to him, and worldlythough perhaps he be, I have somehow or other conceived an interest inhim, a liking to him. He has been under my roof, he is dependent onme; he has been docile and prudent, and I am a lone childless man;therefore, spare him, since in so doing you spare me; and ah, Harley, Ihave so many cares on me now that--"

"Oh, say no more, my dear, dear Audley, " cried the generous friend; "howlittle people know you!"

Audley's hand trembled. Certainly his nerves began to show wear andtear. 

Meanwhile, the object of this dialogue--the type of perverted intellect, of mind without heart, of knowledge which had no aim but power--was ina state of anxious, perturbed gloom. He did not know whether wholly tobelieve Levy's assurance of his patron's ruin. He could not believe itwhen he saw that great house in Grosvenor Square, its hall crowded withlacqueys, its sideboard blazing with plate; when no dun was ever seen inthe antechamber; when not a tradesman was ever known to call twice for abill. He hinted to Levy the doubts all these phenomena suggested to him;but the baron only smiled ominously, and said, "True, the tradesmen are always paid; but the how is the question!Randal, mon cher, you are too innocent. I have but two pieces of adviceto suggest, in the shape of two proverbs, --'Wise rats run from a fallinghouse, ' and, 'Make hay while the sun shines. ' A propos, Mr. Avenel likesyou greatly, and has been talking of the borough of Lansmere for you. Hehas contrived to get together a great interest there. Make much of him. "

Randal had indeed been to Mrs. Avenel's soiree dansante, and calledtwice and found her at home, and been very bland and civil, and admiredthe children. She had two, a boy and a girl, very like their father, with open faces as bold as brass. And as all this had won Mrs. Avenel'sgood graces, so it had propitiated her husband's. Avenel was shrewdenough to see how clever Randal was. He called him "smart, " and said "hewould have got on in America, " which was the highest praise Dick Avenelever accorded to any man. But Dick himself looked a little careworn;and this was the first year in which he had murmured at the bills of hiswife's dressmaker, and said with an oath, that "there was such a thingas going too much ahead. "

Randal had visited Dr. Riccabocca, and found Violante flown. True to hispromise to Harley, the Italian refused to say where, and suggested, as was agreed, that for the present it would be more prudent if Randalsuspended his visits to himself. Leslie, not liking this proposition, attempted to make himself still necessary by working on Riccabocca'sfears as to that espionage on his retreat, which had been among thereasons that had hurried the sage into offering Randal Violante's hand. But Riccabocca had already learned that the fancied spy was but hisneighbour Leonard; and, without so saying, he cleverly contrived to makethe supposition of such espionage an additional reason for the cessationof Leslie's visits. Randal then, in his own artful, quiet, roundaboutway, had sought to find out if any communication had passed betweenL'Estrange and Riccabocca. Brooding over Harley's words to him, hesuspected there had been such communication, with his usual penetratingastuteness. Riceabocca, here, was less on his guard, and rather parriedthe sidelong questions than denied their inferences. 

Randal began already to surmise the truth. Where was it likely Violanteshould go but to the Lansmeres? This confirmed his idea of Harley'spretensions to her hand. With such a rival what chance had he? Randalnever doubted for a moment that the pupil of Machiavelli would "throwhim over, " if such an alliance to his daughter really presented itself. The schemer at once discarded from his objects all further aim onViolante; either she would be poor, and he would not have her; or shewould be rich, and her father would give her to another. As hisheart had never been touched by the fair Italian, so the moment herinheritance became more doubtful, it gave him no pang to lose her; buthe did feel very sore and resentful at the thought of being supplantedby Lord L'Estrange, --the man who had insulted him. 

Neither, as yet, had Randal made any way in his designs on Frank. Forseveral days Madame di Negra had not been at home either to himself oryoung Hazeldean; and Frank, though very unhappy, was piqued and angry;and Randal suspected, and suspected, and suspected, he knew not exactlywhat, but that the devil was not so kind to him there as that fatherof lies ought to have been to a son so dutiful. Yet, with all thesediscouragements, there was in Randal Leslie so dogged and determined aconviction of his own success, there was so great a tenacity of purposeunder obstacles, and so vigilant an eye upon all chances that could beturned to his favour, that he never once abandoned hope, nor didmore than change the details in his main schemes. Out of calculationsapparently the most far-fetched and improbable, he had constructed apatient policy, to which he obstinately clung. How far his reasoningsand patience served to his ends remains yet to be seen. But couldour contempt for the baseness of Randal himself be separated from thefaculties which he elaborately degraded to the service of that baseness, one might allow that there was something one could scarcely despise inthis still self-reliance, this inflexible resolve. Had such qualities, aided as they were by abilities of no ordinary acuteness, been appliedto objects commonly honest, one would have backed Randal Leslie againstany fifty picked prize-men from the colleges. But there are judges ofweight and metal who do that now, especially Baron Levy, who says tohimself as he eyes that pale face all intellect, and that spare form allnerve, "This is a man who must make way in life; he is worth helping. "

By the words "worth helping" Baron Levy meant "worth getting into mypower, that he may help me. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

But parliament had met. Events that belong to history had contributedyet more to weaken the administration. Randal Leslie's interest becameabsorbed in politics, for the stake to him was his whole politicalcareer. Should Audley lose office, and for good, Audley could aid him nomore; but to abandon his patron, as Levy recommended, and pin himself, in the hope of a seat in parliament, to a stranger, --an obscurestranger, like Dick Avenel, --that was a policy not to be adopted at abreath. Meanwhile, almost every night, when the House met, that paleface and spare form, which Levy so identified with shrewdness andenergy, might be seen amongst the benches appropriated to those moreselect strangers who obtain the Speaker's order of admission. There, Randal heard the great men of that day, and with the half-contemptuoussurprise at their fame, which is common enough amongst clever, well-educated young men, who know not what it is to speak in the Houseof Commons. He heard much slovenly English, much trite reasoning, someeloquent thoughts, and close argument, often delivered in a jerkingtone of voice (popularly called the parliamentary twang), and oftenaccompanied by gesticulations that would have shocked the manager ofa provincial theatre. He thought how much better than these great dons(with but one or two exceptions), he himself could speak, --with whatmore refined logic, with what more polished periods, how much more likeCicero and Burke! Very probably he might have so spoken, and for thatvery reason have made that deadest of all dead failures, --a pretentiousimitation of Burke and Cicero. One thing, however, he was obliged toown, --namely, that in a popular representative assembly, it is notprecisely knowledge which is power, or if knowledge, it is but theknowledge of that particular assembly, and what will best take with it;passion, invective, sarcasm, bold declamation, shrewd common-sense, thereadiness so rarely found in a very profound mind, --he owned that allthese were the qualities that told; when a man who exhibited nothing but"knowledge, " in the ordinary sense of the word, stood an imminent chanceof being coughed down. 

There at his left--last but one in the row of the ministerialchiefs--Randal watched Audley Egerton, his arms folded on his breast, his hat drawn over his brows, his eyes fixed with steady courage onwhatever speaker in the Opposition held possession of the floor. Andtwice Randal heard Egerton speak, and marvelled much at the effect thatminister produced. For of those qualities enumerated above, and whichRandal had observed to be most sure of success, Audley Egerton onlyexhibited to a marked degree the common-sense and the readiness. Andyet, though but little applauded by noisy cheers, no speaker seemed moreto satisfy friends, and command respect from foes. The true secretwas this, which Randal might well not divine, since that young person, despite his ancient birth, his Eton rearing, and his refined air, wasnot one of Nature's gentlemen, --the true secret was, that Audley Egertonmoved, looked, and spoke like a thorough gentleman of England, --agentleman of more than average talents and of long experience, speakinghis sincere opinions, not a rhetorician aiming at effect. Moreover, Egerton was a consummate man of the world. He said, with nervoussimplicity, what his party desired to be said, and put what hisopponents felt to be the strong points of the case. Calm and decorous, yet spirited and energetic, with little variety of tone, and actionsubdued and rare, but yet signalized by earnest vigour, Audley Egertonimpressed the understanding of the dullest, and pleased the taste of themost fastidious. 

But once, when allusions were made to a certain popular question, onwhich the premier had announced his resolution to refuse all concession, and on the expediency of which it was announced that the Cabinet wasnevertheless divided, and when such allusions were coupled with directappeals to Mr. Egerton, as "the enlightened member of a great commercialconstituency, " and with a flattering doubt that "that Right Honourablegentleman, member for that great city, identified with the cause ofthe Burgher class, could be so far behind the spirit of the age as hisofficial chief, "--Randal observed that Egerton drew his hat stillmore closely over his brows, and turned to whisper with one of hiscolleagues. He could not be got up to speak. 

That evening Randal walked home with Egerton, and intimated his surprisethat the minister had declined what seemed to him a good occasionfor one of those brief, weighty replies by which Audley was chieflydistinguished, --an occasion to which he had been loudly invited by the"hears" of the House. 

"Leslie, " answered the statesman, briefly, "I owe all my success inparliament to this rule, --I have never spoken against my convictions. Iintend to abide by it to the last. "

"But if the question at issue comes before the House, you will voteagainst it?"

"Certainly, I vote as a member of the Cabinet. But since I am not leaderand mouthpiece of the party, I retain as an individual the privilege tospeak or keep silence. "

"Ah, my dear Mr. Egerton, " exclaimed Randal, "forgive me. But thisquestion, right or wrong, has got such hold of the public mind. Solittle, if conceded in time, would give content; and it is so clear (ifI may judge by the talk I hear everywhere I go) that by refusing allconcession, the Government must fall, that I wish--"

"So do I wish, " interrupted Egerton, with a gloomy, impatient sigh, --"sodo I wish! But what avails it? If my advice had been taken but threeweeks ago--now it is too late--we could have doubled the rock; werefused, we must split upon it. "

This speech was so unlike the discreet and reserved minister, thatRandal gathered courage to proceed with an idea that had occurred to hisown sagacity. And before I state it, I must add that Egerton had of lateshown much more personal kindness to his protege; whether his spiritswere broken, or that at last, close and compact as his nature of bronzewas, he felt the imperious want to groan aloud in some loving ear, thestern Audley seemed tamed and softened. So Randal went on, "May I say what I have heard expressed with regard to you and yourposition--in the streets, in the clubs?"

"Yes, it is in the streets and the clubs that statesmen should go toschool. Say on. "

"Well, then, I have heard it made a matter of wonder why you, and one ortwo others I will not name, do not at once retire from the ministry, and on the avowed ground that you side with the public feeling on thisirresistible question. "

"Eh!"

"It is clear that in so doing you would become the most popular manin the country, --clear that you would be summoned back to power on theshoulders of the people. No new Cabinet could be formed without you, andyour station in it would perhaps be higher, for life, than that whichyou may now retain but for a few weeks longer. Has not this everoccurred to you?"

"Never, " said Audley, with dry composure. 

Amazed at such obtuseness, Randal exclaimed, "Is it possible! And yet, forgive me if I say I think you are ambitious, and love power. "

"No man more ambitious; and if by power you mean office, it has grownthe habit of my life, and I shall not know what to do without it. "

"And how, then, has what seems to me so obvious never occurred to you?"

"Because you are young, and therefore I forgive you; but not the gossipswho could wonder why Audley Egerton refused to betray the friends of hiswhole career, and to profit by the treason. "

"But one should love one's country before a party. "

"No doubt of that; and the first interest of a country is the honour ofits public men. "

"But men may leave their party without dishonour!"

"Who doubts that? Do you suppose that if I were an ordinary independentmember of parliament, loaded with no obligations, charged with no trust, I could hesitate for a moment what course to pursue? Oh, that I were butthe member for ----------! Oh, that I had the full right to be a freeagent! But if a member of a Cabinet, a chief in whom thousands confide, because he is outvoted in a council of his colleagues, suddenly retires, and by so doing breaks up the whole party whose confidence he hasenjoyed, whose rewards he has reaped, to whom he owes the very positionwhich he employs to their ruin, --own that though his choice may behonest, it is one which requires all the consolations of conscience. "

"But you will have those consolations. And, " added Randal, energetically, "the gain to your career will be so immense!"

"That is precisely what it cannot be, " answered Egerton, gloomily. "I grant that I may, if I choose, resign office with the presentGovernment, and so at once destroy that Government; for my resignationon such ground would suffice to do it. I grant this; but for that veryreason I could not the next day take office with another administration. I could not accept wages for desertion. No gentleman could! andtherefore--" Audley stopped short, and buttoned his coat over his broadbreast. The action was significant; it said that the man's mind was madeup. 

In fact, whether Audley Egerton was right or wrong in his theory dependsupon much subtler, and perhaps loftier, views in the casuistry ofpolitical duties, than it was in his character to take. And I guardmyself from saying anything in praise or disfavour of his notions, orimplying that he is a fit or unfit example in a parallel case. I am butdescribing the man as he was, and as a man like him would inevitably be, under the influences in which he lived, and in that peculiar world ofwhich he was so emphatically a member. "Ce n'est pas moi qui parle, c'est Marc Aurele. "

He speaks, not I. 

Randal had no time for further discussion. They now reached Egerton'shouse, and the minister, taking the chamber candlestick from hisservant's hand, nodded a silent goodnight to Leslie, and with a jadedlook retired to his room. 

CHAPTER XV. 

But not on the threatened question was that eventful campaign of Partydecided. The Government fell less in battle than skirmish. It was onefatal Monday--a dull question of finance and figures. Prosy and few werethe speakers, --all the Government silent, save the Chancellor of theExchequer, and another business-like personage connected with the Boardof Trade, whom the House would hardly condescend to hear. The House wasin no mood to think of facts and figures. Early in the evening, betweennine and ten, the Speaker's sonorous voice sounded, "Strangers mustwithdraw!" And Randal, anxious and foreboding, descended from his seatand went out of the fatal doors. He turned to take a last glanceat Audley Egerton. The whipper-in was whispering to Audley; and theminister pushed back his hat from his brows, and glanced round theHouse, and up into the galleries, as if to calculate rapidly therelative numbers of the two armies in the field; then he smiledbitterly, and threw himself back into his seat. That smile long hauntedLeslie. 

Amongst the strangers thus banished with Randal, while the divisionwas being taken, were many young men, like himself, connected with theadministration, --some by blood, some by place. Hearts beat loud in theswarming lobbies. Ominous mournful whispers were exchanged. "They saythe Government will have a majority of ten. " "No; I hear they willcertainly be beaten. " "H--says by fifty. " "I don't believe it, " saida Lord of the Bedchamber; "it is impossible. I left five Governmentmembers dining at The Travellers. " "No one thought the division would beso early. " "A trick of the Whigs-shameful!" "Wonder some one was notset up to talk for time; very odd P--did not speak; however, he is socursedly rich, he does not care whether he is out or in. " "Yes; andAudley Egerton too, just such another: glad, no doubt, to be set freeto look after his property; very different tactics if we had men to whomoffice was as necessary as it is--to me!" said a candid young placeman. Suddenly the silent Leslie felt a friendly grasp on his arm. He turnedand saw Levy. 

"Did I not tell you?" said the baron, with an exulting smile. 

"You are sure, then, that the Government will be outvoted?"

"I spent the morning in going over the list of members with aparliamentary client of mine, who knows them all as a shepherd does hissheep. Majority for the Opposition at least twenty-five. "

"And in that case must the Government resign, sir?" asked the candidyoung placeman, who had been listening to the smart, well-dressed baron, "his soul planted in his ears. "

"Of course, sir, " replied the baron, blandly, and offering his snuff-box(true Louis Quinze, with a miniature of Madame de Pompadour, set inpearls). "You are a friend to the present ministers? You could not wishthem to be mean enough to stay in?" Randal drew aside the baron. 

"If Audley's affairs are as you state, what can he do?"

"I shall ask him that question to-morrow, " answered the baron, with alook of visible hate; "and I have come here just to see how he bears theprospect before him. "

"You will not discover that in his face. And those absurd scruples ofhis! If he had but gone out in time--to come in again with the New Men!"

"Oh, of course, our Right Honourable is too punctilious for that!"answered the baron, sneering. 

Suddenly the doors opened, in rushed the breathless expectants. "Whatare the numbers? What is the division?"

"Majority against ministers, " said a member of Opposition, peeling anorange, "twenty-nine. "

The baron, too, had a Speaker's order; and he came into the House withRandal, and sat by his side. But, to their disgust, some member wastalking about the other motions before the House. 

"What! has nothing been said as to the division?" asked the baron of ayoung county member, who was talking to some non-parliamentary friendin the bench before Levy. The county member was one of the baron's peteldest sons, had dined often with Levy, was under "obligations" to him. The young legislator looked very much ashamed of Levy's friendly pat onhis shoulder, and answered hurriedly, "Oh, yes; H------ asked if, aftersuch an expression of the House, it was the intention of ministers toretain their places, and carry on the business of the Government. "

"Just like H-------! Very inquisitive mind! And what was the answer hegot?"

"None, " said the county member; and returned in haste to his proper seatin the body of the House. 

"There comes Egerton, " said the baron. And, indeed, as most of themembers were now leaving the House, to talk over affairs at clubs orin saloons, and spread through town the great tidings, Audley Egerton'stall head was seen towering above the rest. And Levy turned awaydisappointed. For not only was the minister's handsome face, thoughpale, serene and cheerful, but there was an obvious courtesy, a markedrespect, in the mode in which that assembly--heated though it was--madeway for the fallen minister as he passed through the jostling crowd. Andthe frank urbane nobleman, who afterwards, from the force, not of talentbut of character, became the leader in that House, pressed the hand ofhis old opponent, as they met in the throng near the doors, and saidaloud, "I shall not be a proud man if ever I live to have office; but Ishall be proud if ever I leave it with as little to be said against meas your bitterest opponents can say against you, Egerton. "

"I wonder, " exclaimed the baron, aloud, and leaning over the partitionthat divided him from the throng below, so that his voice reachedEgerton--and there was a cry from formal, indignant members, "Order inthe strangers' gallery I wonder what Lord L'Estrange will say?"

Audley lifted his dark brows, surveyed the baron for an instant withflashing eyes, then walked down the narrow defile between the lastbenches, and vanished from the scene, in which, alas! so few of the mostadmired performers leave more than an actor's short-lived name!

CHAPTER XVI. 

Baron Levy did not execute his threat of calling on Egerton the nextmorning. Perhaps he shrank from again meeting the flash of thoseindignant eyes. And indeed Egerton was too busied all the forenoon tosee any one not upon public affairs, except Harley, who hastened toconsole or cheer him. When the House met, it was announced that theministers had resigned, only holding their offices till their successorswere appointed. But already there was some reaction in their favour;and when it became generally known that the new administration was to beformed of men few indeed of whom had ever before held office, the commonsuperstition in the public mind that government is like a trade, inwhich a regular apprenticeship must be served, began to prevail; and thetalk at the clubs was that the new men could not stand; that the formerministry, with some modification, would be back in a month. Perhaps thattoo might be a reason why Baron Levy thought it prudent not prematurelyto offer vindictive condolences to Mr. Egerton. Randal spent part of hismorning in inquiries as to what gentlemen in his situation meant to dowith regard to their places; he heard with great satisfaction that veryfew intended to volunteer retirement from their desks. As Randal himselfhad observed to Egerton, "Their country before their party!"

Randal's place was of great moment to him; its duties were easy, itssalary amply sufficient for his wants, and defrayed such expenses aswere bestowed on the education of Oliver and his sister. For I am boundto do justice to this young man, --indifferent as he was towards hisspecies in general, the ties of family were strong with him; and hestinted himself in many temptations most alluring to his age, in theendeavour to raise the dull honest Oliver and the loose-haired prettyJuliet somewhat more to his own level of culture and refinement. Menessentially griping and unscrupulous often do make the care for theirfamily an apology for their sins against the world. Even Richard III. , if the chroniclers are to be trusted, excused the murder of his nephewsby his passionate affection for his son. With the loss of that place, Randal lost all means of support, save what Audley could give him; andif Audley were in truth ruined? Moreover, Randal had already establishedat the office a reputation for ability and industry. It was a careerin which, if he abstained from party politics, he might rise to a fairstation and to a considerable income. Therefore, much contented withwhat he learned as to the general determination of his fellow officials, a determination warranted by ordinary precedent in such cases, Randaldined at a club with good relish, and much Christian resignation forthe reverse of his patron, and then walked to Grosvenor Square, onthe chance of finding Audley within. Learning that he was so, from theporter who opened the door, Randal entered the library. Three gentlemenwere seated there with Egerton: one of the three was Lord L'Estrange;the other two were members of the really defunct, though nominally stillexisting, Government. He was about to withdraw from intruding on thisconclave, when Egerton said to him gently, "Come in, Leslie; I was justspeaking about yourself. "

"About me, sir?"

"Yes; about you and the place you hold. I had asked Sir ---- [pointingto a fellow minister] whether I might not, with propriety, request yourchief to leave some note of his opinion of your talents, which I know ishigh, and which might serve you with his successor. "

"Oh, sir, at such a time to think of me!" exclaimed Randal, and he wasgenuinely touched. 

"But, " resumed Audley, with his usual dryness, "Sir ----, to mysurprise, thinks that it would better become you that you should resign. Unless his reasons, which he has not yet stated, are very strong, suchwould not be my advice. "

"My reasons, " said Sir ----, with official formality, "are simply these:I have a nephew in a similar situation; he will resign, as a matterof course. Every one in the public offices whose relations and nearconnections hold high appointments in the Government will do so. I donot think Mr. Leslie will like to feel himself a solitary exception. "

"Mr. Leslie is no relation of mine, --not even a near connection, "answered Egerton. 

"But his name is so associated with your own: he has resided so long inyour house, is so well known in society (and don't think I complimentwhen I add, that we hope so well of him), that I can't think it worthhis while to keep this paltry place, which incapacitates him too from aseat in parliament. "

Sir ---- was one of those terribly rich men, to whom all considerationsof mere bread and cheese are paltry. But I must add that he supposedEgerton to be still wealthier than himself, and sure to providehandsomely for Randal, whom Sir ---- rather liked than not; and forRandal's own sake, Sir ---- thought it would lower him in the estimationof Egerton himself, despite that gentleman's advocacy, if he did notfollow the example of his avowed and notorious patron. 

"You see, Leslie, " said Egerton, checking Randal's meditated reply, "that nothing can be said against your honour if you stay where you are;it is a mere question of expediency; I will judge that for you; keepyour place. "

Unhappily the other member of the Government, who had hitherto beensilent, was a literary man. Unhappily, while this talk had proceeded, hehad placed his hand upon Randal Leslie's celebrated pamphlet, which layon the library table; and, turning over the leaves, the whole spirit andmatter of that masterly composition in defence of the administration(a composition steeped in all the essence of party) recurred to his toofaithful recollection. He, too, liked Randal; he did more, --he admiredthe author of that striking and effective pamphlet. And therefore, rousing himself from the sublime indifference he had before felt for thefate of a subaltern, he said, with a bland and complimentary smile, "No;the writer of this most able publication is no ordinary placeman. Hisopinions here are too vigorously stated; this fine irony on the veryperson who in all probability will be the chief in his office hasexcited too lively an attention to allow him the sedet eternumquesedebit on an official stool. Ha, ha! this is so good! Read it, L'Estrange. What say you?" Harley glanced over the page pointed outto him. The original was in one of Burley's broad, coarse, but tellingburlesques, strained fine through Randal's more polished satire. Itwas capital. Harley smiled, and lifted his eyes to Randal. The unluckyplagiarist's face was flushed, --the beads stood on his brow. Harley wasa good hater; he loved too warmly not to err on the opposite side; buthe was one of those men who forget hate when its object is distressedand humbled. He put down the pamphlet and said, "I am no politician;but Egerton is so well known to be fastidious and over-scrupulous inall points of official etiquette, that Mr. Leslie cannot follow a safercounsellor. "

"Read that yourself, Egerton, " said Sir ----; and he pushed the pamphletto Audley. 

Now Egerton had a dim recollection that that pamphlet was unlucky;but he had skimmed over its contents hastily, and at that moment hadforgotten all about it. He took up the too famous work with a reluctanthand, but he read attentively the passages pointed out to him, and thensaid gravely and sadly, "Mr. Leslie, I retract my advice. I believe Sir ---- is right, --that thenobleman here so keenly satirized will be the chief in your office. Idoubt whether he will not compel your dismissal; at all events, hecould scarcely be expected to promote your advancement. Under thecircumstances, I fear you have no option as a--" Egerton paused amoment, and, with a sigh that seemed to settle the question, concludedwith--"as a gentleman. "

Never did Jack Cade, never did Wat Tyler, feel a more deadly hate tothat word "gentleman" than the well-born Leslie felt then; but he bowedhis head, and answered with his usual presence of mind, "You utter my own sentiment. "

"You think we are right, Harley?" asked Egerton, with an irresolutionthat surprised all present. 

"I think, " answered Harley, with a compassion for Randal that was almostover-generous, and yet with an equivoque on the words, despite thecompassion, --"I think whoever has served Audley Egerton never yet hasbeen a loser by it; and if Mr. Leslie wrote this pamphlet, he must havewell served Audley Egerton. If he undergoes the penalty, we may safelytrust to Egerton for the compensation. "

"My compensation has long since been made, " answered Randal, with grace;"and that Mr. Egerton could thus have cared for my fortunes, at an hourso occupied, is a thought of pride which--"

"Enough, Leslie! enough!" interrupted Egerton, rising and pressing hisprotege's hand. "See me before you go to bed. "

Then the two other ministers rose also and shook hands with Leslie, andtold him he had done the right thing, and that they hoped soon to seehim in parliament; and hinted, smilingly, that the next administrationdid not promise to be very long-lived; and one asked him to dinner, and the other to spend a week at his country-seat. And amidst thesecongratulations at the stroke that left him penniless, the distinguishedpamphleteer left the room. How he cursed big John Burley!

CHAPTER XVII. 

It was past midnight when Audley Egerton summoned Randal. The statesmanwas then alone, seated before his great desk, with its manifoldcompartments, and engaged on the task of transferring various papers andletters, some to the waste-basket, some to the flames, some to two greatiron chests with patent locks, that stood, open-mouthed, at his feet. Strong, stern, and grim looked those iron chests, silently receiving therelics of power departed; strong, stern, and grim as the grave. Audleylifted his eyes at Randal's entrance, signed to him to take a chair, continued his task for a few moments, and then turning round, as if byan effort he plucked himself from his master-passion, --Public Life, hesaid, with deliberate tones, "I know not, Randal Leslie, whether you thought me needlessly cautious, or wantonly unkind, when I told you never to expect from me more thansuch advance to your career as my then position could effect, --never toexpect from my liberality in life, nor from my testament in death, anaddition to your private fortunes. I see by your gesture what wouldbe your reply, and I thank you for it. I now tell you, as yet inconfidence, though before long it can be no secret to the world, that mypecuniary affairs have been so neglected by me in my devotion to thoseof the State, that I am somewhat like the man who portioned out hiscapital at so much a day, calculating to live just long enough to makeit last. Unfortunately he lived too long. " Audley smiled--but thesmile was cold as a sunbeam upon ice-and went on with the same firm, unfaltering accents. "The prospects that face me I am prepared for; theydo not take me by surprise. I knew long since how this would end, ifI survived the loss of office. I knew it before you came to me, andtherefore I spoke to you as I did, judging it manful and right to guardyou against hopes which you might otherwise have naturally entertained. On this head, I need say no more. It may excite your surprise, possiblyyour blame, that I, esteemed methodical and practical enough in theaffairs of the State, should be so imprudent as to my own. "

"Oh, sir! you owe no account to me. "

"To you, at least, as much as to any one. I am a solitary man; my fewrelations need nothing from me. I had a right do spend what I possessedas I pleased; and if I have spent it recklessly as regards myself, Ihave not spent it ill in its effect on others. It has been my object formany years to have no Private Life, --to dispense with its sorrows, joys, affections; and as to its duties, they did not exist for me. I havesaid. " Mechanically, as he ended, the minister's hand closed the lid ofone of the iron boxes, and on the closed lid he rested his firm foot. "But now, " he resumed, "I have failed to advance your career. True, Iwarned you that you drew into a lottery; but you had more chance ofa prize than a blank. A blank, however, it has turned out, and thequestion becomes grave, --What are you to do?"

Here, seeing that Egerton came to a full pause, Randal answered readily, "Still, sir, to go by your advice. "

"My advice, " said Audley, with a softened look, "would perhaps be rudeand unpalatable. I would rather place before you an option. On the onehand, recommence life again. I told you that I would keep your nameon your college books. You can return, you can take your degree, afterthat, you can go to the Bar, --you have just the talents calculated tosucceed in that profession. Success will be slow, it is true; but, withperseverance, it will be sure. And, believe me, Leslie, Ambition is onlysweet while it is but the loftier name for Hope. Who would care for afox's brush if it had not been rendered a prize by the excitement of thechase?"

"Oxford--again! It is a long step back in life, " said Randal, drearily, and little heeding Egerton's unusual indulgence of illustration. "A longstep back--and to what? To a profession in which one never begins torise till one's hair is gray. Besides, how live in the mean while?"

"Do not let that thought disturb you. The modest income that sufficesfor a student at the Bar, I trust, at least, to insure you from thewrecks of my fortune. "

"Ah, sir, I would not burden you further. What right have I to suchkindness, save my name of Leslie?" And in spite of himself, as Randalconcluded, a tone of bitterness, that betrayed reproach, broke forth. Egerton was too much the man of the world not to comprehend thereproach, and not to pardon it. 

"Certainly, " he answered calmly, "as a Leslie you are entitled to myconsideration, and would have been entitled perhaps to more, had I notso explicitly warned you to the contrary. But the Bar does not seem toplease you?"

"What is the alternative, sir? Let me decide when I hear it, " answeredRandal, sullenly. He began to lose respect for the roan who owned hecould do so little for him, and who evidently recommended him to shiftfor himself. 

If one could have pierced into Egerton's gloomy heart as he noted theyoung man's change of tone, it may be a doubt whether one would haveseen there pain or pleasure, --pain, for merely from the force of habithe had begun to like Randal, or pleasure at the thought that he mighthave reason to withdraw that liking. So lone and stoical had grownthe man who had made it his object to have no private life! Revealing, however, neither pleasure nor pain, but with the composed calmness of ajudge upon the bench, Egerton replied, --

"The alternative is, to continue in the course you have begun, and stillto rely on me. "

"Sir, my dear Mr. Egerton, " exclaimed Randal, regaining all his usualtenderness of look and voice, "rely on you! But that is all I ask. Only"

"Only, you would say, I am going out of power, and you don't see thechance of my return?"

"I did not mean that. "

"Permit me to suppose that you did: very true; but the party I belong tois as sure of return as the pendulum of that clock is sure to obey themechanism that moves it from left to right. Our successors profess tocome in upon a popular question. All administrations who do that arenecessarily short-lived. Either they do not go far enough to pleasepresent supporters, or they go so far as to arm new enemies in therivals who outbid them with the people. 'T is the history of allrevolutions, and of all reforms. Our own administration in reality isdestroyed for having passed what was called a popular measure a yearago, which lost us half our friends, and refusing to propose anotherpopular measure this year, in the which we are outstripped by the menwho hallooed us on to the last. Therefore, whatever our successorsdo, we shall by the law of reaction, have another experiment of powerafforded to ourselves. It is but a question of time; you can wait forit, --whether I can is uncertain. But if I die before that day arrives, Ihave influence enough still left with those who will come in, to obtaina promise of a better provision for you than that which you have lost. The promises of public men are proverbially uncertain; but I shallentrust your cause to a man who never failed a friend, and whose rankwill enable him to see that justice is done to you, --I speak of LordL'Estrange. "

"Oh, not he; he is unjust to me; he dislikes me; he--"

"May dislike you (he has his whims), but he loves me; and though for noother human being but you would I ask Harley L'Estrange a favour, yetfor you I will, " said Egerton, betraying, for the first time in thatdialogue, a visible emotion, --"for you, a Leslie, a kinsman, howeverremote, to the wife from whom I received my fortune! And despite all mycautions, it is possible that in wasting that fortune I may have wrongedyou. Enough: you have now before you the two options, much as you hadat first; but you have at present more experience to aid you in yourchoice. You are a man, and with more brains than most men; think over itwell, and decide for yourself. Now to bed, and postpone thought till themorrow. Poor Randal, you look pale!"

Audley, as he said the last words, put his hand on Randal's shoulder, almost with a father's gentleness; and then suddenly drawing himselfup, as the hard inflexible expression, stamped on that face by years, returned, he moved away and resettled to Public Life and the iron box. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Early the next day Randal Leslie was in the luxurious business-roomof Baron Levy. How unlike the cold Doric simplicity of the statesman'slibrary! Axminster carpets, three inches thick; portieres a la Francaisebefore the doors; Parisian bronzes on the chimney-piece; and all thereceptacles that lined the room, and contained title-deeds and postobitsand bills and promises to pay and lawyer-like japan boxes, with manya noble name written thereon in large white capitals--"making ruinpompous, " all these sepulchres of departed patrimonies veneered inrosewood that gleamed with French polish, and blazed with ormulu. Therewas a coquetry, an air of petit maitre, so diffused over the wholeroom, that you could not, for the life of you, recollect you were with ausurer! Plutus wore the aspect of his enemy Cupid; and how realize youridea of Harpagon in that baron, with his easy French "Mon cher, " andhis white, warm hands that pressed yours so genially, and his dress soexquisite, even at the earliest morn? No man ever yet saw that baron ina dressing-gown and slippers! As one fancies some feudal baron of old(not half so terrible) everlastingly clad in mail, so all one's notionsof this grand marauder of civilization were inseparably associated withvarnished boots and a camellia in the button-hole. 

"And this is all that he does for you!" cried the baron, pressingtogether the points of his ten taper fingers. "Had he but let youconclude your career at Oxford, I have heard enough of your scholarshipto know that you would have taken high honours, been secure of afellowship, have betaken yourself with content to a slow and laboriousprofession, and prepared yourself to die on the woolsack. "

"He proposes to me now to return to Oxford, " said Randal. "It is not toolate!"

"Yes, it is, " said the baron. "Neither individuals nor nations ever goback of their own accord. There must be an earthquake before a riverrecedes to its source. "

"You speak well, " answered Randal, "and I cannot gainsay you. But now!"

"Ah, the now is the grand question in life, the then is obsolete, goneby, --out of fashion; and now, mon cher, you come to ask my advice?"

"No, Baron, I come to ask your explanation. "

"Of what?"

"I want to know why you spoke to me of Mr. Egerton's ruin; why you spoketo me of the lands to be sold by Mr. Thornhill; and why you spoke tome of Count Peschiera. You touched on each of those points within tenminutes, you omitted to indicate what link can connect them. "

"By Jove, " said the baron, rising, and with more admiration in his facethan you could have conceived that face, so smiling and so cynical, could exhibit, --"by Jove, Randal Leslie, but your shrewdness iswonderful. You really are the first young man of your day; and Iwill 'help you, ' as I helped Audley Egerton. Perhaps you will be moregrateful. "

Randal thought of Egerton's ruin. The parallel implied by the baron didnot suggest to him the rare enthusiasm of gratitude. However, he merelysaid, "Pray, proceed; I listen to you with interest. "

"As for politics, then, " said the baron, "we will discuss that topiclater. I am waiting myself to see how these new men get on. The firstconsideration is for your private fortunes. You should buy this ancientLeslie property--Rood and Dulmansberry--only L20, 000 down; the rest mayremain on mortgage forever--or at least till I find you a rich wife, --asin fact I did for Egerton. Thornhill wants the L20, 000 now, --wants themvery much. "

"And where, " said Randal, with an iron smile, "are the L20, 000 youascribe to me to come from?"

"Ten thousand shall come to you the day Count Peschiera marries thedaughter of his kinsman with your help and aid; the remaining tenthousand I will lend you. No scruple, I shall hazard nothing, theestates will bear that additional burden. What say you, --shall it beso?"

"Ten thousand pounds from Count Peschiera!" said Randal, breathinghard. "You cannot be serious? Such a sum--for what?--for a mere pieceof information? How otherwise can I aid him? There must be trick anddeception intended here. "

"My dear fellow, " answered Levy, "I will give you a hint. There is sucha thing in life as being over-suspicious. If you have a fault, it isthat. The information you allude to is, of course, the first assistanceyou are to give. Perhaps more may be needed, perhaps not. Of that youwill judge yourself, since the L10, 000 are contingent on the marriageaforesaid. "

"Over-suspicious or not, " answered Randal, "the amount of the sum istoo improbable, and the security too bad, for me to listen to thisproposition, even if I could descend to--"

"Stop, mon cher. Business first, scruples afterwards. The security toobad; what security?"

"The word of Count di Peschiera. "

"He has nothing to do with it, he need know nothing about it. 'T is myword you doubt. I am your security. "

Randal thought of that dry witticism in Gibbon, "Abu Rafe says he willbe witness for this fact, but who will be witness for Abu Rafe?" buthe remained silent, only fixing on Levy those dark observant eyes, withtheir contracted, wary pupils. 

"The fact is simply this, " resumed Levy: "Count di Peschiera haspromised to pay his sister a dowry of L20, 000, in case he has themoney to spare. He can only have it to spare by the marriage we arediscussing. On my part, as I manage his affairs in England for him, Ihave promised that, for the said sum of L20, 000, I will guarantee theexpenses in the way of that marriage, and settle with Madame di Negra. Now, though Peschiera is a very liberal, warm-hearted fellow, I don'tsay that he would have named so large a sum for his sister's dowry, ifin strict truth he did not owe it to her. It is the amount of her ownfortune, which by some arrangements with her late husband, not exactlylegal, he possessed himself of. If Madame di Negra went to law with himfor it, she could get it back. I have explained this to him; and, inshort, you now understand why the sum is thus assessed. But I havebought up Madame di Negra's debts, I have bought up young Hazeldean's(for we must make a match between these two a part of our arrangements). I shall present to Peschiera, and to these excellent young persons, anaccount that will absorb the whole L20, 000. That sum will come into myhands. If I settle the claims against them for half the money, which, making myself the sole creditor, I have the right to do, the moiety willremain. And if I choose to give it to you in return for the serviceswhich provide Peschiera with a princely fortune, discharge the debts ofhis sister, and secure her a husband in my promising young client, Mr. Hazeldean, that is my lookout, --all parties are satisfied, and no oneneed ever be the wiser. The sum is large, no doubt; it answers to me togive it to you; does it answer to you to receive it?"

Randal was greatly agitated; but vile as he was, and systematically asin thought he had brought himself to regard others merely as they couldbe made subservient to his own interest, still, with all who have nothardened themselves in actual crime, there is a wide distinction betweenthe thought and the act; and though, in the exercise of ingenuity andcunning, he would have had few scruples in that moral swindling whichis mildly called "outwitting another, " yet thus nakedly and openly toaccept a bribe for a deed of treachery towards the poor Italian whohad so generously trusted him--he recoiled. He was nerving himself torefuse, when Levy, opening his pocket-book, glanced over the memorandatherein, and said, as to himself, "Rood Manor--Dulmansberry, sold to theThornhills by Sir Gilbert Leslie, knight of the shire; estimated presentnet rental L2, 250 7s. 0d. It is the greatest bargain I ever knew. Andwith this estate in hand, and your talents, Leslie, I don't see whyyou should not rise higher than Audley Egerton. He was poorer than youonce!"

The old Leslie lands--a positive stake in the country--the restorationof the fallen family; and on the other hand, either long drudgery atthe Bar, --a scanty allowance on Egerton's bounty, his sister wastingher youth at slovenly, dismal Rood, Oliver debased into a boor!--ora mendicant's dependence on the contemptuous pity of HarleyL'Estrange, --Harley, who had refused his hand to him, Harley, whoperhaps would become the husband of Violante! Rage seized him as thesecontrasting pictures rose before his view. He walked to and fro indisorder, striving to re-collect his thoughts, and reduce himself fromthe passions of the human heart into the mere mechanism of calculatingintellect. "I cannot conceive, " said he, abruptly, "why you should temptme thus, --what interest it is to you!"

Baron Levy smiled, and put up his pocket-book. He saw from that momentthat the victory was gained. 

"My dear boy, " said he, with the most agreeable bonhommie, "it is verynatural that you should think a man would have a personal interest inwhatever he does for another. I believe that view of human nature iscalled utilitarian philosophy, and is much in fashion at present. Letme try and explain to you. In this affair I sha'n't injure myself. True, you will say, if I settle claims which amount to L20, 000 for L10, 000, Imight put the surplus into my own pocket instead of yours. Agreed. ButI shall not get the L20, 000, nor repay myself Madame di Negra's debts(whatever I may do as to Hazeldean's), unless the count gets thisheiress. You can help in this. I want you; and I don't think I couldget you by a less offer than I make. I shall soon pay myself back theL10, 000 if the count get hold of the lady and her fortune. Brief, I seemy way here to my own interests. Do you want more reasons, --you shallhave them. I am now a very rich man. How have I become so? Throughattaching myself from the first to persons of expectations, whether fromfortune or talent. I have made connections in society, and society hasenriched me. I have still a passion for making money. 'Que voulez-vous?'It is my profession, my hobby. It will be useful to me in a thousandways to secure as a friend a young man who will have influence withother young men, heirs to something better than Rood Hall. You maysucceed in public life. A man in public life may attain to the knowledgeof State secrets that are very profitable to one who dabbles a littlein the Funds. We can perhaps hereafter do business together that may putyourself in a way of clearing off all mortgages on these estates, --onthe encumbered possession of which I shall soon congratulate you. Yousee I am frank; 't is the only way of coming to the point with so clevera fellow as you. And now, since the less we rake up the mud in a pondfrom which we have resolved to drink the better, let us dismiss allother thoughts but that of securing our end. Will you tell Peschierawhere the young lady is, or shall I? Better do it yourself; reasonenough for it, that he has confided to you his hope, and asked youto help him; why should not you? Not a word to him about our littlearrangement; he need never know it. You need never be troubled. " Levyrang the bell: "Order my carriage round. "

Randal made no objection. He was deathlike pale, but there was asinister expression of firmness on his thin, bloodless lips. 

"The next point, " Levy resumed, "is to hasten the match between Frankand the fair widow. How does that stand?"

"She will not see me, nor receive him. "

"Oh, learn why! And if you find on either side there is a hitch, justlet me know; I will soon remove it. "

"Has Hazeldean consented to the post-obit?"

"Not yet; I have not pressed it; I wait the right moment, if necessary. "

"It will be necessary. "

"Ah, you wish it. It shall be so. "

Randal Leslie again paced the room, and after a silent self-commune cameup close to the baron, and said, "Look you, sir, I am poor and ambitious; you have tempted me at theright moment, and with the right inducement. I succumb. But whatguarantee have I that this money will be paid, these estates made mineupon the conditions stipulated?"

"Before anything is settled, " replied the baron, "go and ask mycharacter of any of our young friends, Borrowell, Spendquick--whom youplease; you will hear me abused, of course; but they will all say thisof me, that when I pass my word, I keep it. If I say, 'Mon cher, youshall have the money, ' a man has it; if I say, 'I renew your bill forsix months, ' it is renewed. 'T, is my way of doing business. In allcases any word is my bond. In this case, where no writing can passbetween us, my only bond must be my word. Go, then, make your mind clearas to your security, and come here and dine at eight. We will call onPeschiera afterwards. "

"Yes, " said Randal, "I will at all events take the day to consider. Meanwhile, I say this, I do not disguise from myself the nature of theproposed transaction, but what I have once resolved I go through with. My sole vindication to myself is, that if I play here with a false die, it will be for a stake so grand, as once won, the magnitude of the prizewill cancel the ignominy of the play. It is not this sum of money forwhich I sell myself, --it is for what that sum will aid me to achieve. And in the marriage of young Hazeldean with the Italian woman, I haveanother, and it may be a larger interest. I have slept on it lately, --Iwake to it now. Insure that marriage, obtain the post-obit. FromHazeldean, and whatever the issue of the more direct scheme for whichyou seek my services, rely on my gratitude, and believe that you willhave put me in the way to render gratitude of avail. At eight I will bewith you. "

Randal left the room. 

The baron sat thoughtful. "It is true, " said he to himself, "this youngman is the next of kin to the Hazeldean estate, if Frank displease hisfather sufficiently to lose his inheritance; that must be the cleverboy's design. Well, in the long-run, I should make as much, or more, outof him than out of the spendthrift Frank. Frank's faults are those ofyouth. He will reform and retrench. But this man! No, I shall havehim for life. And should he fail in this project, and have but thisencumbered property--a landed proprietor mortgaged up to his ears--why, he is my slave, and I can foreclose when I wish, or if he proveuseless;--no, I risk nothing. And if I did--if I lost L10, 000--whatthen? I can afford it for revenge!--afford it for the luxury of leavingAudley Egerton alone with penury and ruin, deserted, in his hour ofneed, by the pensioner of his bounty, as he will be by the last friendof his youth, when it so pleases me, --me whom he has called 'scoundrel'!and whom he--" Levy's soliloquy halted there, for the servant entered toannounce the carriage. And the baron hurried his band over his features, as if to sweep away all trace of the passions that distorted theirsmiling effrontery. And so, as he took up his cane and gloves, andglanced at the glass, the face of the fashionable usurer was once moreas varnished as his boots. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

When a clever man resolves on a villanous action, he hastens, by theexercise of his cleverness, to get rid of the sense of his villany. Withmore than his usual alertness, Randal employed the next hour or two inascertaining how far Baron Levy merited the character he boasted, andhow far his word might be his bond. He repaired to young men whomhe esteemed better judges on these points than Spendquick andBorrowell, --young men who resembled the Merry Monarch, inasmuch as--

 "They never said a foolish thing, And never did a wise one. "

There are many such young men about town, --sharp and able in all affairsexcept their own. No one knows the world better, nor judges of charactermore truly, than your half-beggared roue. From all these Baron Levyobtained much the same testimonials: he was ridiculed as a would-bedandy, but respected as a very responsible man of business, and ratherliked as a friendly, accommodating species of the Sir Epicure Mammon, who very often did what were thought handsome, liberal things; and, "inshort, " said one of these experienced referees, "he is the best fellowgoing--for a money-lender! You may always rely on what he promises, andhe is generally very forbearing and indulgent to us of good society;perhaps for the same reason that our tailors are, --to send one of us toprison would hurt his custom. His foible is to be thought a gentleman. I believe, much as I suppose he loves money, he would give up half hisfortune rather than do anything for which we could cut him. He allows apension of three hundred a year to Lord S-----. True; he was his man ofbusiness for twenty years, and before then S----- was rather a prudentfellow, and had fifteen thousand a year. He has helped on, too, manya clever young man, --the best borough-monger you ever knew. He likeshaving friends in parliament. In fact, of course he is a rogue; but ifone wants a rogue, one can't find a pleasanter. I should like to see himon the French stage, --a prosperous Macaire; Le Maitre could hit him offto the life. "

From information in these more fashionable quarters, gleaned with hisusual tact, Randal turned to a source less elevated, but to which heattached more importance. Dick Avenel associated with the baron, --DickAvenel must be in his clutches. Now Randal did justice to thatgentleman's practical shrewdness. Moreover, Avenel was by profession aman of business. He must know more of Levy than these men of pleasurecould; and as he was a plain-spoken person, and evidently honest, in theordinary acceptation of the word, Randal did not doubt that out of DickAvenel he should get the truth. 

On arriving in Eaton Square, and asking for Mr. Avenel, Randal was atonce ushered into the drawing-room. The apartment was not in suchgood, solid, mercantile taste as had characterized Avenel's more humblebachelor's residence at Screwstown. The taste now was the HonourableMrs. Avenel's; and, truth to say, no taste could be worse. Furnitureof all epochs heterogeneously clumped together, --here a sofa a larenaissance in Gobelin; there a rosewood Console from Gillow; a tallmock-Elizabethan chair in black oak, by the side of a modern Florentinetable of Mosaic marbles; all kinds of colours in the room, and all atwar with each other; very bad copies of the best-known pictures in theworld in the most gaudy frames, and impudently labelled by the names oftheir murdered originals, --"Raphael, " "Corregio, " "Titian, " "Sebastiandel Piombo. " Nevertheless, there had been plenty of money spent, andthere was plenty to show for it. Mrs. Avenel was seated on her sofa a larenaissance, with one of her children at her feet, who was employedin reading a new Annual in crimson silk binding. Mrs. Avenel was in anattitude as if sitting for her portrait. 

Polite society is most capricious in its adoptions or rejections. Yousee many a very vulgar person firmly established in the beau monde;others, with very good pretensions as to birth, fortune, etc. , eitherrigorously excluded, or only permitted a peep over the pales. TheHonourable Mrs. Avenel belonged to families unquestionably noble, bothby her own descent and by her first marriage; and if poverty had kepther down in her earlier career, she now, at least, did not want wealthto back her pretensions. Nevertheless, all the dispensers of fashionconcurred in refusing their support to the Honourable Mrs. Avenel. Onemight suppose it was solely on account of her plebeian husband; butindeed it was not so. Many a woman of high family can marry a low-bornman not so presentable as Avenel, and, by the help of his money, get thefine world at her feet. But Mrs. Avenel had not that art. She was stilla very handsome, showy woman; and as for dress, no duchess could be moreextravagant. Yet these very circumstances had perhaps gone against herambition; for your quiet little plain woman, provoking no envy, slipsinto coteries, when a handsome, flaunting lady--whom, once seen in yourdrawing-room, can be no more over-looked than a scarlet poppy amidsta violet bed--is pretty sure to be weeded out as ruthlessly as a poppywould be in a similar position. 

Mr. Avenel was sitting by the fire, rather moodily, his hands in hispockets, and whistling to himself. To say truth, that active mind of hiswas very much bored in London, at least during the fore part of theday. He hailed Randal's entrance with a smile of relief, and rising andposting himself before the fire--a coat tail under each arm--he scarcelyallowed Randal to shake hands with Mrs. Avenel, and pat the child onthe head, murmuring, "Beautiful creature!" (Randal was ever civil tochildren, --that sort of wolf in sheep's clothing always is; don't betaken in, O you foolish young mothers!)--Dick, I say, scarcely allowedhis visitor these preliminary courtesies, before he plunged far beyonddepth of wife and child into the political ocean. "Things nowwere coming right, --a vile oligarchy was to be destroyed. Britishrespectability and British talent were to have fair play. " To have heardhim you would have thought the day fixed for the millennium! "And whatis more, " said Avenel, bringing down the fist of his right hand upon thepalm of his left, "if there is to be a new parliament, we must havenew men; not worn-out old brooms that never sweep clean, but men whounderstand how to govern the country, Sir. I INTEND TO COME IN MYSELF!"

"Yes, " said Mrs. Avenel, hooking in a word at last, "I am sure, Mr. Leslie, you will think I did right. I persuaded Mr. Avenel that, withhis talents and property, he ought, for the sake of his country, to makea sacrifice; and then you know his opinions now are all the fashion, Mr. Leslie; formerly they would have been called shocking and vulgar!"

Thus saying, she looked with fond pride at Dick's comely face, which atthat moment, however, was all scowl and frown. I must do justice to Mrs. Avenel; she was a weak woman, silly in some things, and a cunning one inothers, but she was a good wife as wives go. Scotch women generally are. "Bother!" said Dick. "What do women know about politics? I wish you'dmind the child, --it is crumpling up and playing almighty smash with thatflim-flam book, which cost me one pound one. "

Mrs. Avenel submissively bowed her head, and removed the Annual fromthe hands of the young destructive; the destructive set up a squall, asdestructives usually do when they don't have their own way. Dick clappedhis hand to his ears. "Whe-e-ew, I can't stand this; come and take awalk, Leslie: I want stretching!" He stretched himself as he spoke, first half-way up to the ceiling, and then fairly out of the room. 

Randal, with his May Fair manner, turned towards Mrs. Avenel as if toapologize for her husband and himself. 

"Poor Richard!" said she, "he is in one of his humours, --all men havethem. Come and see me again soon. When does Almack's open?"

"Nay, I ought to ask you that question, --you who know everything thatgoes on in our set, " said the young serpent. Any tree planted in "ourset, " if it had been but a crab-tree, would have tempted Mr. Avenel'sEve to jump at its boughs. 

"Are you coming, there?" cried Dick, from the foot of the stairs. 

CHAPTER XX. 

"I have just been at our friend Levy's, " said Randal, when he andDick were outside the street door. "He, like you, is full of politics;pleasant man, --for the business he is said to do. "

"Well, " said Dick, slowly, "I suppose he is pleasant, but make the bestof it--and still--"

"Still what, my dear Avenel?" (Randal here for the first time discardedthe formal Mister. )

MR. AVENEL. --"Still the thing itself is not pleasant. "

RANDAL (with his soft hollow laugh). --"You mean borrowing money uponmore than five per cent?"

"Oh, curse the percentage. I agree with Bentham on the Usury Laws, --noshackles in trade for me, whether in money or anything else. That's notit. But when one owes a fellow money even at two per cent, and 't is notconvenient to pay him, why, somehow or other, it makes one feel small;it takes the British Liberty out of a man!"

"I should have thought you more likely to lend money than to borrow it. "

"Well, I guess you are right there, as a general rule. But I tell youwhat it is, sir; there is too great a mania for competition getting upin this rotten old country of ours. I am as liberal as most men. I likecompetition to a certain extent, but there is too much of it, sir, --toomuch of it. " Randal looked sad and convinced. But if Leonard had heardDick Avenel, what would have been his amaze? Dick Avenel rail againstcompetition! Think there could be too much of it! "Of course heaven andearth are coming together, " said the spider, when the housemaid's broominvaded its cobweb. Dick was all for sweeping away other cobwebs; but hecertainly thought heaven and earth coming together when he saw a greatTurk's-head besom poked up at his own. 

Mr. Avenel, in his genius for speculation and improvement, hadestablished a factory at Screwstown, the first which had ever eclipsedthe church spire with its Titanic chimney. It succeeded well at first. Mr. Avenel transferred to this speculation nearly all his capital. "Nothing, " quoth he, "paid such an interest. Manchester was getting wornout, --time to show what Screwstown could do. Nothing like competition. "But by-and-by a still greater capitalist than Dick Avenel, finding outthat Screwstown was at the mouth of a coal mine, and that Dick's profitswere great, erected a still uglier edifice, with a still taller chimney. And having been brought up to the business, and making his residence inthe town, while Dick employed a foreman and flourished in London, thisinfamous competitor so managed, first to share, and then gradually tosequester, the profits which Dick had hitherto monopolized, that nowonder Mr. Avenel thought competition should have its limits. "Thetongue touches where the tooth aches, " as Dr. Riccabocca would tellus. By little and little our Juvenile Talleyrand (I beg the elder greatman's pardon) wormed out from Dick this grievance, and in the grievancediscovered the origin of Dick's connection with the money-lender. 

"But Levy, " said Avenel, candidly, "is a decentish chap in hisway, --friendly too. Mrs. A. Finds him useful; brings some of your younghighflyers to her soirees. To be sure, they don't dance, --stand all ina row at the door, like mutes at a funeral. Not but what they have beenuncommon civil to me lately, Spendquick particularly. By-the-by, I dinewith him to-morrow. The aristocracy are behindhand, --not smart, sir, notup to the march; but when a man knows how to take 'em, they beat the NewYorkers in good manners. I'll say that for them. I have no prejudice. "

"I never saw a man with less; no prejudice even against Levy. "

"No, not a bit of it! Every one says he's a Jew; he says he's not. Idon't care a button what he is. His money is English, --that's enough forany man of a liberal turn of mind. His charges, too, are moderate. To besure, he knows I shall pay them; only what I don't like in him is a sortof way he has of mon-cher-ing and my-good-fellow-ing one, to do thingsquite out of the natural way of that sort of business. He knows I havegot parliamentary influence. I could return a couple of members forScrewstown, and one, or perhaps two, for Lansmere, where I have of latebeen cooking up an interest; and he dictates to--no, not dictates--buttries to humbug me into putting in his own men. However, in one respect, we are likely to agree. He says you want to come into parliament. Youseem a smart young fellow; but you must throw over that stiff red-tapistof yours, and go with Public Opinion, and--Myself. "

"You are very kind, Avenel; perhaps when we come to compare opinions wemay find that we agree entirely. Still, in Egerton's present position, delicacy to him--However, we'll not discuss that now. But you reallythink I might come in for Lansmere, --against the L'Estrange interest, too, which must be strong there?"

"It was very strong, but I've smashed it, I calculate. "

"Would a contest there cost very much?"

"Well, I guess you must come down with the ready. But, as you say, time enough to discuss that when you have squared your account with'delicacy;' come to me then, and we'll go into it. "

Randal, having now squeezed his orange dry, had no desire to waste histime in brushing up the rind with his coat-sleeve, so he unhooked hisarm from Avenel's, and, looking at his watch, discovered he should bejust in time for an appointment of the most urgent business, --hailed acab, and drove off. 

Dick looked hipped and disconsolate at being left alone; he yawned veryloud, to the astonishment of three prim old maiden Belgravians who werepassing that way; and then his mind began to turn towards his factoryat Screwstown, which had led to his connection with the baron; and hethought over a letter he had received from his foreman that morning, informing him that it was rumoured at Screwstown that Mr. Dyce, hisrival, was about to have new machinery on an improved principle; andthat Mr. Dyce had already gone up to town, it was supposed, with theintention of concluding a purchase for a patent discovery to be appliedto the new machinery, and which that gentleman had publicly declared inthe corn-market "would shut up Mr. Avenel's factory before the year wasout. " As this menacing epistle recurred to him, Dick felt his desire toyawn incontinently checked. His brow grew very dark; and he walked, withrestless strides, on and on, till he found himself in the Strand. Hethen got into an omnibus, and proceeded to the city, wherein he spentthe rest of the day looking over machines and foundries, and trying invain to find out what diabolical invention the over-competition of Mr. Dyce had got hold of. "If, " said Dick Avenel to himself, as he returnedfretfully homeward--"if a man like me, who has done so much for Britishindustry and go-a-head principles, is to be catawampously champed upby a mercenary, selfish cormorant of a capitalist like that interlopingblockhead in drab breeches, Tom Dyce, all I can say is, that the soonerthis cursed old country goes to the dogs, the better pleased I shall be. I wash my hands of it. "

CHAPTER XXI. 

Randal's mind was made up. All he had learned in regard to Levy hadconfirmed his resolves or dissipated his scruples. He had started fromthe improbability that Pesehiera would offer, and the still greaterimprobability that Peschiera would pay him, L10, 000 for such informationor aid as he could bestow in furthering the count's object. But whenLevy took such proposals entirely on himself, the main question toRandal became this, --could it be Levy's interest to make so considerablea sacrifice? Had the baron implied only friendly sentiments as hismotives, Randal would have felt sure he was to be taken in; but theusurer's frank assurance that it would answer to him in the long-run toconcede to Randal terms so advantageous, altered the case, and led ouryoung philosopher to look at the affair with calm, contemplative eyes. Was it sufficiently obvious that Levy counted on an adequate return?Might he calculate on reaping help by the bushel if he sowed it by thehandful? The result of Randal's cogitations was that the baron mightfairly deem himself no wasteful sower. In the first place, it was clearthat Levy, not without reasonable ground, believed that he could soonreplace, with exceeding good interest, any sum he might advance toRandal, out of the wealth which Randal's prompt information might bestowon Levy's client, the count; and secondly, Randal's self-esteem wasimmense, and could he but succeed in securing a pecuniary independenceon the instant, to free him from the slow drudgery of the Bar, or from aprecarious reliance on Audley Egerton, as a politician out of power, his convictions of rapid triumph in public life were as strong as ifwhispered by an angel or promised by a fiend. On such triumphs, withall the social position they would secure, Levy might well calculate forrepayment by a thousand indirect channels. Randal's sagacity detectedthat, through all the good-natured or liberal actions ascribed to theusurer, Levy had steadily pursued his own interests, he saw that Levymeant to get him into his power, and use his abilities as instrumentsfor digging new mines, in which Baron Levy would claim the rightof large royalties. But at that thought Randal's pale lip curleddisdainfully; he confided too much in his own powers not to think thathe could elude the grasp of the usurer, whenever it suited him to doso. Thus, on a survey, all conscience hushed itself; his mind rushedbuoyantly on to anticipations of the future. He saw the hereditaryestates regained, --no matter how mortgaged, --for the moment still hisown, legally his own, yielding for the present what would suffice forcompetence to one of few wants, and freeing his name from that title ofAdventurer, which is so prodigally given in rich old countries to thosewho have no estates but their brains. He thought of Violante but as thecivilized trader thinks of a trifling coin, of a glass bead, whichhe exchanges with some barbarian for gold dust; he thought of FrankHazeldean married to the foreign woman of beggared means, and reputethat had known the breath of scandal, --married, and living on post-obitinstalments of the Casino property; he thought of the poor squire'sresentment; his avarice swept from the lands annexed to Rood on tothe broad fields of Hazeldean; he thought of Avenel, of Lansmere, ofparliament; with one hand he grasped fortune, with the next power. "Andyet I entered on life with no patrimony (save a ruined hall and a barrenwaste), --no patrimony but knowledge. I have but turned knowledge frombooks to men; for books may give fame after death, but men give us powerin life. " And all the while he thus ruminated, his act was speeding hispurpose. Though it was but in a miserable hack-cab that he erected airyscaffoldings round airy castles, still the miserable hack-cab was flyingfast, to secure the first foot of solid ground whereon to transfer themental plan of the architect to foundations of positive slime andclay. The cab stopped at the door of Lord Lansmere's house. Randalhad suspected Violante to be there: he resolved to ascertain. Randaldescended from his vehicle and rang the bell. The lodge-keeper opinedthe great wooden gates. 

"I have called to see the young lady staying here, --the foreign younglady. "

Lady Lansmere had been too confident of the security of her roof tocondescend to give any orders to her servants with regard to her guest, and the lodge-keeper answered directly, --

"At home, I believe, sir. I rather think she is in the garden with mylady. "

"I see, " said Randal; and he did see the form of Violante at a distance. "But, since she is walking, I will not disturb her at present. I willcall another day. "

The lodge-keeper bowed respectfully, Randal jumped into his cab: "ToCurzon Street, --quick!"

CHAPTER XXII. 

Harley had made one notable oversight in that appeal to Beatrice'sbetter and gentler nature, which he entrusted to the advocacy ofLeonard, --a scheme in itself very characteristic of Harley's romantictemper, and either wise or foolish, according as his indulgent theoryof human idiosyncrasies in general, and of those peculiar to Beatricedi Negra in especial, was the dream of an enthusiast, or the inductiveconclusion of a sound philosopher. 

Harley had warned Leonard not to fall in love with the Italian, --he hadforgotten to warn the Italian not to fall in love with Leonard; nor hadhe ever anticipated the probability of that event. This is not tobe very much wondered at; for if there be anything on which themost sensible men are dull-eyed, where those eyes are not lighted byjealousy, it is as to the probabilities of another male creature beingbeloved. All, the least vain of the whiskered gender, think it prudentto guard themselves against being too irresistible to the fair sex; andeach says of his friend, "Good fellow enough, but the last man for thatwoman to fall in love with!"

But certainly there appeared on the surface more than ordinary cause forHarley's blindness in the special instance of Leonard. 

Whatever Beatrice's better qualities, she was generally esteemed worldlyand ambitious. She was pinched in circumstances, she was luxuriant andextravagant; how was it likely that she could distinguish any aspirantof the humble birth and fortunes of the young peasant-author? As acoquette, she might try to win his admiration and attract his fancy;but her own heart would surely be guarded in the triple mail of pride, poverty, and the conventional opinions of the world in which she lived. Had Harley thought it possible that Madame di Negra could stoop belowher station, and love, not wisely, but too well, he would rather havethought that the object would be some brilliant adventurer of fashion, some one who could turn against herself all the arts of deliberatefascination, and all the experience bestowed by frequent conquest. Oneso simple as Leonard, so young and so new! Harley L'Estrange would havesmiled at himself, if the idea of that image subjugating the ambitiouswoman to the disinterested love of a village maid had once crossed hismind. Nevertheless, so it was, and precisely from those causes whichwould have seemed to Harley to forbid the weakness. 

It was that fresh, pure heart, it was that simple, earnest sweetness, itwas that contrast in look, in tone, in sentiment, and in reasonings, toall that had jaded and disgusted her in the circle of her admirers, --itwas all this that captivated Beatrice at the first interview withLeonard. Here was what she had confessed to the sceptical Randal shehad dreamed and sighed for. Her earliest youth had passed into abhorrentmarriage, without the soft, innocent crisis of human life, --virgin love. Many a wooer might have touched her vanity, pleased her fancy, excitedher ambition--her heart had never been awakened; it woke now. The world, and the years that the world had wasted, seemed to fleet away as acloud. She was as if restored to the blush and the sigh of youth, --theyouth of the Italian maid. As in the restoration of our golden ageis the spell of poetry with us all, so such was the spell of the poethimself on her. 

Oh, how exquisite was that brief episode in the life of the woman palledwith the "hack sights and sounds" of worldly life! How strangely happywere those hours, when, lured on by her silent sympathy, the youngscholar spoke of his early struggles between circumstance and impulse, musing amidst the flowers, and hearkening to the fountain; or of hiswanderings in the desolate, lamp-lit streets, while the vision ofChatterton's glittering eyes shone dread through the friendless shadows. And as he spoke, whether of his hopes or his fears, her looks dweltfondly on the young face, that varied between pride and sadness, --prideever so gentle, and sad ness ever so nobly touching. She was neverweary of gazing on that brow, with its quiet power; but her lids droppedbefore those eyes, with their serene, unfathomable passion. She felt, asthey haunted her, what a deep and holy thing love in such souls mustbe. Leonard never spoke to her of Helen--that reserve every reader cancomprehend. To natures like his, first love is a mystery; to confide itis to profane. But he fulfilled his commission of interesting her in theexile and his daughter, and his description of them brought tears to hereyes. She inly resolved not to aid Peschiera in his designs on Violante. She forgot for the moment that her own fortune was to depend on thesuccess of those designs. Levy had arranged so that she was not remindedof her poverty by creditors, --she knew not how. She knew nothing ofbusiness. She gave herself up to the delight of the present hour, and tovague prospects of a future associated with that young image, --with thatface of a guardian angel that she saw before her, fairest in the momentsof absence; for in those moments came the life of fairy-land, when weshut our eyes on the world, and see through the haze of golden revery. Dangerous, indeed, to Leonard would have been the soft society ofBeatrice di Negra, had not his heart been wholly devoted to one object, and had not his ideal of woman been from that object one sole andindivisible reflection. But Beatrice guessed not this barrier betweenherself and him. Amidst the shadows that he conjured up from his pastlife, she beheld no rival form. She saw him lonely in the world, asshe was herself. And in his lowly birth, his youth, in the freedom frompresumption which characterized him in all things (save that confidencein his intellectual destinies which is the essential attribute ofgenius), she but grew the bolder by the belief that, even if he lovedher, he would not dare to hazard the avowal. 

And thus, one day, yielding, as she had ever been wont to yield, to theimpulse of her quick Italian heart--how she never remembered, inwhat words she could never recall--she spoke, she owned her love, shepleaded, with tears and blushes, for love in return. All that passed wasto her as a dream, --a dream from which she woke with a fierce senseof agony, of humiliation, --woke as the woman "scorned. " No matter howgratefully, how tenderly Leonard had replied, the reply was refusal. 

For the first time she learned she had a rival; that all he could giveof love was long since, from his boyhood, given to another. For thefirst time in her life, that ardent nature knew jealousy, its torturingstings, its thirst for vengeance, its tempest of loving hate. But, tooutward appearance, silent and cold she stood as marble. Words thatsought to soothe fell on her ear unheeded: they were drowned by thestorm within. Pride was the first feeling which dominated the warringelements that raged in her soul. She tore her hand from that whichclasped hers with so loyal a respect. She could have spurned the formthat knelt at her feet, not for love, but for pardon. She pointed to thedoor with the gesture of an insulted queen. She knew no more till shewas alone. Then came that rapid flash of conjecture peculiar to thestorms of jealousy; that which seems to single from all nature theone object to dread and to destroy; the conjecture so often false, yetreceived at once by our convictions as the revelation of instinctivetruth. He to whom she had humbled herself loved another; whom butViolante, --whom else, young and beautiful, had he named in the record ofhis life?--None! And he had sought to interest her, Beatrice di Negra, in the object of his love; hinted at dangers which Beatrice knew toowell; implied trust in Beatrice's will to protect. Blind fool that shehad been! This, then, was the reason why he had come, day after day, to Beatrice's house; this was the charm that had drawn him thither;this--she pressed her hands to her burning temples, as if to stop thetorture of thought. Suddenly a voice was heard below, the door opened, and Randal Leslie entered. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Punctually at eight o'clock that evening, Baron Levy welcomed the newally he had secured. The pair dined en tete a tete, discussing generalmatters till the servants left them to their wine. Then said thebaron, rising and stirring the fire--then said the baron, briefly andsignificantly, "Well!"

"As regards the property you spoke of, " answered Randal, "I am willingto purchase it on the terms you name. The only point that perplexes meis how to account to Audley Egerton, to my parents, to the world, forthe power of purchasing it. "

"True, " said the baron, without even a smile at the ingenious and trulyGreek manner in which Randal had contrived to denote his meaning, andconceal the ugliness of it--"true, we must think of that. If we couldmanage to conceal the real name of the purchaser for a year or so, itmight be easy, --you may be supposed to have speculated in the Funds;or Egerton may die, and people may believe that he had secured to yousomething handsome from the ruins of his fortune. "

"Little chance of Egerton's dying. "

"Humph!" said the baron. "However, this is a mere detail, reserved forconsideration. You can now tell us where the young lady is?"

"Certainly. I could not this morning, --I can now. I will go with you tothe count. Meanwhile, I have seen Madame di Negra; she will accept FrankHazeldean if he will but offer himself at once. "

"Will he not?"

"No! I have been to him. He is overjoyed at my representations, butconsiders it his duty to ask the consent of his parents. Of course theywill not give it; and if there be delay, she will retract. She isunder the influence of passions on the duration of which there is noreliance. "

"What passions? Love?"

"Love; but not for Hazeldean. The passions that bring her to accept hishand are pique and jealousy. She believes, in a word, that one whoseems to have gained the mastery over her affections with a strangesuddenness, is but blind to her charms because dazzled by Violante's. She is prepared to aid in all that can give her rival to Peschiera; andyet, such is the inconsistency of woman" (added the young philosopher, with a shrug of the shoulders), "that she is also prepared to lose allchance of securing him she loves, by bestowing herself on another!"

"Woman, indeed, all over!" said the baron, tapping his snuff-box (LouisQuinze), and regaling his nostrils with a scornful pinch. "But who isthe man whom the fair Beatrice has thus honoured? Superb creature! I hadsome idea of her myself when I bought up her debts; but it might haveembarrassed me, in more general plans, as regards the count. All for thebest. Who's the man? Not Lord L'Estrange?"

"I do not think it is he; but I have not yet ascertained. I have toldyou all I know. I found her in a state so excited, so unlike herself, that I had no little difficulty in soothing her into confidence so far. I could not venture more. "

"And she will accept Frank?"

"Had he offered to-day she would have accepted him!"

"It may be a great help to your fortunes, mon cher, if Frank Hazeldeanmarry this lady without his father's consent. Perhaps he may bedisinherited. You are next of kin. 

"How do you know that?" asked Randal, sullenly. 

"It is my business to know all about the chances and connections ofany one with whom I do money matters. I do money matters with young Mr. Hazeldean; so I know that the Hazeldean property is not entailed; and, as the squire's half-brother has no Hazeldean blood in him, you haveexcellent expectations. "

"Did Frank tell you I was next of kin?"

"I rather think so; but I am sure you did. "

"I--when?"

"When you told me how important it was to you that Frank should marryMadame di Negra. Peste! mon cher, do you think I am a blockhead?"

"Well, Baron, Frank is of age, and can marry to please himself. Youimplied to me that you could help him in this. "

"I will try. See that he call at Madame di Negra's tomorrow, at twoprecisely. "

"I would rather keep clear of all apparent interference in this matter. Will you not arrange that he call on her? And do not forget to entanglehim in a post-obit. "

"Leave it to me. Any more wine? No?--then let us go to the count's. "

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The next morning Frank Hazeldean was sitting over his solitarybreakfast-table. It was long past noon. The young man had risen early, it is true, to attend his military duties, but he had contracted thehabit of breakfasting late. One's appetite does not come early when onelives in London, and never goes to bed before daybreak. 

There was nothing very luxurious or effeminate about Frank's rooms, though they were in a very dear street, and he paid a monstrous highprice for them. Still, to a practised eye, they betrayed an inmate whocan get through his money, and make very little show for it. Thewalls were covered with coloured prints of racers and steeple-chases, interspersed with the portraits of opera-dancers, all smirk and caper. Then there was a semi-circular recess covered with red cloth, and fittedup for smoking, as you might perceive by sundry stands full of Turkishpipes in cherry-stick and jessamine, with amber mouthpieces; while agreat serpent hookah, from which Frank could no more have smoked than hecould have smoked out of the head of a boa constrictor, coiled itself upon the floor; over the chimney-piece was a collection of Moorish arms. What use on earth ataghan and scimitar and damasquined pistols, thatwould not carry straight three yards, could be to an officer inhis Majesty's Guards is more than I can conjecture, or even Franksatisfactorily explain. I have strong suspicions that this valuablearsenal passed to Frank in part payment of a bill to be discounted. Atall events, if so, it was an improvement on the bear that he had soldto the hair-dresser. No books were to be seen anywhere, except a CourtGuide, a Racing Calendar, an Army List, the Sporting Magazine complete(whole bound in scarlet morocco, at about a guinea per volume), and asmall book, as small as an Elzevir, on the chimney-piece, by the side ofa cigar-case. That small book had cost Frank more than all the rest puttogether; it was his Own Book, his book par excellence; book made up byhimself, --his BETTING Book!

On a centre table were deposited Frank's well-brushed hat; a satinwoodbox, containing kid-gloves, of various delicate tints, from primrose tolilac; a tray full of cards and three-cornered notes; an opera-glass, and an ivory subscription-ticket to his opera stall. 

In one corner was an ingenious receptacle for canes, sticks, andwhips--I should not like, in these bad times, to have paid the bill forthem; and mounting guard by that receptacle, stood a pair of boots asbright as Baron Levy's, --"the force of brightness could no furthergo. " Frank was in his dressing-gown, --very good taste, quite Oriental, guaranteed to be true Indian cashmere, and charged as such. Nothingcould be more neat, though perfectly simple, than the appurtenances ofhis breakfast-table: silver tea-pot, ewer, and basin, all fitting intohis dressing-box--for the which may Storr and Mortimer be now praised, and some day paid! Frank looked very handsome, rather tired, andexceedingly bored. He had been trying to read the "Morning Post, " butthe effort had proved too much for him. 

Poor dear Frank Hazeldean!--true type of many a poor dear fellow whohas long since gone to the dogs. And if, in this road to ruin, therehad been the least thing to do the traveller any credit by the way! Onefeels a respect for the ruin of a man like Audley Egerton. He is ruineden roi! From the wrecks of his fortune he can look down and see statelymonuments built from the stones of that dismantled edifice. In everyinstitution which attests the humanity of England was a record of theprincely bounty of the public man. In those objects of party, forwhich the proverbial sinews of war are necessary, in those rewards forservice, which private liberality can confer, the hand of Egertonhad been opened as with the heart of a king. Many a rising member ofparliament, in those days when talent was brought forward throughthe aid of wealth and rank, owed his career to the seat which AudleyEgerton's large subscription had secured to him; many an obscuresupporter in letters and the Press looked back to the day when he hadbeen freed from the jail by the gratitude of the patron. The city herepresented was embellished at his cost; through the shire that held hismortgaged lands, which he had rarely ever visited, his gold had flowedas a Pactolus; all that could animate its public spirit, or increaseits civilization, claimed kindred with his munificence, and never had aclaim disallowed. Even in his grand, careless household, with itslarge retinue and superb hospitality, there was something worthy of arepresentative of that time-honoured portion of our true nobility, the untitled gentlemen of the land. The Great Commoner had, indeed, "something to show" for the money he had disdained and squandered. Butfor Frank Hazeldean's mode of getting rid of the dross, when gone, whatwould be left to tell the tale? Paltry prints in a bachelor's lodging; acollection of canes and cherry-sticks; half-a-dozen letters in ill-speltFrench from a figurante; some long-legged horses, fit for nothing but tolose a race; that damnable Betting-Book; and--sic transit gloria--downsweeps some hawk of a Levy, on the wings of an I O U, and not a featheris left of the pigeon!

Yet Frank Hazeldean has stuff in him, --a good heart, and strict honour. Fool though he seem, there is sound sterling sense in some odd cornerof his brains, if one could but get at it. All he wants to save himfrom perdition is, to do what he has never yet done, --namely, pause andthink. But, to be sure, that same operation of thinking is not so easyfor folks unaccustomed to it, as people who think--think!

"I can't bear this, " said Frank, suddenly, and springing to his feet. "This woman, I cannot get her out of my head. I ought to go down to thegovernor's; but then if he gets into a passion, and refuses his consent, where am I? And he will, too, I fear. I wish I could make out whatRandal advises. He seems to recommend that I should marry Beatrice atonce, and trust to my mother's influence to make all right afterwards. But when I ask, 'Is that your advice?' he backs out of it. Well, Isuppose he is right there. I can understand that he is unwilling, goodfellow, to recommend anything that my father would disapprove. Butstill--"

Here Frank stopped in his soliloquy, and did make his first desperateeffort to--think!

Now, O dear reader, I assume, of course, that thou art one of the classto which thought is familiar; and, perhaps, thou hast smiled in disdainor incredulity at that remark on the difficulty of thinking whichpreceded Frank Hazeldean's discourse to himself. But art thou quite surethat when thou hast tried to think thou hast always succeeded? Hast thounot often been duped by that pale visionary simulacrum of thought whichgoes by the name of revery? Honest old Montaigne confessed that he didnot understand that process of sitting down to think, on which somefolks express themselves so glibly. He could not think unless he hada pen in his hand and a sheet of paper before him; and so, by a manualoperation, seized and connected the links of ratiocination. Very oftenhas it happened to myself when I have said to Thought peremptorily, "Bestir thyself: a serious matter is before thee, ponder it well, thinkof it, " that that same thought has behaved in the most refractory, rebellious manner conceivable; and instead of concentrating its raysinto a single stream of light, has broken into all the desultory tintsof the rainbow, colouring senseless clouds, and running off into theseventh heaven, so that after sitting a good hour by the clock, withbrows as knit as if I was intent on squaring the circle, I have suddenlydiscovered that I might as well have gone comfortably to sleep--I havebeen doing nothing but dream, --and the most nonsensical dreams! So whenFrank Hazeldean, as he stopped at that meditative "But still "--andleaning his arm on the chimney-piece, and resting his face on his hand, felt himself at the grave crisis of life, and fancied he was going"to think on it, " there only rose before him a succession of shadowypictures, --Randal Leslie, with an unsatisfactory countenance, from whichhe could extract nothing; the squire, looking as black as thunder inhis study at Hazeldean; his mother trying to plead for him, andgetting herself properly scolded for her pains; and then off went thatWill-o'-the-wisp which pretended to call itself Thought, and beganplaying round the pale, charming face of Beatrice di Negra, in thedrawing-room at Curzon Street, and repeating, with small elfin voice, Randal Leslie's assurance of the preceding day, "as to her affection foryou, Frank, there is no doubt of that; she only begins to think you aretrifling with her. " And then there was a rapturous vision of a younggentleman on his knee, and the fair pale face bathed in blushes, anda clergyman standing by the altar, and a carriage-and-four with whitefavours at the church-door; and of a honeymoon, which would haveastonished as to honey all the bees of Hymettus. And in the midst ofthese phantasmagoria, which composed what Frank fondly styled, "makingup his mind, " there came a single man's elegant rat-tat-tat at thestreet door. 

"One never has a moment for thinking, " cried Frank, and he called out tohis valet, "Not at home. "

But it was too late. Lord Spendquick was in the hall, and presentlywithin the room. How d'ye do's were exchanged and hands shaken. 

LORD SPENDQUICK. --"I have a note for you, Hazeldean. "

FRANK (lazily). --"From whom?"

LORD SPENDQUICK. --"Levy. Just come from him, --never saw him in such afidget. He was going into the city, --I suppose to see X. Y. Dashed offthis note for you, and would have sent it by a servant, but I said Iwould bring it. "

FRANK (looking fearfully at the note). --"I hope he does not want hismoney yet. 'Private and confidential, '--that looks bad. "

SPENDQUICK. --"Devilish bad, indeed. "

Frank opens the note, and reads, half aloud, "Dear Hazeldean--"

SPENDQUICK (interrupting. )--"Good sign! He always Spendquicks me when helends me money; and 't is 'My dear Lord' when he wants it back. Capitalsign!"

Frank reads on, but to himself, and with a changing countenance, DEAR HAZELDEAN, --I am very sorry to tell you that, in consequence of the sudden failure of a house at Paris with which I Had large dealings, I am pressed on a sudden for all the ready money I can get. I don't want to inconvenience you, but do try to see if you can take up those bills of yours which I hold, and which, as you know, have been due some little time. I had hit on a way of arranging your affairs; but when I hinted at it, you seemed to dislike the idea; and Leslie has since told me that you have strong objections to giving any security on your prospective property. So no more of that, my dear fellow. I am called out in haste to try what I can do for a very charming client of mine, who is in great pecuniary distress, though she has for her brother a foreign count, as rich as a Croesus. There is an execution in her house. I am going down to the tradesman who put it in, but have no hope of softening him; and I fear there will be others before the day is out. Another reason for wanting money, if you can help me, mon cher! An execution in the house of one of the most brilliant women in London, --an execution in Curzon Street, May Fair! It will be all over the town if I can't stop it. 

 Yours in haste, LEVY. 

 P. S. --Don't let what I have said vex you too much. I should not trouble you if Spendquick and Borrowell would pay me something. Perhaps you can get them to do so. 

Struck by Frank's silence and paleness, Lord Spendquick here, in thekindest way possible, laid his hand on the young Guardsman's shoulder. And looked over the note with that freedom which gentlemen indifficulties take with each other's private and confidentialcorrespondence. His eye fell on the postscript. "Oh, damn it, " criedSpendquick, "but that's too bad, --employing you to get me to pay him!Such horrid treachery. Make yourself easy, my dear Frank; I could neversuspect you of anything so unhandsome. I could as soon suspect myselfof--paying him--"

"Curzon Street! Count!" muttered Frank, as if waking from a dream. "Itmust be so. " To thrust on his boots, change his dressing-robe for afrock-coat, snatch at his hat, gloves, and cane, break from Spendquick, descend the stairs, a flight at a leap, gain the street, throw himselfinto a cabriolet, --all this was done before his astounded visitor couldeven recover breath enough to ask "What's the matter?"

Left thus alone, Lord Spendquick shook his head, --shook it twice, asif fully to convince himself that there was nothing in it; and thenre-arranging his hat before the looking-glass, and drawing on his glovesdeliberately, he walked downstairs, and strolled into White's, but witha bewildered and absent air. Standing at the celebrated bow-window forsome moments in musing silence, Lord Spendquick at last thus addressedan exceedingly cynical, sceptical old roue, "Pray, do you think there is any truth in the stories about people informer times selling themselves to the devil?"

"Ugh, " answered the rout, much too wise ever to be surprised. "Have youany personal interest in the question?"

"I!--no; but a friend of mine has just received a letter from Levy, andhe flew out of the room in the most ex-tra-ordi-na-ry manner, --just aspeople did in those days when their time was up! And Levy, you know, is--"

"Not quite as great a fool as the other dark gentleman to whom you wouldcompare him; for Levy never made such bad bargains for himself. Time up!No doubt it is. I should not like to be in your friend's shoes. "

"Shoes!" said Spendquick, with a sort of shudder; "you never saw aneater fellow, nor one, to do him justice, who takes more time indressing than he does in general. And talking of shoes, he rushed outwith the right boot on the left foot, and the left boot on the right. Very mysterious!" And a third time Lord Spendquick shook his head, --anda third time that head seemed to him wondrous empty. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

Buy Frank had arrived in Curzon Street, leaped from the cabriolet, knocked at the door, which was opened by a strange-looking man in a buffwaistcoat and corduroy smalls. Frank gave a glance at thispersonage, pushed him aside, and rushed upstairs. He burst into thedrawing-room, --no Beatrice was there. A thin elderly man, with amanuscript book in his hands, appeared engaged in examining thefurniture, and making an inventory, with the aid of Madame di Negra'supper servant. The thin man stared at Frank, and touched the hat whichwas on his head. The servant, who was a foreigner, approached Frank, andsaid, in broken English, that his lady did not receive, --that she wasunwell, and kept her room. Frank thrust a sovereign into the servant'shand, and begged him to tell Madame di Negra. That Mr. Hazeldeanentreated the honour of an interview. As soon as the servant vanishedon this errand, Frank seized the thin man by the arm. "What is this?--anexecution?"

"Yes, sir. "

"For what sum?"

"Fifteen hundred and forty-seven pounds. We are the first inpossession. "

"There are others, then?"

"Or else, sir, we should never have taken this step. Most painful to ourfeelings, sir; but these foreigners are here to day, and gone to-morrow. And--"

The servant re-entered. Madame di Negra would see Mr. Hazeldean. Wouldhe walk upstairs? Frank hastened to obey this summons. 

Madame di Negra was in a small room which was fitted up as a boudoir. Her eyes showed the traces of recent tears, but her face was composed, and even rigid, in its haughty though mournful expression. Frank, however, did not pause to notice her countenance, to hear her dignifiedsalutation. All his timidity was gone. He saw but the woman whom heloved in distress and humiliation. As the door closed on him, he flunghimself at her feet. He caught at her hand, the skirt of her robe. 

"Oh, Madame di Negra!--Beatrice!" he exclaimed, tears in his eyes, andhis voice half-broken by generous emotion; "forgive me, forgive me!don't see in me a mere acquaintance. By accident I learned, or, rather, guessed--this--this strange insult to which you are so unworthilyexposed. I am here. Think of me--but as a friend, --the truest friend. Oh, Beatrice, "--and he bent his head over the hand he held, --"I neverdared say so before, it seems presuming to say it now, but I cannothelp it. I love you, --I love you with my whole heart and soul; to serveyou--if only but to serve you!--I ask nothing else. " And a sob went fromhis warm, young, foolish heart. 

The Italian was deeply moved. Nor was her nature that of the mere sordidadventuress. So much love and so much confidence! She was not preparedto betray the one, and entrap the other. 

"Rise, rise, " she said softly; "I thank you gratefully. But do notsuppose that I--"

"Hush! hush!--you must not refuse me. Hush! don't let your pride speak. "

"No, it is not my pride. You exaggerate what is occurring here. Youforget that I have a brother. I have sent for him. He is the only oneI can apply to. Ah, that is his knock! But I shall never, never forgetthat I have found one generous noble heart in this hollow world. "

Frank would have replied, but he heard the count's voice on the stairs, and had only time to rise and withdraw to the window, trying hard torepress his agitation and compose his countenance. Count di Peschieraentered, --entered as a very personation of the beauty and magnificenceof careless, luxurious, pampered, egotistical wealth, --his surtout, trimmed with the costliest sables, flung back from his splendid chest. Amidst the folds of the glossy satin that enveloped his throat gleameda turquoise, of such value as a jeweller might have kept for fifty yearsbefore he could find a customer rich and frivolous enough to buy it. Thevery head of his cane was a masterpiece of art, and the man himself, so elegant despite his strength, and so fresh despite his years!--it isastonishing how well men wear when they think of no one but themselves!

"Pr-rr!" said the count, not observing Frank behind the draperies ofthe window; "Pr-rr--It seems to me that you must have passed a veryunpleasant quarter of an hour. And now--Dieu me damne, quoi faire!"

Beatrice pointed to the window, and felt as if she could have sunk intothe earth for shame. But as the count spoke in French, and Frank did notvery readily comprehend that language, the words escaped him, though hisear was shocked by a certain satirical levity of tone. 

Frank came forward. The count held out his hand, and with a rapid changeof voice and manner, said, "One whom my sister admits at such a momentmust be a friend to me. "

"Mr. Hazeldean, " said Beatrice, with meaning, "would indeed have noblypressed on me the offer of an aid which I need no more, since you, mybrother, are here. "

"Certainly, " said the count, with his superb air of grand seigneur; "Iwill go down and clear your house of this impertinent canaille. But Ithought your affairs were with Baron Levy. He should be here. "

"I expect him every moment. Adieu! Mr. Hazeldean. " Beatrice extended herhand to her young lover with a frankness which was not without a certainpathetic and cordial dignity. Restrained from further words by thecount's presence, Frank bowed over the fair hand in silence, andretired. He was on the stairs when he was joined by Peschiera. 

"Mr. Hazeldean, " said the latter, in a low tone, "will you come into thedrawing-room?"

Frank obeyed. The man employed in his examination of the furniture wasstill at his task: but at a short whisper from the count he withdrew. 

"My dear sir, " said Peschiera, "I am so unacquainted with your Englishlaws, and your mode of settling embarrassments of this degradingnature, and you have evidently showed so kind a sympathy in my sister'sdistress, that I venture to ask you to stay here, and aid me inconsulting with Baron Levy. "

Frank was just expressing his unfeigned pleasure to be of the slightestuse, when Levy's knock resounded at the streetdoor, and in anothermoment the baron entered. 

"Ouf!" said Levy, wiping his brows, and sinking into a chair as if hehad been engaged in toils the most exhausting, --"ouf! this is a very sadbusiness, --very; and nothing, my dear count, nothing but ready money cansave us here. "

"You know my affairs, Levy, " replied Peschiera, mournfully shaking hishead, "and that though in a few months, or it may be weeks, I coulddischarge with ease my sister's debts, whatever their amount, yet atthis moment, and in a strange land, I have not the power to do so. Themoney I brought with me is nearly exhausted. Can you not advance therequisite sum?"

"Impossible!--Mr. Hazeldean is aware of the distress under which Ilabour myself. "

"In that case, " said the count, "all we can do to-day is to remove mysister, and let the execution proceed. Meanwhile I will go among myfriends, and see what I can borrow from them. "

"Alas!" said Levy, rising and looking out of the window--"alas!--wecannot remove the marchesa, --the worst is to come. Look!--you see thosethree men; they have a writ against her person: the moment she sets herfoot out of these doors she will be arrested. "

 [At that date the law of mesne process existed still. ]

"Arrested!" exclaimed Peschiera and Frank in a breath. "I have done mybest to prevent this disgrace, but in vain, " said the baron, lookingvery wretched. "You see these English tradespeople fancy they have nohold upon foreigners. But we can get bail; she must not go to prison--"

"Prison!" echoed Frank. He hastened to Levy and drew him aside. Thecount seemed paralyzed by shame and grief. Throwing himself back on thesofa, he covered his face with his hands. 

"My sister!" groaned the count--"daughter to a Peschiera, widow to aDi Negra!" There was something affecting in the proud woe of this grandpatrician. 

"What is the sum?" whispered Frank, anxious that the poor countshould not overhear him; and indeed the count seemed too stunned andoverwhelmed to hear anything less loud than a clap of thunder!

"We may settle all liabilities for L5, 000. Nothing to Peschiera, who isenormously rich. Entre nous, I doubt his assurance that he is withoutready money. It may be so, but--"

"Five thousand pounds! How can I raise such a sum?"

"You, my dear Hazeldean? What are you talking about? To be sure youcould raise twice as much with a stroke of your pen, and throw your owndebts into the bargain. But--to be so generous to an acquaintance!"

"Acquaintance!--Madame di Negra! the height of my ambition is to claimher as my wife!"

"And these debts don't startle you?"

"If a man loves, " answered Frank, simply, "he feels it most when thewoman he loves is in affliction. And, " he added, after a pause, "thoughthese debts are faults, kindness at this moment may give me the powerto cure forever both her faults and my own. I can raise this money by astroke of the pen! How?"

"On the Casino property. "

Frank drew back. 

"No other way?"

"Of course not. But I know your scruples; let us see if they can beconciliated. You would marry Madame di Negra; she will have L20, 000on her wedding-day. Why not arrange that, out of this sum, youranticipative charge on the Casino property be paid at once? Thus, intruth, it will be but for a few weeks that the charge will exist. Thebond will remain locked in my desk; it can never come to your father'sknow ledge, nor wound his feelings. And when you marry (if you will butbe prudent in the mean while), you will not owe a debt in the world. "

Here the count suddenly started up. 

"Mr. Hazeldean, I asked you to stay and aid us by your counsel; I seenow that counsel is unavailing. This blow on our House must fall! Ithank you, Sir, --I thank you. Farewell. Levy, come with me to my poorsister, and prepare her for the worst. "

"Count, " said Frank, "hear me. My acquaintance with you is but slight, but I have long known and--and esteemed your sister. Baron Levy hassuggested a mode in which I can have the honour and the happiness ofremoving this temporary but painful embarrassment. I can advance themoney. "

"No, no!" exclaimed Peschiera. "How can you suppose that I will hear ofsuch a proposition? Your youth and benevolence mislead and blind you. Impossible, sir, --impossible! Why, even if I had no pride, no delicacyof my own, my sister's fair fame--"

"Would suffer indeed, " interrupted Levy, "if she were under suchobligation to any one but her affianced husband. Nor, whatever my regardfor you, Count, could I suffer my client, Mr. Hazeldean, to make thisadvance upon any less valid security than that of the fortune to whichMadame di Negra is entitled. "

"Ha!--is this indeed so? You are a suitor for my sister's hand, Mr. Hazeldean?"

"But not at this moment, --not to owe her hand to the compulsion ofgratitude, " answered gentleman Frank. "Gratitude! And you do not knowher heart, then? Do not know--" the count interrupted himself, and wenton after a pause. "Mr. Hazeldean, I need not say that we rank amongthe first Houses in Europe. My pride led me formerly into the errorof disposing of my sister's hand to one whom she did not love, merelybecause in rank he was her equal. I will not again commit such an error, nor would Beatrice again obey me if I sought to constrain her. Where shemarries, there she will love. If, indeed, she accepts you, as I believeshe will, it will be from affection solely. If she does, I cannotscruple to accept this loan, --a loan from a brother-inlaw--loan to me, and not charged against her fortune! That, sir, " turning to Levy, withhis grand air, "you will take care to arrange. If she do not accept you, Mr. Hazeldean, the loan, I repeat, is not to be thought of. Pardon me, if I leave you. This, one way or other, must be decided at once. " Thecount inclined his head with much stateliness, and then quitted theroom. His step was heard ascending the stairs. 

"If, " said Levy, in the tone of a mere man of business--"if the countpay the debts, and the lady's fortune be only charged with your own, after all, it will not be a bad marriage in the world's eye, nor oughtit to be in a father's. Trust me, we shall get Mr. Hazeldean's consent, and cheerfully too. "

Frank did not listen; he could only listen to his love, to his heartbeating loud with hope and with fear. 

Levy sat down before the table, and drew up a long list of figures in avery neat hand, --a list of figures on two accounts, which the post-obiton the Casino was destined to efface. 

After a lapse of time, which to Frank seemed interminable, the countre-appeared. He took Frank aside, with a gesture to Levy, who rose, andretired into the drawing-room. 

"My dear young friend, " said Peschiera, "as I suspected, my sister'sheart is wholly yours. Stop; hear me out. But, unluckily, I informed herof your generous proposal; it was most unguarded, most ill-judged in me, and that has well-nigh spoiled all; she has so much pride and spirit;so great a fear that you may think yourself betrayed into an imprudencewhich you may hereafter regret, that I am sure she will tell you thatshe does not love you, she cannot accept you, and so forth. Lovers likeyou are not easily deceived. Don't go by her words; but you shall seeher yourself and judge. Come. "

Followed mechanically by Frank, the count ascended the stairs, and threwopen the door of Beatrice's room. The marchesa's back was turned; butFrank could see that she was weeping. 

"I have brought my friend to plead for himself, " said the count, inFrench; "and take my advice, sister, and do not throw away all prospectof real and solid happiness for a vain scruple. Heed me!" He retired, and left Frank alone with Beatrice. 

Then the marchesa, as if by a violent effort, so sudden was hermovement, and so wild her look, turned her face to her wooer, and cameup to him, where he stood. 

"Oh, " she said, clasping her hands, "is this true? You would save mefrom disgrace, from a prison--and what can I give you in return? Mylove! No, no. I will not deceive you. Young, fair, noble as you are, Ido not love you as you should be loved. Go; leave this house; you donot know my brother. Go, go--while I have still strength, still virtueenough to reject whatever may protect me from him! whatever--may--Oh, go, go. "

"You do not love me?" said Frank. "Well, I don't wonder at it; you areso brilliant, so superior to me. I will abandon hope, --I will leave you, as you command me. But at least I will not part with my privilege toserve you. As for the rest, shame on me if I could be mean enough toboast of love, and enforce a suit, at such a moment. "

Frank turned his face and stole away softly. He did not arrest his stepsat the drawing-room; he went into the parlour, wrote a brief line toLevy charging him quietly to dismiss the execution, and to come toFrank's rooms with the necessary deeds; and, above all, to say nothingto the count. Then he went out of the house and walked back to hislodgings. 

That evening Levy came to him, and accounts were gone into, and paperssigned; and the next morning Madame di Negra was free from debt; andthere was a great claim on the reversion of the Casino estates; and atthe noon of that next day, Randal was closeted with Beatrice; and beforethe night came a note from Madame di Negra, hurried, blurred with tears, summoning Frank to Curzon Street. And when he entered the marchesa'sdrawing-room, Peschiera was seated beside his sister; and rising atFrank's entrance, said, "My dear brother-in-law!" and placed Frank'shand in Beatrice's. 

"You accept--you accept me--and of your own free will and choice?"

And Beatrice answered, "Bear with me a little, and I will try to repayyou with all my--all my--" She stopped short, and sobbed aloud. 

"I never thought her capable of such acute feelings, such strongattachment, " whispered the count. 

Frank heard, and his face was radiant. By degrees Madame di Negrarecovered composure, and she listened with what her young lover deemeda tender interest, but what, in fact, was mournful and humbledresignation, to his joyous talk of the future. To him the hours passedby, brief and bright, like a flash of sunlight. And his dreams when heretired to rest were so golden! But when he awoke the next morning, hesaid to himself, "What--what will they say at the Hall?" At that samehour Beatrice, burying her face on her pillow, turned from the loathsomeday, and could have prayed for death. At that same hour, GiulioFranzini, Count di Peschiera, dismissing some gaunt, haggard Italians, with whom he had been in close conference, sallied forth to reconnoitrethe house that contained Violante. At that same hour, Baron Levy wasseated before his desk, casting up a deadly array of figures, headed, "Account with the Right Hon. Audley Egerton, M. P. , Dr. AndCr. "--title-deeds strewed around him, and Frank Hazeldean's post-obitpeeping out fresh from the elder parchments. At that same hour, AudleyEgerton had just concluded a letter from the chairman of his committeein the city he represented, which letter informed him that he had not achance of being re-elected. And the lines of his face were as composedis usual, and his foot rested as firm on the grim iron box; but his handwas pressed to his heart, and his eye was on the clock, and his voicemuttered, "Dr. F--should be here!" And that hour Harley L'Estrange, whothe previous night had charmed courtly crowds with his gay humour, waspacing to and fro the room in his hotel with restless strides and many aheavy sigh; and Leonard was standing by the fountain in his garden, and watching the wintry sunbeams that sparkled athwart the spray;and Violante was leaning on Helen's shoulder, and trying archly, yetinnocently, to lead Helen to talk of Leonard; and Helen was gazingsteadfastly on the floor, and answering but by monosyllables; and RandalLeslie was walking down to his office for the last time, and reading, as he passed across the Green Park, a letter from home, from his sister;and then, suddenly crumpling the letter in his thin pale hand, he lookedup, beheld in the distance the spires of the great national Abbey;and recalling the words of our hero Nelson, he muttered, "Victory andWestminster, but not the Abbey!" And Randal Leslie felt that, within thelast few days, he had made a vast stride in his ambition, --his graspon the old Leslie lands, Frank Hazeldean betrothed, and possiblydisinherited; and Dick Avenel, in the background, opening against thehated Lansmere interest that same seat in parliament which had firstwelcomed into public life Randal's ruined patron. 

 "But some must laugh, and some must weep; Thus runs the world away!"

BOOK ELEVENTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

ON THE IMPORTANCE OF HATE AS AN AGENT IN CIVILIZED LIFE. 

It is not an uncommon crotchet amongst benevolent men to maintain thatwickedness is necessarily a sort of insanity, and that nobody would makea violent start out of the straight path unless stung to such disorderby a bee in his bonnet. Certainly when some very clever, well-educatedperson like our friend, Randal Leslie, acts upon the fallaciousprinciple that "roguery is the best policy, " it is curious to see howmany points he has in common with the insane: what over-cunning, whatirritable restlessness, what suspicious belief that the rest of theworld are in a conspiracy against him, which it requires all his witto baffle and turn to his own proper aggrandizement and profit. Perhapssome of my readers may have thought that I have represented Randal asunnaturally far-fetched in his schemes, too wire-drawn and subtle inhis speculations; yet that is commonly the case with very refiningintellects, when they choose to play the knave; it helps to disguisefrom themselves the ugliness of their ambition, just as a philosopherdelights in the ingenuity of some metaphysical process, which endsin what plain men call "atheism, " who would be infinitely shocked andoffended if he were called an atheist. 

Having premised thus much on behalf of the "Natural" in Randal Leslie'scharacter, I must here fly off to say a word or two on the agency inhuman life exercised by a passion rarely seen without a mask in ourdebonair and civilized age, --I mean Hate. 

In the good old days of our forefathers, when plain speaking and hardblows were in fashion, when a man had his heart at the tip of histongue, and four feet of sharp iron dangling at his side, Hate playedan honest, open part in the theatre of the world. In fact, when we readHistory, Hate seems to have "starred it" on the stage. But now, whereis Hate? Who ever sees its face? Is it that smiling, good-temperedcreature, that presses you by the hand so cordially, or that dignifiedfigure of state that calls you its "Right Honourable friend"? Is it thatbowing, grateful dependent; is it that soft-eyed Amaryllis? Ask not, guess not: you will only know it to be hate when the poison is in yourcup, or the poniard in your breast. In the Gothic age, grim Humourpainted "the Dance of Death;" in our polished century, some sardonic witshould give us "the Masquerade of Hate. "

Certainly, the counter-passion betrays itself with ease to our gaze. Love is rarely a hypocrite. But Hate--how detect, and how guard againstit? It lurks where you least suspect it; it is created by causes thatyou can the least foresee; and Civilization multiplies its varieties, whilst it favours its disguise: for Civilization increases the numberof contending interests, and Refinement renders more susceptible to theleast irritation the cuticle of Self-Love. But Hate comes covertlyforth from some self-interest we have crossed, or some self-love wehave wounded; and, dullards that we are, how seldom we are aware of ouroffence! You may be hated by a man you have never seen in your life: youmay be hated as often by one you have loaded with benefits; you may sowalk as not to tread on a worm; but you must sit fast on your easy-chairtill you are carried out to your bier, if you would be sure not to treadon some snake of a foe. But, then, what harm does the hate do us? Veryoften the harm is as unseen by the world as the hate is unrecognizedby us. It may come on us, unawares, in some solitary byway of our life;strike us in our unsuspecting privacy; thwart as in some blessed hopewe have never told to another; for the moment the world sees that it isHate that strikes us, its worst power of mischief is gone. 

We have a great many names for the same passion, --Envy, Jealousy, Spite, Prejudice, Rivalry; but they are so many synonyms for the one oldheathen demon. When the death-giving shaft of Apollo sent the plague tosome unhappy Achaean, it did not much matter to the victim whether thegod were called Helios or Smintheus. 

No man you ever met in the world seemed more raised above the maliceof Hate than Audley Egerton: even in the hot war of politics he hadscarcely a personal foe; and in private life he kept himself so aloofand apart from others that he was little known, save by the benefits thewaste of his wealth conferred. That the hate of any one could reach theaustere statesman on his high pinnacle of esteem, --you would have smiledat the idea! But Hate is now, as it ever has been, an actual Poweramidst "the Varieties of Life;" and, in spite of bars to the door, andpolicemen in the street, no one can be said to sleep in safety whilethere wakes the eye of a single foe. 

CHAPTER II. 

The glory of Bond Street is no more. The title of Bond Street Loungerhas faded from our lips. In vain the crowd of equipages and the blaze ofshops: the renown of Bond Street was in its pavement, its pedestrians. Art thou old enough, O reader! to remember the Bond Street Lounger andhis incomparable generation? For my part, I can just recall the declineof the grand era. It was on its wane when, in the ambition of boyhood, Ifirst began to muse upon high neck cloths and Wellington boots. But theancient habitues--the magni nominis umbrae, contemporaries of Brummellin his zenith, boon companions of George IV. In his regency--stillhaunted the spot. From four to six in the hot month of June, theysauntered stately to and fro, looking somewhat mournful even then, foreboding the extinction of their race. The Bond Street Lounger wasrarely seen alone: he was a social animal, and walked arm in arm withhis fellow-man. He did not seem born for the cares of these rudertimes; not made was he for an age in which Finsbury returns members toparliament. He loved his small talk; and never since then has talk beenso pleasingly small. Your true Bond Street Lounger had a very dissipatedlook. His youth had been spent with heroes who loved their bottle. He himself had perhaps supped with Sheridan. He was by nature aspendthrift: you saw it in the roll of his walk. Men who make moneyrarely saunter; men who save money rarely swagger. But saunter andswagger both united to stamp PRODIGAL on the Bond Street Lounger. And sofamiliar as he was with his own set, and so amusingly supercilious withthe vulgar residue of mortals whose faces were strange to Bond Street!But he is gone. The world, though sadder for his loss, still strives todo its best without him; and our young men, nowadays, attend tomodel cottages, and incline to Tractarianism. Still the place, toan unreflecting eye, has its brilliancy and bustle; but it is athoroughfare, not a lounge. And adown the thoroughfare, somewhatbefore the hour when the throng is thickest, passed two gentlemen of anappearance exceedingly out of keeping with the place. --Yet both hadthe air of men pretending to aristocracy, --an old-world air ofrespectability and stake in the country, and Church-and-Stateism. Theburlier of the two was even rather a beau in his way. He had firstlearned to dress, indeed, when Bond Street was at its acme, and Brummellin his pride. He still retained in his garb the fashion of his youth;only what then had spoken of the town, now betrayed the life of thecountry. His neckcloth ample and high, and of snowy whiteness, set offto comely advantage a face smooth-shaven, and of clear florid hues; hiscoat of royal blue, with buttons in which you might have seen yourself"veluti in speculum", was rather jauntily buttoned across a waist thatspoke of lusty middle age, free from the ambition, the avarice, and theanxieties that fret Londoners into thread-papers; his small-clothes, of grayish drab, loose at the thigh and tight at the knee, were made byBrummell's own breeches-maker, and the gaiters to match (thrust half-waydown the calf), had a manly dandyism that would have done honour tothe beau-ideal of a county member. The profession of this gentleman'scompanion was unmistakable, --the shovel-hat, the clerical cut of thecoat, the neckcloth without collar, that seemed made for its accessorythe band, and something very decorous, yet very mild, in the whole mienof this personage, all spoke of one who was every inch the gentleman andthe parson. 

"No, " said the portlier of these two persons, --"no, I can't say I likeFrank's looks at all. There's certainly something on his mind. However, I suppose it will be all out this evening. "

"He dines with you at your hotel, Squire? Well, you must be kind to him. We can't put old heads upon young shoulders. "

"I don't object to his bead being young, " returned the squire; "but Iwish he had a little of Randal Leslie's good sense in it. I see howit will end; I must take him back to the country; and if he wantsoccupation, why, he shall keep the hounds, and I'll put him intoBrooksby farm. "

"As for the hounds, " replied the parson, "hounds necessitate horses; andI think more mischief comes to a young man of spirit from the stablesthan from any other place in the world. They ought to be exposed fromthe pulpit, those stables!" added Mr. Dale, thoughtfully; "see what theyentailed upon Nimrod! But Agriculture is a healthful and noble pursuit, honoured by sacred nations, and cherished by the greatest men inclassical times. For instance, the Athenians were--"

"Bother the Athenians!" cried the squire, irreverently; "you need not goso far back for an example. It is enough for a Hazeldean that his fatherand his grandfather and his great-grandfather all farmed before him;and a devilish deal better, I take it, than any of those musty oldAthenians, no offence to them. But I'll tell you one thing, Parson, aman to farm well, and live in the country, should have a wife; it ishalf the battle. "

"As to a battle, a man who is married is pretty sure of half, thoughnot always the better half, of it, " answered the parson, who seemedpeculiarly facetious that day. "Ah, Squire, I wish I could thinkMrs. Hazeldean right in her conjecture!--you would have the prettiestdaughter-in-law in the three kingdoms. And I do believe that, if I couldhave a good talk with the young lady apart from her father, we couldremove the only objection I know to the marriage. Those Popish errors--"

"Ah, very true!" cried the squire; "that Pope sticks hard in my gizzard. I could excuse her being a foreigner, and not having, I suppose, ashilling in her pocket--bless her handsome face!--but to be worshippingimages in her room instead of going to the parish church, that willnever do. But you think you could talk her out of the Pope, and into thefamily pew?"

"Why, I could have talked her father out of the Pope, only, when he hadnot a word to say for himself, he bolted out of the window. Youth ismore ingenuous in confessing its errors. "

"I own, " said the squire, "that both Harry and I had a favourite notionof ours till this Italian girl got into our heads. Do you know weboth took a great fancy to Randal's little sister, --pretty, blushing, English-faced girl as ever you saw. And it went to Harry's good heartto see her so neglected by that silly, fidgety mother of hers, her hairhanging about her ears; and I thought it would be a fine way to bringRandal and Frank more together, and enable me to do something for Randalhimself, --a good boy with Hazeldean blood in his veins. But Violante isso handsome, that I don't wonder at the boy's choice; and then it is ourfault, --we let them see so much of each other as children. However, Ishould be very angry if Rickeybockey had been playing sly, and runningaway from the Casino in order to give Frank an opportunity to carry on aclandestine intercourse with his daughter. "

"I don't think that would be like Riccabocca; more like him to runaway in order to deprive Frank of the best of all occasions to courtViolante, if he so desired; for where could he see more of her than atthe Casino?"

SQUIRE. --"That's well put. Considering he was only a foreign doctor, and, for aught we know, once went about in a caravan, he is agentleman-like fellow, that Rickeybockey. I speak of people as I findthem. But what is your notion about Frank? I see you don't think he isin love with Violante, after all. Out with it, man; speak plain. "

PARSON. --"Since you so urge me, I own I do not think him in love withher; neither does my Carry, who is uncommonly shrewd in such matters. "

SQUIRE. --"Your Carry, indeed!--as if she were half as shrewd as myHarry. Carry--nonsense!"

PARSON (reddening). --"I don't want to make invidious remarks; but, Mr. Hazeldean, when you sneer at my Carry, I should not be a man if I didnot say that--"

SQUIRE (interrupting). --"She is a good little woman enough; but tocompare her to my Harry!"

PARSON. --"I don't compare her to your Harry; I don't compare her to anywoman in England, Sir. But you are losing your temper, Mr. Hazeldean!"SQUIRE. --"I!"

PARSON. --"And people are staring at you, Mr. Hazeldean. For decency'ssake, compose yourself, and change the subject. We are just at theAlbany. I hope that we shall not find poor Captain Higginbotham asill as he represents himself in his letter. Ah, is it possible? No, itcannot be. Look--look!"

SQUIRE. --"Where--what--where? Don't pinch so hard. Bless me, do you seea ghost?"

PARSON. --"There! the gentleman in black!"

SQUIRE. --"Gentleman in black! What! in broad daylight! Nonsense!"

Here the parson made a spring forward, and, catching the arm of theperson in question, who himself had stopped, and was gazing intently onthe pair, exclaimed, "Sir, pardon me; but is not your name Fairfield? Ah, it is Leonard, --itis--my dear, dear boy! What joy! So altered, so improved, but stillthe same honest face. Squire, come here--your old friend, LeonardFairfield. "

"And he wanted to persuade me, " said the squire, shaking Leonardheartily by the hand, "that you were the Gentleman in Black; but, indeed, he has been in strange humours and tantrums all the morning. Well, Master Lenny; why, you are grown quite a gentleman! The worldthrives with you, eh? I suppose you are head-gardener to some grandee. "

"Not that, sir, " said Leonard, smiling; "but the world has thriven withme at last, though not without some rough usage at starting. Ah, Mr. Dale, you can little guess how often I have thought of you and yourdiscourse on Knowledge; and, what is more, how I have lived to feel thetruth of your words, and to bless the lesson. "

PARSON (much touched and flattered). --"I expected nothing less from you, Leonard; you were always a lad of great sense, and sound judgment. Soyou have thought of my little discourse on Knowledge, have you?"

SQUIRE. --"Hang knowledge! I have reason to hate the word. It burneddown three ricks of mine; the finest ricks you ever set eyes on, Mr. Fairfield. "

PARSON. --"That was not knowledge, Squire; that was ignorance. "

SQUIRE. --"Ignorance! The deuce it was. I'll just appeal to you, Mr. Fairfield. We have been having sad riots in the shire, and theringleader was just such another lad as you were!"

LEONARD. --"I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Hazeldean. In whatrespect?"

SQUIRE. --"Why, he was a village genius, and always reading some cursedlittle tract or other; and got mighty discontented with King, Lords, andCommons, I suppose, and went about talking of the wrongs of the poor, and the crimes of the rich, till, by Jove, sir, the whole mob roseone day with pitchforks and sickles, and smash went Farmer Smart'sthrashing-machines; and on the same night my ricks were on fire. We caught the rogues, and they were all tried; but the poor deludedlabourers were let off with a short imprisonment. The village genius, thank Heaven, is sent packing to Botany Bay. "

LEONARD. --"But did his books teach him to burn ricks and smashmachines?"

PARSON. --"No; he said quite the contrary, and declared that he had nohand in those misdoings. "

SQUIRE. --"But he was proved to have excited, with his wild talk, theboobies who had! 'Gad, sir, there was a hypocritical Quaker once, whosaid to his enemy, 'I can't shed thy blood, friend, but I will holdthy head under water till thou art drowned. ' And so there is a setof demagogical fellows, who keep calling out, 'Farmer, this is anoppressor, and Squire, that is a vampire! But no violence! Don't smashtheir machines, don't burn their ricks! Moral force, and a curse on alltyrants!' Well, and if poor Hodge thinks moral force is all my eye, andthat the recommendation is to be read backwards, in the devil's way ofreading the Lord's prayer, I should like to know which of the two oughtto go to Botany Bay, --Hodge, who comes out like a man, if he thinks heis wronged, or t' other sneaking chap, who makes use of his knowledge tokeep himself out of the scrape?"

PARSON. --"It may be very true; but when I saw that poor fellow at thebar, with his intelligent face, and heard his bold clear defence, andthought of all his hard struggles for knowledge, and how they had ended, because he forgot that knowledge is like fire, and must not be thrownamongst flax, --why, I could have given my right hand to save him. And, oh, Squire, do you remember his poor mother's shriek of despair whenhe was sentenced to transportation for life--I hear it now! And what, Leonard--what do you think had misled him? At the bottom of all themischief was a tinker's bag. You cannot forget Sprott?"

LEONARD. --"Tinker's bag! Sprott!"

SQUIRE. --"That rascal, sir, was the hardest follow to nab you couldpossibly conceive; as full of quips and quirks as an Old Bailey lawyer. But we managed to bring it home to him. Lord! his bag was choke-full oftracts against every man who had a good coat on his back; and as if thatwas not enough, cheek by jowl with the tracts were lucifers, contrivedon a new principle, for teaching my ricks the theory of spontaneouscombustion. The labourers bought the lucifers--"

PARSON. --"And the poor village genius bought the tracts. "

SQUIRE. --"All headed with a motto, 'To teach the working classes thatknowledge is power. ' So that I was right in saying that knowledge hadburnt my ricks; knowledge inflamed the village genius, the villagegenius inflamed fellows more ignorant than himself, and they inflamed mystackyard. However, lucifers, tracts, village genius, and Sprott are alloff to Botany Bay; and the shire has gone on much the better for it. Sono more of your knowledge for me, begging your pardon, Mr. Fairfield. Such uncommonly fine ricks as mine were too! I declare, Parson, youare looking as if you felt pity for Sprott; and I saw you, indeed, whispering to him as he was taken out of court. "

PARSON (looking sheepish). --"Indeed, Squire, I was only asking him whathad become of his donkey, an unoffending creature. "

SQUIRE. --"Unoffending! Upset me amidst a thistle-bed in my own villagegreen! I remember it. Well, what did he say had become of the donkey?"

PARSON. --"He said but one word; but that showed all the vindictivenessof his disposition. He said it with a horrid wink, that made myblood run cold. 'What's become of your poor donkey?' said I, and heanswered--"

SQUIRE. --"Go on. He answered--"

PARSON. --"'Sausages. '"

SQUIRE. --"Sausages! Like enough; and sold to the poor; and that's whatthe poor will come to if they listen to such revolutionizing villains. Sausages! Donkey sausages!" (spitting)--"'T is bad as eating oneanother; perfect cannibalism. "

Leonard, who had been thrown into grave thought by the history of Sprottand the village genius, now pressing the parson's hand, asked permissionto wait on him before Mr. Dale quitted London; and was about towithdraw, when the parson, gently detaining him, said, "No; don't leaveme yet, Leonard, --I have so much to ask you, and to talk about. I shallbe at leisure shortly. We are just now going to call on a relationof the squire's, whom you must recollect, I am sure, --CaptainHigginbotham--Barnabas Higginbotham. He is very poorly. "

"And I am sure he would take it kind in you to call too, " said thesquire, with great good-nature. 

LEONARD. --"Nay, sir, would not that be a great liberty?"

SQUIRE. --"Liberty! To ask a poor sick gentleman how he is? Nonsense. AndI say, Sir, perhaps, as no doubt you have been living in town, and knowmore of newfangled notions than I do, --perhaps you can tell us whetheror not it is all humbug, --that new way of doctoring people. "

LEONARD. --"What new way, sir. There are so many. "

SQUIRE. --"Are there? Folks in London do look uncommonly sickly. Butmy poor cousin (he was never a Solomon) has got hold, he says, of ahomely--homely--What's the word, Parson?"

PARSON. "Homoeopathist. "

SQUIRE. --"That's it. You see the captain went to live with one SharpeCurrie, a relation who had a great deal of money, and very littleliver;--made the one, and left much of the other in Ingee, youunderstand. The captain had expectations of the money. Very natural, Idare say; but Lord, sir, what do you think has happened? Sharpe Curriehas done him. Would not die, Sir; got back his liver, and the captainhas lost his own. Strangest thing you ever heard. And then theungrateful old Nabob has dismissed the captain, saying, 'He can't bearto have invalids about him;' and is going to marry, and I have no doubtwill have children by the dozen!"

PARSON. --"It was in Germany, at one of the Spas, that Mr. Currierecovered; and as he had the selfish inhumanity to make the captaingo through a course of waters simultaneously with himself, it hasso chanced that the same waters that cured Mr. Currie's liver havedestroyed Captain Higginbotham's. An English homoeopathic physician, then staying at the Spa, has attended the captain hither, and declaresthat he will restore him by infinitesimal doses of the same chemicalproperties that were found in the waters which diseased him. Can therebe anything in such a theory?"

LEONARD. --"I once knew a very able, though eccentric homoeopathist, andI am inclined to believe there may be something in the system. My friendwent to Germany; it may possibly be the same person who attends thecaptain. May I ask his name?"

SQUIRE. --"Cousin Barnabas does not mention it. You may ask it ofhimself, for here we are at his chambers. I say, Parson" (whisperingslyly), "if a small dose of what hurt the captain is to cure him, don'tyou think the proper thing would be a--legacy? Ha! ha!"

PARSON (trying not to laugh). --"Hush, Squire. Poor human nature! We mustbe merciful to its infirmities. Come in, Leonard. "

Leonard, interested in his doubt whether he might thus chance again uponDr. Morgan, obeyed the invitation, and with his two companions followedthe woman, who "did for the captain and his rooms, " across the smalllobby, into the presence of the sufferer. 

CHAPTER III. 

Whatever the disposition towards merriment at his cousin's expenseentertained by the squire, it vanished instantly at the sight of thecaptain's doleful visage and emaciated figure. 

"Very good in you to come to town to see me, --very good in you, cousin, and in you, too, Mr. Dale. How very well you are both looking! I'm a sadwreck. You might count every bone in my body. "

"Hazeldean air and roast beef will soon set you up, my boy, " saidthe squire, kindly. "You were a great goose to leave them, and thesecomfortable rooms of yours in the Albany. "

"They are comfortable, though not showy, " said the captain, with tearsin his eyes. "I had done my best to make them so. New carpets, thisvery chair--(morocco!), that Japan cat (holds toast and muffins)--justwhen--just when"--(the tears here broke forth, and the captain fairlywhimpered)--"just when that ungrateful, bad-hearted man wrote me word'he was--was dying and lone in the world;' and--and--to think what I'vegone through for him;--and to treat me so! Cousin William, he has grownas hale as yourself, and--and--"

"Cheer up, cheer up!" cried the compassionate squire. "It is a very hardcase, I allow. But you see, as the old proverb says, ''T is ill waitingfor a dead man's shoes;' and in future--I don't mean offence--but Ithink if you would calculate less on the livers of your relations, itwould be all the better for your own. Excuse me!"

"Cousin William, " replied the poor captain, "I am sure I nevercalculated; but still, if you had seen that deceitful man'sgood-for-nothing face--as yellow as a guinea--and have gone throughall I've gone through, you would have felt cut to the heart, as I do. I can't bear ingratitude. I never could. But let it pass. Will thatgentleman take a chair?"

PARSON. --"Mr. Fairfield has kindly called with us, because he knowssomething of this system of homeeopathy which you have adopted, and may, perhaps, know the practitioner. What is the name of your doctor?"

CAPTAIN (looking at his watch). --"That reminds me" (swallowing aglobule). "A great relief these little pills--after the physic I'vetaken to please that malignant man. He always tried his doctor's stuffupon me. But there's another world, and a juster!"

With that pious conclusion the captain again began to weep. 

"Touched, " muttered the squire, with his forefinger on his forehead. "You seem to have a good--tidy sort of a nurse here, Cousin Barnabas. Ihope she 's pleasant, and lively, and don't let you take on so. "

"Hist!--don't talk of her. All mercenary; every bit of her fawning!Would you believe it? I give her ten shillings a week, besides allthat goes down of my pats of butter and rolls, and I overheard thejade saying to the laundress that 'I could not last long; and she'd--EXPECTATIONS!' Ah, Mr. Dale, when one thinks of the sinfulness thereis in this life! But I'll not think of it. No, I'll not. Let us changethe subject. You were asking my doctor's name. It is--"

Here the woman with "expectations" threw open the door, and suddenlyannounced "DR. MORGAN. "

CHAPTER IV. 

The parson started, and so did Leonard. 

The homoeopathist did not at first notice either. With an unobservantbow to the visitors, he went straight to the patient, and asked, "How gothe symptoms?"

Therewith the captain commenced, in a tone of voice like a schoolboyreciting the catalogue of the ships in Homer. He had been evidentlyconning the symptoms, and learning them by heart. Nor was there a singlenook or corner in his anatomical organization, so far as the captainwas acquainted with that structure, but what some symptom or other wasdragged therefrom, and exposed to day. The squire listened with horrorto the morbific inventory, muttering at each dread interval, "Bless me!Lord bless me! What, more still! Death would be a very happy release!"Meanwhile the doctor endured the recital with exemplary patience, notingdown in the leaves of his pocketbook what appeared to him the salientpoints in this fortress of disease to which he had laid siege, and then, drawing forth a minute paper said, "Capital, --nothing can be better. This powder must be dissolved in eighttablespoonfuls of water; one spoonful every two hours. "

"Tablespoonful?"

"Tablespoonful. "

"'Nothing can be better, ' did you say, sir?" repeated the squire, who inhis astonishment at that assertion applied to the captain's descriptionof his sufferings, had hitherto hung fire, --"nothing can be better?"

"For the diagnosis, sir!" replied Dr. Morgan. 

"For the dogs' noses, very possibly, " quoth the squire; "but for theinside of Cousin Higginbotham, I should think nothing could be worse. "

"You are mistaken, sir, " replied Dr. Morgan. "It is not the captainwho speaks here, --it is his liver. Liver, sir, though a noble, is animaginative organ, and indulges in the most extraordinary fictions. Seatof poetry and love and jealousy--the liver. Never believe what it says. You have no idea what a liar it is! But--ahem--ahem. Cott--I think I'veseen you before, sir. Surely your name's Hazeldean?"

"William Hazeldean, at your service, Doctor. But where have you seenme?"

"On the hustings at Lansmere. You were speaking on behalf of yourdistinguished brother, Mr. Egerton. "

"Hang it!" cried the squire: "I think it must have been my liver thatspoke there! for I promised the electors that that half-brother of minewould stick by the land, and I never told a bigger lie in my life!"

Here the patient, reminded of his other visitors, and afraid he wasgoing to be bored with the enumeration of the squire's wrongs, andprobably the whole history of his duel with Captain Dashmore, turnedwith a languid wave of his hand, and said, "Doctor, another friendof mine, the Rev. Mr. Dale, and a gentleman who is acquainted withhomoeopathy. "

"Dale? What, more old friends!" cried the doctor, rising; and the parsoncame somewhat reluctantly from the window nook, to which he had retired. The parson and the homoeopathist shook hands. 

"We have met before on a very mournful occasion, " said the doctor, withfeeling. 

The parson held his finger to his lips, and glanced towards Leonard. Thedoctor stared at the lad, but he did not recognize in the person beforehim the gaunt, care-worn boy whom he had placed with Mr. Prickett, untilLeonard smiled and spoke. And the smile and the voice sufficed. 

"Cott! and it is the poy!" cried Dr. Morgan; and he actually caughthold of Leonard, and gave him an affectionate Welch hug. Indeed, hisagitation at these several surprises became so great that he stoppedshort, drew forth a globule--"Aconite, --good against nervous shocks!"and swallowed it incontinently. 

"Gad, " said the squire, rather astonished, "'t is the first doctor Iever saw swallow his own medicine! There must be something in it. "

The captain now, highly disgusted that so much attention was withdrawnfrom his own case, asked in a querulous voice, "And as to diet? Whatshall I have for dinner?"

"A friend!" said the doctor, wiping his eyes. 

"Zounds!" cried the squire, retreating, "do you mean to say, that theBritish laws (to be sure they are very much changed of late) allow youto diet your patients upon their fellow-men? Why, Parson, this is worsethan the donkey sausages. "

"Sir, " said Dr. Morgan, gravely, "I mean to say, that it matters littlewhat we eat in comparison with care as to whom we eat with. It is betterto exceed a little with a friend than to observe the strictestregimen, and eat alone. Talk and laughter help the digestion, and areindispensable in affections of the liver. I have no doubt, sir, that itwas my patient's agreeable society that tended to restore to health hisdyspeptic relative, Mr. Sharpe Currie. "

The captain groaned aloud. 

"And, therefore, if one of you gentlemen will stay and dine with Mr. Higginbotham, it will greatly assist the effects of his medicine. "

The captain turned an imploring eye, first towards his cousin, thentowards the parson. 

"I 'm engaged to dine with my son--very sorry, " said the squire. "ButDale, here--"

"If he will be so kind, " put in the captain, "we might cheer the eveningwith a game at whist, --double dummy. " Now, poor Mr. Dale had set hisheart on dining with an old college friend, and having no stupid, prosydouble dummy, in which one cannot have the pleasure of scolding one'spartner, but a regular orthodox rubber, with the pleasing prospect ofscolding all the three other performers. But as his quiet life forbadehim to be a hero in great things, the parson had made up his mind to bea hero in small ones. Therefore, though with rather a rueful face, heaccepted the captain's invitation, and promised to return at six o'clockto dine. Meanwhile he must hurry off to the other end of the town, andexcuse himself from the pre-engagement he had already formed. He nowgave his card, with the address of a quiet family hotel thereon, toLeonard, and not looking quite so charmed with Dr. Morgan as he wasbefore that unwelcome prescription, he took his leave. The squire too, having to see a new churn, and execute various commissions for hisHarry, went his way (not, however, till Dr. Morgan had assured himthat, in a few weeks, the captain might safely remove to Hazeldean);and Leonard was about to follow, when Morgan hooked his arm in his oldprotege, and said, "But I must have some talk with you; and you have totell me all about the little orphan girl. "

Leonard could not resist the pleasure of talking about Helen; and he gotinto the carriage, which was waiting at the door for the homoeopathist. 

"I am going in the country a few miles to see a patient, " said thedoctor; "so we shall have time for undisturbed consultation. I haveso often wondered what had become of you. Not hearing from Prickett, I wrote to him, and received from his heir an answer as dry as a bone. Poor fellow, I found that he had neglected his globules and quitted theglobe. Alas, 'pulvis et umbra sumus!' I could learn no tidings of you. Prickett's successor declared he knew nothing about you. I hopedthe best; for I always fancied you were one who would fall on yourlegs, --bilious-nervous temperament; such are the men who succeed intheir undertakings, especially if they take a spoonful of chamomillawhenever they are over-excited. So now for your history and thelittle girl's, --pretty little thing, --never saw a more susceptibleconstitution, nor one more suited to pulsatilla. "

Leonard briefly related his own struggles and success, and informed thegood doctor how they had at last discovered the nobleman in whom poorCaptain Digby had confided, and whose care of the orphan had justifiedthe confidence. 

Dr. Morgan opened his eyes at hearing the name of Lord L'Estrange. "I remember him very well, " said he, "when I practised murder as anallopathist at Lansmere. But to think that wild boy, so full of whim andlife and spirit, should become staid enough for a guardian to that dearlittle child, with her timid eyes and pulsatilla sensibilities. Well, wonders never cease! And he has befriended you too, you say. Ah, he knewyour family. "

"So he says. Do you think, sir, that he ever knew--ever saw--my mother?"

"Eh! your mother?--Nora?" exclaimed the doctor, quickly; and, as ifstruck by some sudden thought, his brows met, and he remained silentand musing a few moments; then, observing Leonard's eyes fixed on himearnestly, he replied to the question, "No doubt he saw her; she was brought up at Lady Lansmere's. Did he nottell you so?"

"No. " A vague suspicion here darted through Leonard's mind, butas suddenly vanished. His father! Impossible. His father must havedeliberately wronged the dead mother. And was Harley L'Estrange a mancapable of such wrong? And had he been Harley's son, would not Harleyhave guessed it at once, and so guessing, have owned and claimed him?Besides, Lord L'Estrange looked so young, --old enough to be Leonard'sfather!--he could not entertain the idea. He roused himself and said, falteringly, "You told me you did not know by what name I should call my father. "

"And I told you the truth, to the best of my belief. "

"By your honour, sir?"

"By my honour, I do not know it. "

There was now a long silence. The carriage had long left London, and wason a high road somewhat lonelier, and more free from houses than most ofthose which form the entrances to the huge city. Leonard gazed wistfullyfrom the window, and the objects that met his eyes gradually seemedto appeal to his memory. Yes! it was the road by which he had firstapproached the metropolis, hand in hand with Helen--and hope so busy athis poet's heart. He sighed deeply. He thought he would willingly haveresigned all he had won--independence, fame, all--to feel again theclasp of that tender hand, again to be the sole protector of that gentlelife. 

The doctor's voice broke on his revery. "I am going to see a veryinteresting patient, --coats to his stomach quite worn out, sir, --manof great learning, with a very inflamed cerebellum. I can't do him muchgood, and he does me a great deal of harm. "

"How harm?" asked Leonard, with an effort at some rejoinder. 

"Hits me on the heart, and makes my eyes water; very patheticcase, --grand creature, who has thrown himself away. Found him given overby the allopathists, and in a high state of delirium tremens, restored him for a time, took a great liking to him, --could not helpit, --swallowed a great many globules to harden myself against him, wouldnot do, brought him over to England with the other patients, who allpay me well (except Captain Higginbotham). But this poor fellow paysme nothing, --costs me a great deal in time and turnpikes, and board andlodging. Thank Heaven, I'm a single man, and can afford it! My poy, Iwould let all the other patients go to the allopathists if I could butsave this poor, big, penniless, princely fellow. But what can one dowith a stomach that has not a rag of its coats left? Stop" (the doctorpulled the check-string). "This is the stile. I get out here and goacross the fields. "

That stile, those fields--with what distinctness Leonard rememberedthem. Ah, where was Helen? Could she ever, ever again be, hischild-angel?

"I will go with you, if you permit, " said he to the good doctor. "Andwhile you pay your visit, I will saunter by a little brook that I thinkmust run by your way. "

"The Brent--you know that brook? Ah, you should hear my poor patienttalk of it, and of the hours he has spent angling in it, --you would notknow whether to laugh or cry. The first day he was brought down tothe place, he wanted to go out and try once more, he said, for his olddeluding demon, --a one-eyed perch. "

"Heavens!" exclaimed Leonard, "are you speaking of John Burley?"

"To be sure, that is his name, --John Burley. "

"Oh, has it come to this? Cure him, save him, if it be in human power. For the last two years I have sought his trace everywhere, and invain, the moment I had money of my own, a home of my own. Poor, erring, glorious Burley! Take me to him. Did you say there was no hope?"

"I did not say that, " replied the doctor. "But art can only assistNature; and though Nature is ever at work to repair the injuries we doto her, yet, when the coats of a stomach are all gone, she gets puzzled, and so do I. You must tell me another time how you came to know Burley, for here we are at the house, and I see him at the window looking outfor me. "

The doctor opened the garden gate of the quiet cottage to which poorBurley had fled from the pure presence of Leonard's child-angel. Andwith heavy step, and heavy heart, Leonard mournfully followed, to beholdthe wrecks of him whose wit had glorified orgy, and "set the table in aroar. " Alas, poor Yorick!

CHAPTER V. 

Audley Egerton stands on his hearth alone. During the short intervalthat has elapsed since we last saw him, events had occurred memorablein English history, wherewith we have nought to do in a narrativestudiously avoiding all party politics even when treating ofpoliticians. The new ministers had stated the general programme of theirpolicy, and introduced one measure in especial that had lifted them atonce to the dizzy height of popular power. But it became clear that thismeasure could not be carried without a fresh appeal to the people. A dissolution of parliament, as Audley's sagacious experience hadforeseen, was inevitable. And Audley Egerton had no chance of return forhis own seat, for the great commercial city identified with his name. Oh, sad, but not rare, instance of the mutabilities of that same popularfavour now enjoyed by his successors! The great commoner, the weightyspeaker, the expert man of business, the statesman who had seemed atype of the practical steady sense for which our middle class isrenowned, --he who, not three years since, might have had his honouredchoice of the largest popular constituencies in the kingdom, --he, AudleyEgerton, knew not one single town (free from the influences of privateproperty or interest) in which the obscurest candidate, who bawled outfor the new liberal measure, would not have beaten him hollow. Where onepopular hustings, on which that grave sonorous voice, that had stilledso often the roar of faction, would not be drowned amidst the hoots ofthe scornful mob?

True, what were called the close boroughs still existed; true, many achief of his party would have been too proud of the honour of claimingAndley Egerton for his nominee. But the ex-minister's haughty soulshrunk from this contrast to his past position. And to fight againstthe popular measure, as member of one of the seats most denounced by thepeople, --he felt it was a post in the grand army of parties below hisdignity to occupy, and foreign to his peculiar mind, which required thesense of consequence and station. And if, in a few months, those seatswere swept away--were annihilated from the rolls of parliament--wherewas he? Moreover, Egerton, emancipated from the trammels that had boundhis will while his party was in office, desired, in the turn of events, to be nominee of no man, --desired to stand at least freely and singly onthe ground of his own services, be guided by his own penetration; no lawfor action but his strong sense and his stout English heart. Thereforehe had declined all offers from those who could still bestow seats inparliament. Seats that he could purchase with hard gold were yet open tohim. And the L5, 000 he had borrowed from Levy were yet untouched. 

To this lone public man, public life, as we have seen, was the all inall. But now more than ever it was vital to his very wants. Aroundhim yawned ruin. He knew that it was in Levy's power at any moment toforeclose on his mortgaged lands; to pour in the bonds and the billswhich lay within those rosewood receptacles that lined the fatal lair ofthe sleek usurer; to seize on the very house in which now moved all thepomp of a retinue that vied with the valetaille of dukes; to advertisefor public auction, under execution, "the costly effects of the RightHon. Audley Egerton. " But, consummate in his knowledge of the world, Egerton felt assured that Levy would not adopt these measures againsthim while he could still tower in the van of political war, --while hecould still see before him the full chance of restoration to power, perhaps to power still higher than before, perhaps to power the highestof all beneath the throne. That Levy, whose hate he divined, though hedid not conjecture all its causes, had hitherto delayed even a visit, even a menace, seemed to him to show that Levy still thought him one"to be helped, " or, at least, one too powerful to crush. To securehis position in parliament unshackled, unfallen, if but for anotheryear, --new combinations of party might arise, new reactions take place, in public opinion! And, with his hand pressed to his heart, the sternfirm man muttered, "If not, I ask but to die in my harness, and that menmay not know that I am a pauper until all that I need from my country isa grave. "

Scarce had these words died upon his lips ere two quick knocks insuccession resounded at the street door. In another moment Harleyentered, and, at the same time, the servant in attendance approachedAudley, and announced Baron Levy. 

"Beg the baron to wait, unless he would prefer to name his own hour tocall again, " answered Egerton, with the slightest possible change ofcolour. "You can say I am now with Lord L'Estrange. "

"I had hoped you had done forever with that deluder of youth, " saidHarley, as soon as the groom of the chambers had withdrawn. "I rememberthat you saw too much of him in the gay time, ere wild oats are sown;but now surely you can never need a loan; and if so is not HarleyL'Estrange by your side?"

EGERTON. --"My dear Harley! doubtless he but comes to talk to me of someborough. He has much to do with those delicate negotiations. "

HARLEY. --"And I have come on the same business. I claim the priority. I not only hear in the world, but I see by the papers, that JosiahJenkins, Esq. , known to fame as an orator who leaves out his h's, and young Lord Willoughby Whiggolin, who is just made a Lord of theAdmiralty, because his health is too delicate for the army, are certainto come in for the city which you and your present colleague will ascertainly vacate. That is true, is it not?"

EGERTON. --"My old Committee now vote for Jenkins and Whiggolin; and Isuppose there will not be even a contest. Go on. "

"So my father and I are agreed that you must condescend, for the sake ofold friendship, to be once more member for Lansmere. "

"Harley, " exclaimed Egerton, changing countenance far more than he haddone at the announcement of Levy's portentous visit, "Harley, no, no!"

"No! But why? Wherefore such emotion?" asked L'Estrauge, in surprise. 

Audley was silent. 

HARLEY. --"I suggested the idea to two or three of the late ministers;they all concur in advising you to accede. In the first place, ifdeclining to stand for the place which tempted you from Lansmere, what more natural than that you should fall back on that earlierrepresentation? In the second place, Lansmere is neither a rottenborough to be bought, nor a close borough, under one man's nomination. It is a tolerably large constituency. My father, it is true, hasconsiderable interest in it, but only what is called the legitimateinfluence of property. At all events, it is more secure than a contestfor a larger town, more dignified than a seat for a smaller. Hesitatingstill? Even my mother entreats me to say how she desires you to renewthat connection. "

"Harley, " again exclaimed Egerton; and fixing upon his friend's earnestface eyes which, when softened by emotion, were strangely beautifulin their expression, --"Harley, if you could but read my heart at thismoment, you would--you would--" His voice faltered, and he fairly benthis proud head upon Harley's shoulder; grasping the hand he had caughtnervously, clingingly, "Oh, Harley, if I ever lose your love, yourfriendship, nothing else is left to me in the world. "

"Audley, my dear, dear Audley, is it you who speak to me thus? You, myschool friend, my life's confidant, --you?"

"I am grown very weak and foolish, " said Egerton, trying to smile. "Ido not know myself. I, too, whom you have so often called 'Stoic, 'and likened to the Iron Man in the poem which you used to read by theriverside at Eton. "

"But even then, my Audley, I knew that a warm human heart (do what youwould to keep it down) beat strong under the iron ribs. And I oftenmarvel now, to think you have gone through life so free from the wilderpassions. Happier so!"

Egerton, who had turned his face from his friend's gaze, remained silentfor a few moments; and he then sought to divert the conversation, androused himself to ask Harley how he had succeeded in his views uponBeatrice, and his watch on the count. 

"With regard to Peschiera, " answered Harley, "I think we must haveoverrated the danger we apprehended, and that his wagers were but anidle boast. He has remained quiet enough, and seems devoted to play. Hissister has shut her doors both on myself and my young associate duringthe last few days. I almost fear that in spite of very sage warnings ofmine, she must have turned his poet's head, and that either he has metwith some scornful rebuff to incautious admiration or that, he himselfhas grown aware of peril, and declines to face it; for he is very muchembarrassed when I speak to him respecting her. But if the count is notformidable, why, his sister is not needed; and I hope yet to get justicefor my Italian friend through the ordinary channels. I have securedan ally in a young Austrian prince, who is now in London, and who haspromised to back, with all his influence, a memorial I shall transmitto Vienna. --a propos, my dear Audley, now that you have a littlebreathing-time, you must fix an hour for me to present to you my youngpoet, the son of her sister. At moments the expression of his face is solike hers. "

"Ay, ay, " answered Egerton, quickly, "I will see him as you wish, butlater. I have not yet that breathing-time you speak of; but you say hehas prospered; and, with your friendship, he is secure from fortune. Irejoice to think so. "

"And your own protege, this Vandal Leslie, whom you forbid me todislike--hard task!--what has he decided?"

"To adhere to my fate. Harley, if it please Heaven that I do not liveto return to power, and provide adequately for that young man, do notforget that he clung to me in my fall. "

"If he still cling to you faithfully, I will never forget it. I willforget only all that now makes me doubt him. But you talk of not living, Audley! Pooh! your frame is that of a predestined octogenarian. "

"Nay, " answered Audley, "I was but uttering one of those vaguegeneralities which are common upon all mortal lips. And now farewell, --Imust see this baron. "

"Not yet, until you have promised to consent to my proposal, and beonce more member for Lansmere. Tut! don't shake your head. I cannot bedenied. I claim your promise in right of our friendship, and shall beseriously hurt if you even pause to reflect on it. "

"Well, well, I know not how to refuse you, Harley; but you have not beento Lansmere yourself since--since that sad event. You must not revivethe old wound, --you must not go; and--and, I own it, Harley, theremembrance of it pains even me. I would rather not go to Lansmere. "

"Ah, my friend, this is an excess of sympathy, and I cannot listen toit. I begin even to blame my own weakness, and to feel that we have noright to make ourselves the soft slaves of the past. "

"You do appear to me of late to have changed, " cried Egerton, suddenly, and with a brightening aspect. "Do tell me that you are happy in thecontemplation of your new ties, --that I shall live to see you once morerestored to your former self. "

"All I can answer, Audley, " said L'Estrange, with a thoughtful brow, "is, that you are right in one thing, --I am changed; and I am strugglingto gain strength for duty and for honour. Adieu! I shall tell my fatherthat you accede to our wishes. "

CHAPTER VI. 

When Harley was gone, Egerton sunk back on his chair, as if in extremephysical or mental exhaustion, all the lines of his countenance relaxedand jaded. 

"To go back to that place--there--there--where--Courage, courage! whatis another pang?"

He rose with an effort, and folding his arms tightly across his breast, paced slowly to and fro the large, mournful, solitary room. Graduallyhis countenance assumed its usual cold and austere composure, --thesecret eye, the guarded lip, the haughty, collected front. The man ofthe world was himself once more. 

"Now to gain time, and to baffle the usurer, " murmured Egerton, withthat low tone of easy scorn, which bespoke consciousness of superiorpower and the familiar mastery over hostile natures. He rang the bell:the servant entered. 

"Is Baron Levy still waiting?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Admit him. " Levy entered. 

"I beg your pardon, Levy, " said the ex-minister, "for having so longdetained you. I am now at your commands. "

"My dear fellow, " returned the baron, "no apologies between friends soold as we are; and I fear that my business is not so agreeable as tomake you impatient to discuss it. "

EGERTON (with perfect composure). --"I am to conclude, then, that youwish to bring our accounts to a close. Whenever you will, Levy. "

THE BARON (disconcerted and surprised). --"Peste! mon cher, you takethings coolly. But if our accounts are closed, I fear you will have butlittle to live upon. "

EGERTON. --"I can continue to live on the salary of a Cabinet Minister. "

BARON. --"Possibly; but you are no longer a Cabinet Minister. "

EGERTON. --"You have never found me deceived--in a political prediction. Within twelve months (should life be spared to me) I shall be in officeagain. If the same to you, I would rather wait till then formally andamicably to resign to you my lands and this house. If you grant thatreprieve, our connection can thus close without the eclat and noisewhich may be invidious to you, as it would be disagreeable to me. Butif that delay be inconvenient, I will appoint a lawyer to examine youraccounts, and adjust my liabilities. "

THE BARON (soliloquizing). --"I don't like this. A lawyer! That may beawkward. "

EGERTON (observing the baron, with a curl on his lip). "Well, Levy, howshall it be?"

THE BARON. --"You know, my dear fellow, it is not my character to be hardon any one, least of all upon an old friend. And if you really thinkthere is a chance of your return to office, which you apprehend that anesclandre as to your affairs at present might damage, why, let us seeif we can conciliate matters. But, first, mon cher, in order to become aminister, you must at least have a seat in parliament; and pardon me thequestion, how the deuce are you to find one?"

EGERTON. --"It is found. "

THE BARON. --"Ah, I forgot the L5, 000 you last borrowed. "

EGERTON. --"NO; I reserve that sum for another purpose. "

THE BARON (with a forced laugh). --"Perhaps to defend yourself againstthe actions you apprehend from me?"

EGERTON. --"You are mistaken. But to soothe your suspicions I will tellyou plainly, that finding any sum I might have insured on my life wouldbe liable to debts preincurred, and (as you will be my sole creditor)might thus at my death pass back to you; and doubting whether, indeed, any office would accept my insurance, I appropriate that sum to therelief of my conscience. I intend to bestow it, while yet in life, uponmy late wife's kinsman, Randal Leslie. And it is solely the wish to dowhat I consider an act of justice, that has prevailed with me to accepta favour from the hands of Harley L'Estrange, and to become again themember for Lansmere. "

THE BARON. --"Ha!--Lansmere! You will stand for Lansmere?"

EGERTON (wincing). --"I propose to do so. "

THE BARON. --"I believe you will be opposed, subjected to even a sharpcontest. Perhaps you may lose your election. "

EGERTON. --"If so, I resign myself, and you can foreclose on my estates. "

THE BARON (his brow clearing). --"Look you, Egerton, I shall be too happyto do you a favour. "

EGERTON (with stateliness). --"Favour! No, Baron Levy, I ask from youno favour. Dismiss all thought of rendering me one. It is but aconsideration of business on both sides. If you think it better that weshall at once settle our accounts, my lawyer shall investigate them. Ifyou agree to the delay I request, my lawyer shall give you no trouble;and all that I have, except hope and character, pass to your handswithout a struggle. "

THE BARON. --"Inflexible and ungracious, favour or not--put it as youwill--I accede, provided, first, that you allow me to draw up a freshdeed, which will accomplish your part of the compact; and secondly, thatwe saddle the proposed delay with the condition that you do not loseyour election. "

EGERTON. --"Agreed. Have you anything further to say?"

THE BARON. --"Nothing, except that, if you require more money, I am stillat your service. "

EGERTON. --"I thank you. No; I shall take the occasion of my retirementfrom office to reduce my establishment. I have calculated already, andprovided for the expenditure I need, up to the date I have specified, and I shall have no occasion to touch the L5, 000 that I still retain. "

"Your young friend, Mr. Leslie, ought to be very grateful to you, " saidthe baron, rising. "I have met him in the world, --a lad of much promiseand talent. You should try and get him also into parliament. "

EGERTON (thoughtfully). --"You are a good judge of the practicalabilities and merits of men, as regards worldly success. Do you reallythink Randal Leslie calculated for public life--for a parliamentarycareer?"

THE BARON. --"Indeed I do. "

EGERTON (speaking more to himself than Levy). --"Parliament withoutfortune, --'t is a sharp trial; still he is prudent, abstemious, energetic, persevering; and at the onset, under my auspices and advice, he might establish a position beyond his years. "

THE BARON. "It strikes me that we might possibly get him into the nextparliament; or, as that is not likely to last long, at all events, intothe parliament to follow, --not for one of the boroughs which will beswept away, but for a permanent seat, and without expense. "

EGERTON. --"Ay, --and how?"

THE BARON. --"Give me a few days to consider. An idea has occurred to me. I will call again if I find it practicable. Good-day to you, Egerton, and success to your election for Lansmere. "

CHAPTER VII. 

Peschiera had not been so inactive as he had appeared to Harley andthe reader. On the contrary, he had prepared the way for his ultimatedesign, with all the craft and the unscrupulous resolution whichbelonged to his nature. His object was to compel Riccabocca intoassenting to the count's marriage with Violante, or, failing that, toruin all chance of his kinsman's restoration. Quietly and secretlyhe had sought out, amongst the most needy and unprincipled of hisown countrymen, those whom he could suborn to depose to Riccabocca'sparticipation in plots and conspiracies against the Austrian dominion. These his former connection with the Carbonari enabled him to track totheir refuge in London; and his knowledge of the characters he had todeal with fitted him well for the villanous task he undertook. He had, therefore, already selected out of these desperadoes a sufficient numbereither to serve as witnesses against his kinsman, or to aid him in anymore audacious scheme which circumstance might suggest to his adoption. Meanwhile, he had (as Harley had suspected he would) set spies uponRandal's movements; and the day before that young traitor confided tohim Violante's retreat, he had at least got scent of her father's. 

The discovery that Violante was under a roof so honoured, and seeminglyso safe, as Lord Lansmere's, did not discourage this bold and desperateadventurer. We have seen him set forth to reconnoitre the house atKnightsbridge. He had examined it well, and discovered the quarter whichhe judged favourable to a coup-de-main, should that become necessary. 

Lord Lansmere's house and grounds were surrounded by a wall, theentrance being to the high-road, and by a porter's lodge. At the rearthere lay fields crossed by a lane or byroad. To these fields a smalldoor in the wall, which was used by the gardeners in passing to and fromtheir work, gave communication. This door was usually kept locked;but the lock was of the rude and simple description common to suchentrances, and easily opened by a skeleton key. So far there was noobstacle which Peschiera's experience in conspiracy and gallantry didnot disdain as trivial. But the count was not disposed to abrupt andviolent means in the first instance. He had a confidence in his personalgifts, in his address, in his previous triumphs over the sex, which madehim naturally desire to hazard the effect of a personal interview; andon this he resolved with his wonted audacity. Randal's description ofViolante's personal appearance, and such suggestions as to her characterand the motives most likely to influence her actions as that younglynx-eyed observer could bestow, were all that the count required ofpresent aid from his accomplice. 

Meanwhile we return to Violante herself. We see her now seated inthe gardens at Knightsbridge, side by side with Helen. The place wasretired, and out of sight from the windows of the house. 

VIOLANTE. --"But why will you not tell me more of that early time? Youare less communicative even than Leonard. "

HELEN (looking down, and hesitatingly). --"Indeed there is nothing totell you that you do not know; and it is so long since, and things areso changed now. "

The tone of the last words was mournful, and the words ended with asigh. 

VIOLANTE (with enthusiasm). --"How I envy you that past which you treatso lightly! To have been something, even in childhood, to the formationof a noble nature; to have borne on those slight shoulders half the loadof a man's grand labour; and now to see Genius moving calm in its clearcareer; and to say inly, 'Of that genius I am a part!'"

HELEN (sadly and humbly). --"A part! Oh, no! A part? I don't understandyou. "

VIOLANTE. --"Take the child Beatrice from Dante's life, and should wehave a Dante? What is a poet's genius but the voice of its emotions? Allthings in life and in Nature influence genius; but what influences itthe most are its own sorrows and affections. "

Helen looks softly into Violante's eloquent face, and draws nearer toher in tender silence. 

VIOLANTE (suddenly). --"Yes, Helen, yes, --I know by my own heart howto read yours. Such memories are ineffaceable. Few guess whatstrange self-weavers of our own destinies we women are in our veriestchildhood!" She sunk her voice into a whisper: "How could Leonard failto be dear to you, --dear as you to him, --dearer than all others?"

HELEN (shrinking back, and greatly disturbed). --"Hush, hush! you mustnot speak to me thus; it is wicked, --I cannot bear it. I would not haveit be so; it must not be, --it cannot!"

She clasped her hands over her eyes for a moment, and then lifted herface, and the face was very sad, but very calm. 

VIOLANTE (twining her arm round Helen's waist). --"How have I woundedyou, --how offended? Forgive me, but why is this wicked? Why must it notbe? Is it because he is below you in birth?"

HELEN. --"No, no, --I never thought of that. And what am I? Don't askme, --I cannot answer. You are wrong, quite wrong as to me. I can onlylook on Leonard as--as a brother. But--but, you can speak to him morefreely than I can. I would not have him waste his heart on me, noryet think me unkind and distant, as I seem. I know not what I say. But--but--break to him--indirectly--gently--that duty in both forbids usboth to--to be more than friends--than--"

"Helen, Helen!" cried Violante, in her warm, generous passion, "yourheart betrays you in every word you say. You weep; lean on me, whisperto me; why--why is this? Do you fear that your guardian would notconsent? He not consent? He who--"

HELEN. --"Cease--cease--cease!"

VIOLANTE. --"What! You can fear Harley--Lord L'Estrange? Fie; you do notknow him. "

HELEN (rising suddenly). --"Violante, hold; I am engaged to another. "

Violante rose also, and stood still, as if turned to stone; pale asdeath, till the blood came, at first slowly, then with suddenness fromher heart, and one deep glow suffused her whole countenance. She caughtHelen's hand firmly, and said in a hollow voice, "Another! Engaged to another! One word, Helen, --not to him--notto--Harley--to--"

"I cannot say, --I must not. I have promised, " cried poor Helen, andas Violante let fall her hand, she hurried away. Violante sat downmechanically; she felt as if stunned by a mortal blow. She closed hereyes and breathed hard. A deadly faintness seized her; and when itpassed away, it seemed to her as if she were no longer the same being, nor the world around her the same world, --as if she were but onesense of intense, hopeless misery, and as if the universe were but oneinanimate void. So strangely immaterial are we really--we human beings, with flesh and blood--that if you suddenly abstract from us but single, impalpable, airy thought, which our souls have cherished, you seem tocurdle the air, to extinguish the sun, to snap every link that connectsus to matter, and to benumb everything into death, except woe. 

And this warm, young, southern nature but a moment before was so full ofjoy and life, and vigorous, lofty hope. It never till now had known itsown intensity and depth. The virgin had never lifted the veil from herown soul of woman. 

What, till then, had Harley L'Estrange been to Violante? An ideal, adream of some imagined excellence, a type of poetry in the midst of thecommon world. It had not been Harley the man, --it had been Harley thePhantom. She had never said to herself, "He is identified with my love, my hopes, my home, my future. " How could she? Of such he himself hadnever spoken; an internal voice, indeed, had vaguely, yet irresistibly, whispered to her that, despite his light words, his feelings towards herwere grave and deep. O false voice! how it had deceived her! Her quickconvictions seized the all that Helen had left unsaid. And now suddenlyshe felt what it is to love, and what it is to despair. So she sat, crushed and solitary, neither murmuring nor weeping, only now and thenpassing her hand across her brow, as if to clear away some cloud thatwould not be dispersed; or heaving a deep sigh, as if to throw off someload that no time henceforth could remove. There are certain momentsin life in which we say to ourselves, "All is over; no matter what elsechanges, that which I have made my all is gone evermore--evermore!" Andour own thought rings back in our ears, "Evermore--evermore!"

CHAPTER VIII. 

As Violante thus sat, a stranger, passing stealthily through the trees, stood between herself and the evening sun. She saw him not. He paused amoment, and then spoke low, in her native tongue, addressing her by thename which she had borne in Italy. He spoke as a relation, and excusedhis intrusion: "For, " said he, "I come to suggest to the daughterthe means by which she can restore to her father his country and hishonours. "

At the word "father" Violante roused herself, and all her love for thatfather rushed back upon her with double force. It does so ever, --welove most our parents at the moment when some tie less holy is abruptlybroken; and when the conscience says, "There, at least, is a love thathas never deceived thee!"

She saw before her a man of mild aspect and princely form. Peschiera(for it was he) had banished from his dress, as from his countenance, all that betrayed the worldly levity of his character. He was acting apart, and he dressed and looked it. 

"My father!" she said, quickly, and in Italian. "What of him? And whoare you, signor? I know you not. " Peschiera smiled benignly, and repliedin a tone in which great respect was softened by a kind of parentaltenderness, --"Suffer me to explain, and listen to me while I speak. "Then, quietly seating himself on the bench beside her, he looked intoher eyes, and resumed, --

"Doubtless you have heard of the Count di Peschiera?"

VIOLANTE. --"I heard that name, as a child, when in Italy. And when shewith whom I then dwelt (my father's aunt) fell ill and died, I wastold that my home in Italy was gone, that it had passed to the Count diPeschiera, --my father's foe!"

PESCHTERA. --"And your father, since then, has taught you to hate thisfancied foe?"

VIOLANTE. --"Nay, my father did but forbid me ever to breathe his name. "

PESCHIERA. --"Alas! what years of suffering and exile might have beensaved your father, had he but been more just to his early friend andkinsman, --nay, had he but less cruelly concealed the secret of hisretreat. Fair child, I am that Giulio Franzini, that Count di Peschiera. I am the man you have been told to regard as your father's foe. I am theman on whom the Austrian Emperor bestowed his lands. And now judge if Iam, in truth, the foe. I have come hither to seek your father, in orderto dispossess myself of my sovereign's gift. I have come but with onedesire, --to restore Alphonso to his native land, and to surrender theheritage that was forced upon me. "

VIOLANTE. --"My father, my dear father! His grand heart will have roomonce more. Oh, this is noble enmity, true revenge! I understand it, signor, and so will my father, for such would have been his revenge onyou. You have seen him?"

PESCHIERA. --"No, not yet. I would not see him till I had seen yourself;for you, in truth, are the arbiter of his destinies, as of mine. "

VIOLANTE. --"I, Count? I--arbiter of my father's destinies? Is itpossible?"

PESCHIERA (with a look of compassionate admiration, and in a tone yetmore emphatically parental). --"How lovely is that innocent joy! Butdo not indulge it yet. Perhaps it is a sacrifice which is asked fromyou, --a sacrifice too hard to bear. Do not interrupt me. Listen still, and you will see why I could not speak to your father until I hadobtained an interview with yourself. See why a word from you maycontinue still to banish me from his presence. You know, doubtless, that your father was one of the chiefs of a party that sought to freeNorthern Italy from the Austrians. I myself was at the onset a warmparticipator in that scheme. In a sudden moment I discovered that someof its more active projectors had coupled with a patriotic enterpriseplots of a dark nature, and that the conspiracy itself was about to bebetrayed to the government. I wished to consult with your father; buthe was at a distance. I learned that his life was condemned. Not anhour was to be lost. I took a bold resolve, that has exposed me to hissuspicions and to my country's wrath. But my main idea was to save him, my early friend, from death, and my country from fruitless massacre. 

"I withdrew from the intended revolt. I sought at once the head of theAustrian government in Italy, and made terms for the lives of Alphonsoand of the other more illustrious chiefs, which otherwise would havebeen forfeited. I obtained permission to undertake myself the charge ofsecuring my kinsman in order to place him in safety, and to conducthim to a foreign land, in an exile that would cease when the danger wasdispelled. But unhappily he deemed that I only sought to destroy him. Hefled from my friendly pursuit. The soldiers with me were attacked by anintermeddling Englishman; your father escaped from Italy, concealinghis retreat; and the character of his flight counteracted my effortsto obtain his pardon. The government conferred on me half his revenues, holding the other half at its pleasure. I accepted the offer in order tosave his whole heritage from confiscation. That I did not convey to himwhat I pined to do, --namely, the information that I held but in trustwhat was bestowed by the government, and the full explanation of whatseemed blamable in my conduct, --was necessarily owing to the secrecy hemaintained. I could not discover his refuge; but I never ceased to pleadfor his recall. This year only I have partially succeeded. He can berestored to his heritage and rank, on one proviso, --a guarantee for hisloyalty. That guarantee the government has named: it is the allianceof his only child with one whom the government can trust. It was theinterest of all the Italian nobility that the representation of a Houseso great falling to a female should not pass away wholly from the directline, --in a word, that you should ally yourself with a kinsman. But onekinsman, and he the next in blood, presented himself. In short, Alphonsoregains all that he lost on the day in which his daughter gives herhand to Giulio Franzini, Count di Peschiera. Ah, " continued the count, mournfully, "you shriek, you recoil. He thus submitted to your choice isindeed unworthy of you. You are scarce in the spring of life, he is inits waning autumn. Youth loves youth. He does not aspire to your love. All that he can say is, love is not the only joy of the heart, --it isjoy to raise from ruin a beloved father; joy to restore, to a land poorin all but memories, a chief in whom it reverences a line of heroes. These are the joys I offer to you, --you, a daughter, and an Italianmaid. Still silent? Oh, speak to me!"

Certainly this Count Peschiera knew well how woman is to be wooed andwon; and never was woman more sensitive to those high appeals which mostmove all true earnest womanhood than was the young Violante. Fortunefavoured him in the moment chosen. Harley was wrenched away from herhopes, and love a word erased from her language. In the void of theworld, her father's image alone stood clear and visible. And she whofrom infancy had so pined to serve that father, who at first learned todream of Harley as that father's friend! She could restore to him allfor which the exile sighed; and by a sacrifice of self, --self-sacrifice, ever in itself such a temptation to the noble! Still, in the midst ofthe confusion and disturbance of her mind, the idea of marriage withanother seemed so terrible and revolting, that she could not at onceconceive it; and still that instinct of openness and honour, whichpervaded all her character, warned even her inexperience that there wassomething wrong in this clandestine appeal to herself. 

Again the count besought her to speak, and with an effort she said, irresolutely, "If it be as you say, it is not for me to answer you; it is for myfather. "

"Nay, " replied Peschiera. "Pardon, if I contradict you. Do you know solittle of your father as to suppose that he will suffer his interestto dictate to his pride? He would refuse, perhaps, even to receive myvisit, to hear my explanations; but certainly he would refuse to buyback his inheritance by the sacrifice of his daughter to one whom he hasdeemed his foe, and whom the mere disparity of years would incline theworld to say he had made the barter of his personal ambition. But ifI could go to him sanctioned by you; if I could say, 'Your daughteroverlooks what the father might deem an obstacle, --she has consentedto accept my hand of her own free choice, she unites her happiness, and blends her prayers with mine, '--then, indeed, I could not fail ofsuccess; and Italy would pardon my errors, and bless your name. Ah, Signorina, do not think of me save as an instrument towards thefulfilment of duties so high and sacred! think but of your ancestors, your father, your native land, and reject not the proud occasion toprove how you revere them all!"

Violante's heart was touched at the right chord. Her head rose, thecolour came back to her pale cheek, she turned the glorious beauty ofher countenance towards the wily tempter. She was about to answer and toseal her fate, when at that instant Harley's voice was heard at a littledistance, and Nero came bounding towards her, and thrust himself, withrough familiarity, between her and Peschiera. The count drew back, andViolante, whose eyes were still fixed on his face, started at the changethat passed there. One quick gleam of rage sufficed in an instant tolight up the sinister secrets of his nature, --it was the face of thebaffled gladiator. He had time but for few words. 

"I must not be seen here, " he muttered; "but to-morrow, in thesegardens, about this hour. I implore you, for the sake of yourfather, --his hopes, fortunes, his very life, --to guard the secret ofthis interview, --to meet me again. Adieu!"

He vanished amidst the trees, and was gone, --noiselessly, mysteriously, as he had come. 

CHAPTER IX. 

The last words of Peschiera were still ringing in Violante's ears whenHarley appeared in sight, and the sound of his voice dispelled the vagueand dreamy stupor which had crept over her senses. At that voice therereturned the consciousness of a mighty loss, the sting of an intolerableanguish. To meet Harley there, and thus, seemed impossible. She turnedabruptly away, and hurried towards the horse. Harley called to her byname, but she would not answer, and only quickened her steps. He pauseda moment in surprise, and then hastened after her. 

"Under what strange taboo am I placed?" said he, gayly, as he laid hishand on her shrinking arm. "I inquire for Helen, --she is ill, and cannotsee me. I come to sun myself in your presence, and you fly me as if godsand men had set their mark on my brow. Child! child! what is this? Youare weeping?"

"Do not stay me now, --do not speak to me, " answered Violante, throughher stifling sobs, as she broke from his hand and made towards thehouse. 

"Have you a grief, and under the shelter of my father's roof, --a griefthat you will not tell to me? Cruel!" cried Harley, with inexpressibletenderness of reproach in his soft tones. 

Violante could not trust herself to reply. Ashamed of her self-betrayal, softened yet more by his pleading voice, she could have prayed to theearth to swallow her. At length, checking her tears by an heroic effort, she said, almost calmly, "Noble friend, forgive me. I have no grief, believe me, which--which I can tell to you. I was but thinking of mypoor father when you came up; alarming myself about him, it may be, withvain, superstitious fears; and so--even a slight surprise--your abruptappearance has sufficed to make me thus weak and foolish; but I wish tosee my father!--to go home--home!"

"Your father is well, believe me, and pleased that you are here. Nodanger threatens him; and you, here, are safe. "

"I safe--and from what?"

Harley mused irresolute. He inclined to confide to her the danger whichher father had concealed; but had he the right to do so against herfather's will?

"Give me, " he said, "time to reflect, and to obtain permission tointrust you with a secret which, in my judgment, you should know. Meanwhile, this much I may say, that rather than you should incur thedanger that I believe he exaggerates, your father would have given you aprotector--even in Randal Leslie. "

Violante started. 

"But, " resumed Harley, with a calm, in which a certain deep mournfulnesswas apparent, unconsciously to himself, "but I trust you are reservedfor a fairer fate, and a nobler spouse. I have vowed to live henceforthin the common workday world. But for you, bright child, for you, I am adreamer still!"

Violante turned her eyes for one instant towards the melancholy speaker. The look thrilled to his heart. He bowed his face involuntarily. When helooked up, she had left his side. He did not this time attempt to followher, but moved away and plunged amidst the leafless trees. 

An hour afterwards he re-entered the house, and again sought to seeHelen. She had now recovered sufficiently to give him the interview herequested. 

He approached her with a grave and serious gentleness. "My dear Helen, "said he, "you have consented to be my wife, my life's mild companion;let it be soon--soon--for I need you. I need all the strength of thatholy tie. Helen, let me press you to fix the time. "

"I owe you too much, " answered Helen, looking down, "to have any willbut yours. But your mother, " she added, perhaps clinging to the idea ofsome reprieve, --"your mother has not yet--"

"My mother--true. I will speak first to her. You shall receive from myfamily all honour due to your gentle virtues. Helen, by the way, haveyou mentioned to Violante the bond between us?"

"No; that is, I fear I may have unguardedly betrayed it, against LadyLansmere's commands too--but--but--"

"So, Lady Lansmere forbade you to name it to Violante? This should notbe. I will answer for her permission to revoke that interdict. It is dueto Violante and to you. Tell your young friend all. Ah, Helen, if I amat times cold or wayward, bear with me--bear with me; for you love me, do you not?"

CHAPTER X. 

That same evening Randal heard from Levy (at whose house he stayed late)of that self-introduction to Violante which (thanks to his skeletonkey) Peschiera had contrived to effect; and the count seemed more thansanguine, --he seemed assured as to the full and speedy success of hismatrimonial enterprise. "Therefore, " said Levy, "I trust I may very sooncongratulate you on the acquisition of your family estates. "

"Strange!" answered Randal, "strange that my fortunes seem so bound upwith the fate of a foreigner like Beatrice di Negra and her connectionwith Frank Hazeldean. " He looked up at the clock as he spoke, and added, "Frank by this time has told his father of his engagement. "

"And you feel sure that the squire cannot be coaxed into consent?"

"No; but I feel sure that the squire will be so choleric at the firstintelligence, that Frank will not have the self-control necessary forcoaxing; and, perhaps, before the squire can relent upon this point, he may, by some accident, learn his grievances on another, which wouldexasperate him still more. "

"Ay, I understand, --the post-obit?" Randal nodded. 

"And what then?" asked Levy. 

"The next of kin to the lands of Hazeldean may have his day. "

The baron smiled. 

"You have good prospects in that direction, Leslie; look now to another. I spoke to you of the borough of Lansmere. Your patron, Audley Egerton, intends to stand for it. "

Randal's heart had of late been so set upon other and more avariciousschemes, that a seat in parliament had sunk into a secondary object;nevertheless his ambitious and all-grasping nature felt a bitter pang, when he heard that Egerton thus interposed between himself and anychance of advancement. 

"So, " he muttered sullenly, --"so this man, who pretends to be mybenefactor, squanders away the wealth of my forefathers, throws mepenniless on the world; and, while still encouraging me to exertion andpublic life, robs me himself of--"

"No!" interrupted Levy, "not robs you; we may prevent that. The Lansmereinterest is not so strong in the borough as Dick Avenel's. "

"But I cannot stand against Egerton. "

"Assuredly not, --you may stand with him. "

"How?"

"Dick Avenel will never suffer Egerton to come in; and though he cannot, perhaps, carry two of his own politics, he can split his votes uponyou. "

Randal's eyes flashed. He saw at a glance that if Avenel did notoverrate the relative strength of parties, his seat could be secured. 

"But, " he said, "Egerton has not spoken to me on such a subject; nor canyou expect that he would propose to me to stand with him, if he foresawthe chance of being ousted by the very candidate he himself introduced. "

"Neither he nor his party will anticipate that possibility. If he askyou, agree to stand, --leave the rest to me. "

"You must hate Egerton bitterly, " said Randal; "for I am not vain enoughto think that you thus scheme but from pure love to me. "

"The motives of men are intricate and complicated, " answered Levy, withunusual seriousness. "It suffices to the wise to profit by the actions, and leave the motives in shade. "

There was silence for some minutes. Then the two drew closer towardseach other, and began to discuss details in their joint designs. 

Randal walked home slowly. It was a cold moonlit night. Young idlersof his own years and rank passed him by on their way from the haunts ofsocial pleasure. They were yet in the first fair holiday of life. Life'sholiday had gone from him forever. Graver men, in the various callingsof masculine labour--professions, trade, the State--passed him also. Their steps might be sober, and their faces careworn; but no step hadthe furtive stealth of his, no face the same contracted, sinister, suspicious gloom. Only once, in a lonely thoroughfare, and on theopposite side of the way, fell a footfall, and glanced an eye, thatseemed to betray a soul in sympathy with Randal Leslie's. 

And Randal, who had heeded none of the other passengers by the way, as if instinctively, took note of this one. His nerves crisped atthe noiseless slide of that form, as it stalked on from lamp to lamp, keeping pace with his own. He felt a sort of awe, as if he had beheldthe wraith of himself; and even as he glanced suspiciously at thestranger, the stranger glanced at him. He was inexpressibly relievedwhen the figure turned down another street and vanished. 

That man was a felon, as yet undetected. Between him and his kind therestood but a thought, --a veil air-spun, but impassable, as the veil ofthe Image at Sais. 

And thus moved and thus looked Randal Leslie, a thing of dark and secretmischief, within the pale of the law, but equally removed from man bythe vague consciousness that at his heart lay that which the eyes of manwould abhor and loathe. Solitary amidst the vast city, and on throughthe machinery of Civilization, went the still spirit of IntellectualEvil. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Early the next morning Randal received two notes, one from Frank, written in great agitation, begging Randal to see and propitiate hisfather, whom he feared he had grievously offended; and then running off, rather incoherently, into protestations that his honour as well as hisaffections were engaged irrevocably to Beatrice, and that her, at least, he could never abandon. 

And the second note was from the squire himself--short, and far lesscordial than usual--requesting Mr. Leslie to call on him. 

Randal dressed in haste, and went first to Limmer's hotel. He found theparson with Mr. Hazeldean, and endeavouring in vain to soothe him. Thesquire had not slept all night, and his appearance was almost haggard. 

"Oho! Mr. Young Leslie, " said he, throwing himself back in his chairas Randal entered, "I thought you were a friend, --I thought you wereFrank's adviser. Explain, sir! explain!"

"Gently, my dear Mr. Hazeldean, " said the parson. "You do but surpriseand alarm Mr. Leslie. Tell him more distinctly what he has to explain. "

SQUIRE. --"Did you or did you not tell me or Mrs. Hazeldean that Frankwas in love with Violante Rickeybockey?"

RANDAL (as in amaze). --"I! Never, sir! I feared, on the contrary, thathe was somewhat enamoured of a very different person. I hinted at thatpossibility. I could not do more, for I did not know how far Frank'saffections were seriously engaged. And indeed, sir, Mrs. Hazeldean, though not encouraging the idea that your son could marry a foreignerand a Roman Catholic, did not appear to consider such objectionsinsuperable, if Frank's happiness were really at stake. "

Here the poor squire gave way to a burst of passion, that involvedin one tempest Frank, Randal, Harry herself, and the whole race offoreigners, Roman Catholics, and women. While the squire was stillincapable of hearing reason, the parson, taking aside Randal, convincedhimself that the whole affair, so far as Randal was concerned, had itsorigin in a very natural mistake; and that while that young gentlemanhad been hinting at Beatrice, Mrs. Hazeldean had been thinking ofViolante. With considerable difficulty he succeeded in conveying thisexplanation to the squire, and somewhat appeasing his wrath againstRandal. And the Dissimulator, seizing his occasion, then expressed somuch grief and astonishment at learning that matters had gone as far asthe parson informed him, --that Frank had actually proposed to Beatrice, been accepted, and engaged himself, before even communicating with hisfather; he declared so earnestly, that he could never conjecture suchevil, that he had had Frank's positive promise to take no step withoutthe sanction of his parents; he professed such sympathy with thesquire's wounded feelings, and such regret at Frank's involvement, thatMr. Hazeldean at last yielded up his honest heart to his consoler, and griping Randal's hand, said, "Well, well, I wronged you; beg yourpardon. What now is to be done?"

"Why, you cannot consent to this marriage, --impossible!" replied Randal;"and we must hope, therefore, to influence Frank by his sense of duty. "

"That's it, " said the squire; "for I'll not give way. Pretty pass thingshave come to, indeed! A widow, too, I hear. Artful jade! thought, nodoubt, to catch a Hazeldean of Hazeldean. My estates go to an outlandishPapistical set of mongrel brats! No, no, never!"

"But, " said the parson, mildly, "perhaps we may be unjustly prejudicedagainst this lady. We should have consented to Violante; why not to her?She is of good family?"

"Certainly, " said Randal. 

"And good character?"

Randal shook his head, and sighed. The squire caught him roughly by thearm--"Answer the parson!" cried he, vehemently. 

"Indeed, sir, I cannot speak disrespectfully of the character of awoman, --who may, too, become Frank's wife; and the world is ill-naturedand not to be believed. But you can judge for yourself, my dear Mr. Hazeldean. Ask your brother whether Madame di Negra is one whom he wouldadvise his nephew to marry. "

"My brother!" exclaimed the squire, furiously. "Consult my distantbrother on the affairs of my own son?"

"He is a man of the world, " put in Randal. 

"And of feeling and honour, " said the parson; "and, perhaps, throughhim, we may be enabled to enlighten Frank, and save him from whatappears to be the snare of an artful woman. "

"Meanwhile, " said Randal, "I will seek Frank, and do my best with him. Let me go now, --I will return in an hour or so. "

"I will accompany you, " said the parson. 

"Nay, pardon me, but I think we two young men can talk more openlywithout a third person, even so wise and kind as you. "

"Let Randal go, " growled the squire. And Randal went. He spent sometime with Frank, and the reader will easily divine how that time wasemployed. As he left Frank's lodgings, he found himself suddenly seizedby the squire himself. 

"I was too impatient to stay at home and listen to the parson'sprosing, " said Mr. Hazeldean, nervously. "I have shaken Dale off. Tellme what has passed. Oh, don't fear, --I'm a man, and can bear the worst. "

Randal drew the squire's arm within his, and led him into the adjacentpark. 

"My dear sir, " said he, sorrowfully, "this is very confidential whatI am about to say. I must repeat it to you, because, without suchconfidence, I see not how to advise you on the proper course to take. But if I betray Frank, it is for his good, and to his own father;--onlydo not tell him. He would never forgive me; it would forever destroy myinfluence over him. "

"Go on, go on, " gasped the squire; "speak out. I'll never tell theungrateful boy that I learned his secrets from another. "

"Then, " said Randal, "the secret of his entanglement with Madame diNegra is simply this: he found her in debt--nay, on the point of beingarrested--"

"Debt! arrested! Jezebel!"

"And in paying the debt himself, and saving her from arrest, heconferred on her the obligation which no woman of honour could acceptsave from an affianced husband. Poor Frank!--if sadly taken in, still wemust pity and forgive him!"

Suddenly, to Randal's great surprise, the squire's whole face brightenedup. 

"I see, I see!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "I have it, I haveit! 'T is an affair of money! I can buy her off. If she took money fromhim--the mercenary, painted baggage I--why, then, she'll take it fromme. I don't care what if costs--half my fortune--all! I'd be contentnever to see Hazeldean Hall again, if I could save my son, my own son, from disgrace and misery; for miserable he will be, when he knows he hasbroken my heart and his mother's. And for a creature like that! My boy, a thousand hearty thanks to you. Where does the wench live? I'll goto her at once. " And as he spoke, the squire actually pulled out hispocketbook, and began turning over and counting the bank-notes in it. 

Randal at first tried to combat this bold resolution on the part of thesquire; but Mr. Hazeldean had seized on it with all the obstinacy of hisstraightforward English mind. He cut Randal's persuasive eloquence offin the midst. 

"Don't waste your breath! I've settled it; and if you don't tell mewhere she lives, 't is easily found out, I suppose. "

Randal mused a moment. "After all, " thought he, "why not? He will besure so to speak as to enlist her pride against himself, and to irritateFrank to the utmost. Let him go. "

Accordingly he gave the information required; and, insisting with greatearnestness on the squire's promise not to mention to Madame di Negrahis knowledge of Frank's pecuniary aid (for that would betray Randalas the informant); and satisfying himself as he best might with thesquire's prompt assurance, "that he knew how to settle matters, withoutsaying why or wherefore, as long as he opened his purse wide enough, "he accompanied Mr. Hazeldean back into the streets, and there lefthim, --fixing an hour in the evening for an interview at Limmer's, and hinting that it would be best to have that interview without thepresence of the parson. 

"Excellent good man, " said Randal, "but not with sufficient knowledge ofthe world for affairs of this kind, which you understand so well. "

"I should think so, " quoth the squire, who had quite recovered hisgood-humour. "And the parson is as soft as buttermilk. We must be firmhere, --firm, sir. " And the squire struck the end of his stick on thepavement, nodded to Randal, and went on to May Fair as sturdily and asconfidently as if to purchase a prize cow at a cattle-show. 

CHAPTER XII. 

"Bring the light nearer, " said John Burley, --"nearer still. "

Leonard obeyed, and placed the candle on a little table by the sickman's bedside. 

Burley's mind was partially wandering; but there was method in hismadness. Horace Walpole said that "his stomach would survive all therest of him. " That which in Burley survived the last was his quaint, wild genius. He looked wistfully at the still flame of the candle: "Itlives ever in the air!" said he. 

"What lives ever?"

Burley's voice swelled, "Light!" He turned from Leonard, andagain contemplated the little flame. "In the fixed star, in theWill-o'-the-wisp, in the great sun that illumines half a world, or thefarthing rushlight by which the ragged student strains his eyes, --stillthe same flower of the elements! Light in the universe, thought inthe soul--Ay, ay, go on with the simile. My head swims. Extinguish thelight! You cannot; fool, it vanishes from your eye, but it is still inthe space. Worlds must perish, suns shrivel up, matter and spirit bothfall into nothingness, before the combinations whose union makes thatlittle flame which the breath of a babe can restore to darkness, shall lose the power to form themselves into light once more. Lose thepower!--no, the necessity: it is the one Must in creation. Ay, ay, verydark riddles grow clear now, --now when I could not cast up an additionsum in the baker's bill! What wise man denied that two and two madefour? Do they not make four? I can't answer him. But I could answer aquestion that some wise men have contrived to make much knottier. " Hesmiled softly, and turned his face for some minutes to the wall. 

This was the second night on which Leonard had watched by his bedside, and Burley's state had grown rapidly worse. He could not last many days, perhaps many hours. But he had evinced an emotion beyond mere delightat seeing Leonard again. He had since then been calmer, more himself. "Ifeared I might have ruined you by my bad example, " he said, with a touchof humour that became pathos as he added, "That idea preyed on me. "

"No, no; you did me great good. "

"Say that, --say it often, " said Burley, earnestly; "it makes my heartfeel so light. "

He had listened to Leonard's story with deep interest, and was fondof talking to him of little Helen. He detected the secret at the youngman's heart, and cheered the hopes that lay there, amidst fears andsorrows. Burley never talked seriously of his repentance; it was not inhis nature to talk seriously of the things which he felt solemnly. Buthis high animal spirits were quenched with the animal power that fedthem. Now, we go out of our sensual existence only when we are no longerenthralled by the Present, in which the senses have their realm. Thesensual being vanishes when Ave are in the Past or the Future. ThePresent was gone from Burley; he could no more be its slave and itsking. 

It was most touching to see how the inner character of this man unfoldeditself, as the leaves of the outer character fell off and withered, --acharacter no one would have guessed in him, an inherent refinement thatwas almost womanly; and he had all a woman's abnegation of self. Hetook the cares lavished on him so meekly. As the features of the oldman return in the stillness of death to the aspect of youth, --the lineseffaced, the wrinkles gone, --so, in seeing Burley now, you saw what hehad been in his spring of promise. But he himself saw only what he hadfailed to be, --powers squandered, life wasted. "I once beheld, " he said, "a ship in a storm. It was a cloudy, fitful day, and I could see theship with all its masts fighting bard for life and for death. Then camenight, dark as pitch, and I could only guess that the ship fought on. Towards the dawn the stars grew visible, and once more I saw the ship:it was a wreck, --it went down just as the stars shone forth. "

When he had made that allusion to himself, he sat very still for sometime, then he spread out his wasted hands, and gazed on them, and onhis shrunken limbs. "Good, " said he, laughing low; "these hands were toolarge and rude for handling the delicate webs of my own mechanism, and these strong limbs ran away with me. If I had been a sickly, punyfellow, perhaps my mind would have had fair play. There was too much ofbrute body here! Look at this hand now! You can see the light throughit! Good, good!"

Now, that evening, until he had retired to bed, Burley had beenunusually cheerful, and had talked with much of his old eloquence, ifwith little of his old humour. Amongst other matters, he had spoken withconsiderable interest of some poems and other papers in manuscript whichhad been left in the house by a former lodger, and which, the reader mayremember, Mrs. Goodyer had urged him in vain to read, in his last visitto her cottage. But then he had her husband Jacob to chat with, and thespirit bottle to finish, and the wild craving for excitement plucked histhoughts back to his London revels. Now poor Jacob was dead, and it wasnot brandy that the sick man drank from the widow's cruse; and Londonlay afar amidst its fogs, like a world resolved back into nebula. So, to please his hostess and distract his own solitary thoughts, he hadcondescended (just before Leonard found him out) to peruse the memorialsof a life obscure to the world, and new to his own experience of coarsejoys and woes. "I have been making a romance, to amuse myself, fromtheir contents, " said he. "They maybe of use to you, brother author. Ihave told Mrs. Goodyer to place them in your room. Amongst those papersis a sort of journal, --a woman's journal; it moved me greatly. A mangets into another world, strange to him as the orb of Sirius, if he cantransport himself into the centre of a woman's heart, and see thelife there, so wholly unlike our own. Things of moment to us, to it sotrivial; things trifling to us, to it so vast. There was this journal, in its dates reminding me of stormy events in my own existence, andgrand doings in the world's. And those dates there, chronicling but themysterious, unrevealed record of some obscure, loving heart! And inthat chronicle, O Sir Poet, there was as much genius, vigour of thought, vitality of being, poured and wasted, as ever kind friend will say waslavished on the rude outer world by big John Burley! Genius, genius! arewe all alike, then, save when we leash ourselves to some matter-of-factmaterial, and float over the roaring seas on a wooden plank or a herringtub?" And after he had uttered that cry of a secret anguish, John Burleyhad begun to show symptoms of growing fever and disturbed brain; andwhen they had got him into bed, he lay there muttering to himself, until, towards midnight, he had asked Leonard to bring the light nearerto him. 

So now he again was quiet, with his face turned towards the wall; andLeonard stood by the bedside sorrowfully, and Mrs. Goodyer, who did notheed Burley's talk, and thought only of his physical state, was dippingcloths into iced water to apply to his forehead. But as she approachedwith these, and addressed him soothingly, Burley raised himself on hisarm, and waved aside the bandages. "I do not need them, " said he, in acollected voice. "I am better now. I and that pleasant light understandone another, and I believe all it tells me. Pooh, pooh, I do not rave. "He looked so smilingly and so kindly into her face, that the poor woman, who loved him as her own son, fairly burst into tears. He drew hertowards him, and kissed her forehead. 

"Peace, old fool, " said he, fondly. "You shall tell anglers hereafterhow John Burley came to fish for the one-eyed perch which he nevercaught; and how, when he gave it up at the last, his baits all gone, andthe line broken amongst the weeds, you comforted the baffled man. Thereare many good fellows yet in the world who will like to know that poorBurley did not die on a dunghill. Kiss me. Come, boy, you too. Now, Godbless you, I should like to sleep. " His cheeks were wet with the tearsof both his listeners, and there was a moisture in his own eyes, which, nevertheless, beamed bright through the moisture. 

He laid himself down again, and the old woman would have withdrawn thelight. He moved uneasily. "Not that, " he murmured, --"light to the last!"and putting forth his wan hand, he drew aside the curtain so that thelight might fall full on his face. 

 [Every one remembers that Goethe's last words are said to have been, "More Light;" and perhaps what has occurred in the text may be supposed a plagiarism from those words. But, in fact, nothing is more common than the craving and demand for light a little before death. Let any consult his own sad experience in the last moments of those whose gradual close he has watched and tended. What more frequent than a prayer to open the shutters and let in the sun? What complaint more repeated and more touching than "that it is growing dark"? I once knew a sufferer, who did not then seem in immediate danger, suddenly order the sick room to be lit up as if for a gala. When this was told to the physician, he said gravely, "No worse sign. "]

In a few minutes he was asleep, breathing calmly and regularly as aninfant. 

The old woman wiped her eyes, and drew Leonard softly into the adjoiningroom, in which a bed had been made up for him. He had not left the housesince he had entered it with Dr. Morgan. "You are young, sir, " said she, with kindness, "and the young want sleep. Lie down a bit: I will callyou when he wakes. "

"No, I could not sleep, " said Leonard. "I will watch for you. "

The old woman shook her head. "I must see the last of him, sir; but Iknow he will be angry when his eyes open on me, for he has grown verythoughtful of others. "

"Ah, if he had but been, as thoughtful of himself!" murmured Leonard;and he seated himself by the table, on which, as he leaned his elbow, hedislodged some papers placed there. They fell to the ground with a dumb, moaning, sighing sound. --

"What is that?" said he, starting. 

The old woman picked up the manuscripts and smoothed them carefully. 

"Ah, sir, he bade me place these papers here. He thought they might keepyou from fretting about him, in case you would sit up and wake. And hehad a thought of me, too; for I have so pined to find out the poor younglady, who left them years ago. She was almost as dear to me as he is;dearer perhaps until now--when--when I am about to lose him!"

Leonard turned from the papers, without a glance at their contents: theyhad no interest for him at such a moment. The hostess went on, "Perhaps she is gone to heaven before him; she did not look like onelong for this world. She left us so suddenly. Many things of hersbesides these papers are still, here; but I keep them aired and dusted, and strew lavender over them, in case she ever come for them again. You never heard tell of her, did you, sir?" she added, with greatsimplicity, and dropping a half courtesy. 

"Of her--of whom?"

"Did not Mr. John tell you her name--dear, dear; Mrs. Bertram. "

Leonard started; the very name so impressed upon his memory by HarleyL'Estrange!

"Bertram!" he repeated. "Are you sure?"

"Oh, yes, sir! And many years after she had left us, and we had heard nomore of her, there came a packet addressed to her here, from over sea, sir. We took it in, and kept it, and John would break the seal, to knowif it would tell us anything about her; but it was all in a foreignlanguage like, --we could not read a word. "

"Have you the packet? Pray show it to me. It may be of the greatestvalue. To-morrow will do--I cannot think of that just now. Poor Burley!"

Leonard's manner indicated that he wished to talk no more, and to bealone. So Mrs. Goodyer left him, and stole back to Burley's room ontiptoe:

The young man remained in deep revery for some moments. "Light, " hemurmured. "How often 'Light' is the last word of those round whom theshades are gathering!" He moved, and straight on his view through thecottage lattice there streamed light indeed, --not the miserable ray litby a human hand, but the still and holy effulgence of a moonlit heaven. It lay broad upon the humble floors, pierced across the threshold of thedeath chamber, and halted clear amidst its shadows. 

Leonard stood motionless, his eye following the silvery silentsplendour. 

"And, " he said inly--"and does this large erring nature, marred by itsgenial faults, this soul which should have filled a land, as yon orb theroom, with a light that linked earth to heaven--does it pass away intothe dark, and leave not a ray behind? Nay, if the elements of light areever in the space, and when the flame goes out, return to the vital air, so thought once kindled lives forever around and about us, a part of ourbreathing atmosphere. Many a thinker, many a poet, may yet illumine theworld, from the thoughts which yon genius, that will have no name, gaveforth to wander through air, and recombine again in some new form oflight. "

Thus he went on in vague speculations, seeking, as youth enamouredof fame seeks too fondly, to prove that mind never works, howevererratically, in vain, and to retain yet, as an influence upon earth, the soul about to soar far beyond the atmosphere where the elements thatmake fame abide. Not thus had the dying man interpreted the endurance oflight and thought. 

Suddenly, in the midst of his revery, a loud cry broke on his ear. Heshuddered as he heard, and hastened forebodingly into the adjoiningroom. The old woman was kneeling by the bedside, and chafing Burley'shand, eagerly looking into his face. A glance sufficed to Leonard. Allwas over. Burley had died in sleep, --calmly, and without a groan. 

The eyes were half open, with that look of inexpressible softness whichdeath sometimes leaves; and still they were turned towards the light;and the light burned clear. 

Leonard closed tenderly the heavy lids; and as he covered the face, thelips smiled a serene farewell. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

We have seen Squire Hazeldean (proud of the contents of his pocketbook, and his knowledge of the mercenary nature of foreign women) set off onhis visit to Beatrice di Negra. Randal thus left, musing lone in thecrowded streets, resolved with astute complacency the probable resultsof Mr. Hazeldean's bluff negotiation; and convincing himself that one ofhis vistas towards Fortune was becoming more clear and clear, he turned, with the restless activity of some founder of destined cities in a newsettlement, to lop the boughs that cumbered and obscured the others. Fortruly, like a man in a vast Columbian forest, opening entangled space, now with the ready axe, now with the patient train that kindles theslower fire, this child of civilized life went toiling on againstsurrounding obstacles, resolute to destroy, but ever scheming toconstruct. And now Randal has reached Levy's dainty business-room, andis buried deep in discussion how to secure to himself, at the expenseof his patron, the representation of Lansmere, and how to complete thecontract which shall reannex to his forlorn inheritance some fragmentsof its ancient wealth. 

Meanwhile, Chance fought on his side in the boudoir of May Fair. Thesquire had found the marchesa at home, briefly introduced himself andhis business, told her she was mistaken if she had fancied she hadtaken in a rich heir in his son; that, thank Heaven, he could leave hisestates to his ploughman, should he so please, but that he was willingto do things liberally; and whatever she thought Frank was worth, he wasvery ready to pay for. 

At another time Beatrice would perhaps have laughed at this strangeaddress; or she might, in some prouder moment, have fired up with alla patrician's resentment and a woman's pride; but now her spirit wascrushed, her nerves shattered: the sense of her degraded position, ofher dependence on her brother, combined with her supreme unhappiness atthe loss of those dreams with which Leonard had for a while charmedher wearied waking life, --all came upon her. She listened; pale andspeechless; and the poor squire thought he was quietly advancingtowards a favourable result, when she suddenly burst into a passionof hysterical tears; and just at that moment Frank himself entered theroom. At the sight of his father, of Beatrice's grief, his sense offilial duty gave way. He was maddened by irritation, by the insultoffered to the woman he loved, which a few trembling words from herexplained to him, --maddened yet more by the fear that the insult hadlost her to him; warm words ensued between son and father, to close withthe peremptory command and vehement threat of the last. 

"Come away this instant, sir! Come with me, or before the day is over, Istrike you out of my will!"

The son's answer was not to his father; he threw himself at Beatrice'sfeet. 

"Forgive him; forgive us both--"

"What! you prefer that stranger to me, --to the inheritance ofHazeldean!" cried the squire, stamping his foot. 

"Leave your estates to whom you will; all that I care for in life ishere!"

The squire stood still a moment or so, gazing on his son with a strangebewildered marvel at the strength of that mystic passion, which nonenot labouring under its fearful charm can comprehend, which creates thesudden idol that no reason justifies, and sacrifices to its fatal shrinealike the Past and the Future. Not trusting himself to speak, the fatherdrew his hand across his eyes, and dashed away the bitter tearthat sprang from a swelling and indignant heart; then he uttered aninarticulate sound, and, finding his voice gone, moved away to the door, and left the house. 

He walked through the streets, bearing his head very erect, as a proudman does when deeply wounded, and striving to shake off some affectionthat he deems a weakness; and his trembling nervous fingers fumbled atthe button of his coat, trying to tighten the garment across his chest, as if to confirm a resolution that still sought to struggle out of therevolting heart. 

Thus he went on, and the reader, perhaps, will wonder whither; and thewonder may not lessen when he finds the squire come to a dead pause inGrosvenor Square, and at the portico of his "distant brother's" statelyhouse. 

At the squire's brief inquiry whether Mr. Egerton was at home, theporter summoned the groom of the chambers; and the groom of thechambers, seeing a stranger, doubted whether his master was not engaged, but would take in the stranger's card and see. 

"Ay, ay, " muttered the squire, "this is true relationship!--my childprefers a stranger to me; why should I complain that I am a stranger ina brother's house? Sir, " added the squire aloud, and very meekly--"sir, please to say to your master that I am William Hazeldean. "

The servant bowed low, and without another word conducted the visitorinto the statesman's library, and announcing Mr. Hazeldean, closed thedoor. 

Audley was seated at his desk, the grim iron boxes still at his feet, but they were now closed and locked. And the ex-minister was no longerlooking over official documents; letters spread open before him of fardifferent nature; in his hand there lay a long lock of fair silken hair, on which his eyes were fixed sadly and intently. He started at the soundof his visitor's name, and the tread of the squire's stalwart footstep;and mechanically thrust into his bosom the relic of younger and warmeryears, keeping his hand to his heart, which beat loud with disease underthe light pressure of that golden hair. 

The two brothers stood on the great man's lonely hearth, facing eachother in silence, and noting unconsciously the change made in eachduring the long years in which they had never met. 

The squire, with his portly size, his hardy sunburned cheeks, thepartial baldness of his unfurrowed open forehead, looked his fullage, --deep into middle life. Unmistakably he seemed the pater familias, the husband and the father, the man of social domestic ties. But aboutAudley (really some few years junior to the squire), despite the linesof care on his handsome face, there still lingered the grace of youth. Men of cities retain youth longer than those of the country, --a remarkwhich Buffon has not failed to make and to account for. Neither didEgerton betray the air of the married man; for ineffable solitarinessseemed stamped upon one whose private life had long been so stern asolitude. No ray from the focus of Home played round that reserved, unjoyous, melancholy brow. In a word, Audley looked still the man forwhom some young female heart might fondly sigh; and not the less becauseof the cold eye and compressed lip, which challenged interest even whileseeming to repel it. 

Audley was the first to speak, and to put forth the right hand, whichhe stole slowly from its place at his breast, on which the lock of hairstill stirred to and fro at the heave of the labouring heart. "William, "said he, with his rich deep voice, "this is kind. You are come to seeme, now that men say that I am fallen. The minister you censured is nomore; and you see again the brother. "

The squire was softened at once by this address. He shook heartily thehand tendered to him; and then, turning away his head, with an honestconviction that Audley ascribed to him a credit which he did notdeserve, he said, "No, no, Audley; I am more selfish than you think me. I have come--I have come to ask your advice, --no, not exactly that--youropinion. But you are busy?"

"Sit down, William. Old days were coming over me when you entered; daysearlier still return now, --days, too, that leave no shadow when theirsuns are set. "

The proud man seemed to think he had said too much. His practical naturerebuked the poetic sentiment and phrase. He re-collected himself, andadded, more coldly, "You would ask my opinion? What on? Some publicmatter--some parliamentary bill that may affect your property?"

"Am I such a mean miser as that? Property--property? what does propertymatter, when a man is struck down at his own hearth? Property, indeed!But you have no child--happy brother!"

"Ay, ay; as you say, I am a happy man; childless! Has your sondispleased you? I have heard him well spoken of, too. "

"Don't talk of him. Whether his conduct be good or ill is my affair, "resumed the poor father, with a testy voice--jealous alike of Audley'spraise or blame of his rebellious son. Then he rose a moment, and madea strong gulp, as if for air; and laying his broad brown hand on hisbrother's shoulder, said, "Randal Leslie tells me you are wise, --aconsummate man of the world. No doubt you are so. And Parson Dale tellsme that he is sure you have warm feelings, --which I take to be a strangething for one who has lived so long in London, and has no wife and nochild, a widower, and a member of parliament, --for a commercial city, too. Never smile; it is no smiling matter with me. You know a foreignwoman, called Negra or Negro; not a blackymoor, though, by anymeans, --at least on the outside of her. Is she such a woman as a plaincountry gentleman would like his only son to marry--ay or no?"

"No, indeed, " answered Audley, gravely; "and I trust your son willcommit no action so rash. Shall I see him, or her? Speak, my dearWilliam. What would you have me do?"

"Nothing; you have said enough, " replied the squire, gloomily; and hishead sank on his breast. 

Audley took his hand, and pressed it fraternally. "William, " said thestatesman, "we have been long estranged; but I do not forget that whenwe last met, at--at Lord Lansmere's house, and when I took you aside, and said, 'William, if I lose this election, I must resign all chance ofpublic life; my affairs are embarrassed. I would not accept money fromyou, --I would seek a profession, and you can help me there, ' you divinedmy meaning, and said, 'Take orders; the Hazeldean living is just vacant. I will get some one to hold it till you are ordained. ' I do not forgetthat. Would that I had thought earlier of so serene an escape from allthat then tormented me! My lot might have been far happier. "

The squire eyed Audley with a surprise that broke forth from his moreabsorbing emotions. "Happier! Why, all things have prospered with you;and you are rich enough now; and--you shake your head. Brother, is itpossible! do you want money? Pooh, not accept money from your mother'sson!--stuff!" Out came the squire's pocketbook. Audley put it gentlyaside. 

"Nay, " said he, "I have enough for myself; but since you seek and speakwith me thus affectionately, I will ask you one favour. Should I diebefore I can provide for my wife's kinsman, Randal Leslie, as I couldwish, will you see to his fortunes, so far as you can, without injury toothers, --to your own son?"

"My son! He is provided for. He has the Casino estate--much good may itdo him! You have touched on the very matter that brought me here. Thisboy, Randal Leslie, seems a praiseworthy lad, and has Hazeldean blood inhis veins. You have taken him up because he is connected with your latewife. Why should I not take him up, too, when his grandmother was aHazeldean? My main object in calling was to ask what you mean to do forhim; for if you do not mean to provide for him, why, I will, as in dutybound. So your request comes at the right time; I think of altering mywill. I can put him into the entail, besides a handsome legacy. You aresure he is a good lad, --and it will please you too, Audley!"

"But not at the expense of your son. And stay, William: as to thisfoolish marriage with Madame di Negra, --who told you Frank meant to takesuch a step?"

"He told me himself; but it is no matter. Randal and I both did all wecould to dissuade him; and Randal advised me to come to you. "

"He has acted generously, then, our kinsman Randal--I am glad to hearit, " said Audley, his brow somewhat clearing. "I have no influencewith this lady; but, at least, I can counsel her. Do not consider themarriage fixed because a young man desires it. Youth is ever hot andrash. "

"Your youth never was, " retorted the squire, bluntly. 

"You married well enough, I'm sure. I will say one thing for you: youhave been, to my taste, a bad politician--beg pardon--but you werealways a gentleman. You would never have disgraced your family andmarried a--"

"Hush!" interrupted Egerton, gently. "Do not make matters worse thanthey are. Madame di Negra is of high birth in her own country; and ifscandal--"

"Scandal!" cried the squire, shrinking, and turning pale. "Are youspeaking of the wife of a Hazeldean? At least she shall never sit by thehearth at which now sits his mother; and whatever I may do for Frank, her children shall not succeed. No mongrel cross-breed shall kennel inEnglish Hazeldean. Much obliged to you, Audley, for your good feeling;glad to have seen you; and hark ye, you startled me by that shake ofyour head, when I spoke of your wealth; and from what you say aboutRandal's prospects, I guess that you London gentlemen are not sothrifty as we are. You shall let me speak. I say again, that I have somethousands quite at your service. And though you are not a Hazeldean, still you are my mother's son; and now that I am about to alter my will, I can as well scratch in the name of Egerton as that of Leslie. Cheerup, cheer up: you are younger than I am, and you have no child; so youwill live longer than I shall. "

"My dear brother, " answered Audley, "believe me, I shall never live towant your aid. And as to Leslie, add to the L5, 000 I mean to give him anequal sum in your will, and I shall feel that he has received justice. "

Observing that the squire, though he listened attentively, made noready answer, Audley turned the subject again to Frank; and with theadroitness of a man of the world, backed by cordial sympathy in hisbrother's distress, he pleaded so well Frank's lame cause, urged sogently the wisdom of patience and delay, and the appeal to filialfeeling rather than recourse to paternal threats, that the squire grewmollified in spite of himself, and left his brother's house a much lessangry and less doleful man. 

Mr. Hazeldean was still in the Square, when he came upon Randalhimself, who was walking with a dark-whiskered, showy gentleman, towardsEgerton's house. Randal and the gentleman exchanged a hasty whisper, andthe former then exclaimed, "What, Mr. Hazeldean, have you just left your brother's house? Is itpossible?"

"Why, you advised me to go there, and I did. I scarcely knew what I wasabout. I am very glad I did go. Hang politics! hang the landed interest!what do I care for either now?"

"Foiled with Madame di Negra?" asked Randal, drawing the squire aside. 

"Never speak of her again!" cried the squire, fiercely. "And as to thatungrateful boy--but I don't mean to behave harshly to him, --he shallhave money enough to keep her if he likes, keep her from coming to me, keep him, too, from counting on my death, and borrowing post-obits onthe Casino--for he'll be doing that next--no, I hope I wrong him there;I have been too good a father for him to count on my death already. After all, " continued the squire, beginning to relax, "as Audley says, the marriage is not yet made; and if the woman has taken him in, he isyoung, and his heart is warm. Make yourself easy, my boy. I don't forgethow kindly you took his part; and before I do anything rash, I'll atleast consult with his poor mother. "

Randal gnawed his pale lip, and a momentary cloud of disappointmentpassed over his face. 

"True, sir, " said he, gently; "true, you must not be rash. Indeed, Iwas thinking of you and poor dear Frank at the very moment I met you. Itoccurred to me whether we might not make Frank's very embarrassments areason to induce Madame di Negra to refuse him; and I was on my way toMr. Egerton, in order to ask his opinion, in company with the gentlemanyonder. "

"Gentleman yonder. Why should he thrust his long nose into my familyaffairs? Who the devil is he?"

"Don't ask, sir. Pray let me act. "

But the squire continued to eye askant the dark-whiskered personage thusinterposed between himself and his son, and who waited patiently afew yards in the rear, carelessly readjusting the camellia in hisbutton-hole. 

"He looks very outlandish. Is he a foreigner too?" asked the squire atlast. 

"No, not exactly. However, he knows all about Frank's embarrassments;and--"

"Embarrassments! what, the debt he paid for that woman? How did he raisethe money?"

"I don't know, " answered Randal; "and that is the reason I asked BaronLevy to accompany me to Egerton's, that he might explain in private whatI have no reason--"

"Baron Levy!" interrupted the squire. "Levy, Levy--I have heard of aLevy who has nearly ruined my neighbour Thornhill, --a money-lender. Zounds! is that the man who knows my son's affairs? I'll soon learn, sir. "

Randal caught hold of the squire's arm: "Stop, stop; if you reallyinsist upon learning more about Frank's debts, you must not appeal toBaron Levy directly, and as Frank's father: he will not answer you. Butif I present you to him as a mere acquaintance of mine, and turn theconversation, as if carelessly, upon Frank, why, since, in the Londonworld, such matters are never kept secret, except from the parents ofyoung men, I have no doubt he will talk out openly. "

"Manage it as you will, " said the squire. 

Randal took Mr. Hazeldean's arm, and joined Levy--"A friend of mine fromthe country, Baron. " Levy bowed profoundly, and the three walked slowlyon. 

"By the by, " said Randal, pressing significantly upon Levy's arm, "my friend has come to town upon the somewhat unpleasant business ofsettling the debts of another, --a young man of fashion, --a relation ofhis own. No one, sir (turning to the squire), could so ably assist youin such arrangements as could Baron Levy. "

BARON (modestly, and with a moralizing air). --"I have some experience insuch matters, and I hold it a duty to assist the parents and relationsof young men who, from want of reflection, often ruin themselves forlife. I hope the young gentleman in question is not in the hands of theJews?"

RANDAL. --"Christians are as fond of good interest for their money asever the Jews can be. "

BARON. --"Granted, but they have not always so much money to lend. Thefirst thing, sir" (addressing the squire), --"the first thing for you todo is to buy up such of your relation's bills and notes of hand as maybe in the market. No doubt we can get them a bargain, unless the youngman is heir to some property that may soon be his in the course ofnature. "

RANDAL. --"Not soon--Heaven forbid! His father is still a youngman, --a fine healthy man, " leaning heavily on Levy's arm; "and as topost-obits--"

BARON. --"Post-obits on sound security cost more to buy up, howeverhealthy the obstructing relative may be. "

RANDAL. --"I should hope that there are not many sons who can calculate, in cold blood, on the death of their fathers. "

BARON. --"Ha, ha! He is young, our friend Randal; eh, sir?"

RANDAL. --"Well, I am not more scrupulous than others, I dare say; and Ihave often been pinched hard for money, but I would go barefoot ratherthan give security upon a father's grave! I can imagine nothing morelikely to destroy natural feeling, nor to instil ingratitude andtreachery into the whole character, than to press the hand of aparent, and calculate when that hand may be dust; than to sit down withstrangers and reduce his life to the measure of an insurance-table;than to feel difficulties gathering round one, and mutter in fashionableslang, 'But it will be all well if the governor would but die. ' And hewho has accustomed himself to the relief of post-obits must graduallyharden his mind to all this. "

The squire groaned heavily; and had Randal proceeded another sentence inthe same strain, the squire would have wept outright. "But, " continuedRandal, altering the tone of his voice, "I think that our young friend, of whom we were talking just now, Levy, before this gentleman joined us, has the same opinions as myself on this head. He may accept bills, buthe would never sign post-obits. "

BARON (who, with the apt docility of a managed charger to the touch ofa rider's hand, had comprehended and complied with each quick sign ofRandal's). --"Pooh! the young fellow we are talking of? Nonsense. He would not be so foolish as to give five times the percentage heotherwise might. Not sign post-obits! Of course he has signed one. "

RANDAL. --"Hist! you mistake, you mistake!"

SQUIRE (leaving Randal's arm and seizing Levy's). --"Were you speaking ofFrank Hazeldean?"

BARON. --"My dear sir, excuse me, I never mention names beforestrangers. "

SQUIRE. --"Strangers again! Man, I am the boy's father Speak out, sir, "and his hand closed on Levy's arm with the strength of an iron vice. 

BARON. --"Gently; you hurt me, sir: but I excuse your feelings. Randal, you are to blame for leading me into this indiscretion; but I begto assure Mr. Hazeldean, that though his son has been a littleextravagant--"

RANDAL. --"Owing chiefly to the arts of an abandoned woman. "

BARON. --"Of an abandoned woman;--still he has shown more prudence thanyou would suppose; and this very post-obit is a proof of it. A simpleact of that kind has enabled him to pay off bills that were running ontill they would have ruined even the Hazeldean estate; whereas a chargeon the reversion of the Casino--"

SQUIRE. --"He has done it then? He has signed a postobit?"

RANDAL. --"No, no, Levy must be wrong. "

BARON. --"My dear Leslie, a man of Mr. Hazeldean's time of life cannothave your romantic boyish notions. He must allow that Frank has actedin this like a lad of sense--very good head for business has my youngfriend Frank! And the best thing Mr. Hazeldean can do is quietly tobuy up the post-obit, and thus he will place his son henceforth in hispower. "

SQUIRE. --"Can I see the deed with my own eyes?"

BARON. --"Certainly, or how could you be induced to buy it up? But onone condition; you must not betray me to your son. And, indeed, take myadvice, and don't say a word to him on the matter. "

SQUIRE. --"Let me see it, let me see it with my own eyes! His mother elsewill never believe it--nor will I. "

BARON. --"I can call on you this evening. "

SQUIRE. --"Now, now!"

BARON. --"You can spare me, Randal; and you yourself can open to Mr. Egerton the other affair respecting Lansmere. No time should be lost, lest L'Estrange suggest a candidate. "

RANDAL (whispering). --"Never mind me. This is more important. "(Aloud)--"Go with Mr. Hazeldean. My dear kind friend" (to the squire), "do not let this vex you so much. After all, it is what nine young menout of ten would do in the same circumstances. And it is best you shouldknow it; you may save Frank from further ruin, and prevent, perhaps, this very marriage. "

"We will see, " exclaimed the squire, hastily. "Now, Mr. Levy, come. "

Levy and the squire walked on, not arm in arm, but side by side. Randalproceeded to Egerton's house. 

"I am glad to see you, Leslie, " said the ex-minister. "What is it I haveheard? My nephew, Frank Hazeldean, proposes to marry Madame di Negraagainst his father's consent? How could you suffer him to entertain anidea so wild? And how never confide it to me?"

RANDAL. --"My dear Mr. Egerton, it is only to-day that I was informed ofFrank's engagement. I have already seen him, and expostulated in vain;till then, though I knew your nephew admired Madame di Negra, I couldnever suppose he harboured a serious intention. "

EGERTON. --"I must believe you, Randal. I will myself see Madame diNegra, though I have no power, and no right, to dictate to her. Ihave but little time for all such private business. The dissolution ofparliament is so close at hand. "

RANDAL (looking down). --"It is on that subject that I wished to speakto you, sir. You think of standing for Lansmere. Well, Baron Levy hassuggested to me an idea that I could not, of course, even countenance, till I had spoken to you. It seems that he has some acquaintance withthe state of parties in that borough. He is informed that it is not onlyas easy to bring in two of our side as to carry one, but that it wouldmake your election still more safe not to fight single-handed againsttwo opponents; that if canvassing for yourself alone, you could notcarry a sufficient number of plumper votes; that split votes would gofrom you to one or other of the two adversaries; that, in a word, itis necessary to pair you with a colleague. If it really be so, you ofcourse will learn best from your own Committee; but should they concurin the opinion Baron Levy has formed, do I presume too much on yourkindness to deem it possible that you might allow me to be the secondcandidate on your side? I should not say this, but that Levy told me youhad some wish to see me in parliament, amongst the supporters of yourpolicy. And what other opportunity can occur? Here the cost of carryingtwo would be scarcely more than that of carrying one. And Levy says theparty would subscribe for my election; you, of course, would refuseall such aid for your own; and indeed, with your great name, andLord Lansmere's interest, there can be little beyond the strict legalexpenses. "

As Randal spoke thus at length, he watched anxiously his patron'sreserved, unrevealing countenance. 

EGERTON (dryly). --"I will consider. You may safely leave in my hands anymatter connected with your ambition and advancement. I have before toldyou I hold it a duty to do all in my power for the kinsman of my latewife, for one whose career I undertook to forward, for one whom honourhas compelled to share in my own political reverses. "

Here Egerton rang the bell for his hat and gloves, and walking into thehall, paused at the street door. There beckoning to Randal, he said, slowly, "You seem intimate with Baron Levy; I caution you againsthim, --a dangerous acquaintance, first to the purse, next to the honour. "

RANDAL. --"I know it, sir; and am surprised myself at the acquaintancethat has grown up between us. Perhaps its cause is in his respect foryourself. "

EGERTON. --"Tut. "

RANDAL. --"Whatever it be, he contrives to obtain a singular hold overone's mind, even where, as in my case, he has no evident interest toserve. How is this? It puzzles me!"

EGERTON. --"For his interest, it is most secured where he suffers it tobe least evident; for his hold over the mind, it is easily accountedfor. He ever appeals to two temptations, strong with all men, --Avariceand Ambition. Good-day. "

RANDAL. --"Are you going to Madame di Negra's? Shall I not accompany you?Perhaps I may be able to back your own remonstrances. "

EGERTON. --"No, I shall not require you. "

RANDAL. --"I trust I shall hear the result of your interview? I feel somuch interested in it. Poor Frank!"

Audley nodded. "Of course, of course. "

CHAPTER XIV. 

On entering the drawing-room of Madame di Negra, the peculiar charmwhich the severe Audley Egerton had been ever reputed to possess withwomen would have sensibly struck one who had hitherto seen him chieflyin his relations with men in the business-like affairs of life. It wasa charm in strong contrast to the ordinary manners of those who areemphatically called "Ladies' men. " No artificial smile, no conventional, hollow blandness, no frivolous gossip, no varnish either of ungenialgayety or affected grace. The charm was in a simplicity that unbent moreinto kindness than it did with men. Audley's nature, whatever itsfaults and defects, was essentially masculine; and it was the senseof masculine power that gave to his voice a music when addressing thegentler sex, and to his manner a sort of indulgent tenderness thatappeared equally void of insincerity and presumption. 

Frank had been gone about half-an-hour, and Madame di Negra was scarcelyrecovered from the agitation into which she had been thrown by theaffront from the father and the pleading of the son. 

Egerton took her passive hand cordially, and seated himself by her side. 

"My dear marchesa, " I said he, "are we then likely to be nearconnections? And can you seriously contemplate marriage with my youngnephew, Frank Hazeldean? You turn away. Ah, my fair friend, there arebut two inducements to a free woman to sign away her liberty at thealtar. I say a free woman, for widows are free, and girls are not. Theseinducements are, first, worldly position; secondly, love. Which of thesemotives can urge Madame di Negra to marry Mr. Frank Hazeldeani?"

"There are other motives than those you speak of, --the need ofprotection, the sense of solitude, the curse of dependence, gratitudefor honourable affection. But you men never know women!"

"I grant that you are right there, --we never do; neither do women everknow men. And yet each sex contrives to dupe and to fool the other!Listen to me. I have little acquaintance with my nephew, but I allow heis a handsome young gentleman, with whom a handsome young lady in herteens might fall in love in a ball-room. But you, who have known thehigher order of our species, you who have received the homage of men, whose thoughts and mind leave the small talk of drawing-room triflersso poor and bald, you cannot look me in the face and say that it isany passion resembling love which you feel for my nephew. And as toposition, it is right that I should inform you that if he marry youhe will have none. He may risk his inheritance. You will receive nocountenance from his parents. You will be poor, but not free. Youwill not gain the independence you seek for. The sight of a vacant, discontented face in that opposite chair will be worse than solitude. And as to grateful affection, " added the man of the world, "it is apolite synonym for tranquil indifference. "

"Mr. Egerton, " said Beatrice, "people say you are made of bronze. Didyou ever feel the want of a home?"

"I answer you frankly, " replied the statesman, "if I had not felt it, do you think I should have been, and that I should be to the last, thejoyless drudge of public life? Bronze though you call my nature, itwould have melted away long since like wax in the fire, if I had satidly down and dreamed of a home!"

"But we women, " answered Beatrice, with pathos, "have no public life, and we do idly sit down and dream. Oh, " she continued, after a shortpause, and clasping her hands firmly together, "you think me worldly, grasping, ambitious; how different my fate had been had I known ahome!--known one whom I could love and venerate; known one whose smileswould have developed the good that was once within me, and the fear ofwhose rebuking or sorrowful eye would have corrected what is evil. "

"Yet, " answered Audley, "nearly all women in the great world have hadthat choice once in their lives, and nearly all have thrown it away. Howfew of your rank really think of home when they marry! how few ask tovenerate as well as to love! and how many, of every rank, when thehome has been really gained, have wilfully lost its shelter, --some inneglectful weariness, some from a momentary doubt, distrust, caprice, a wild fancy, a passionate fit, a trifle, a straw, a dream! True, youwomen are ever dreamers. Commonsense, common earth, is above or belowyour comprehension. "

Both now are silent. Audley first roused himself with a quick, writhingmovement. "We two, " said he, smiling half sadly, half cynically, --"wetwo must not longer waste time in talking sentiment. We know bothtoo well what life, as it has been made for us by our faults or ourmisfortunes, truly is. And once again, I entreat you to pause beforeyou yield to the foolish suit of my foolish nephew. Rely on it, you willeither command a higher offer for your prudence to accept; or, if youneeds must sacrifice rank and fortune, you, with your beauty and yourromantic heart, will see one who, at least for a fair holiday season(if human love allows no more), can repay you for the sacrifice. FrankHazeldean never can. "

Beatrice turned away to conceal the tears that rushed to her eyes. 

"Think over this well, " said Audley, in the softest tones of his mellowvoice. "Do you remember that when you first came to England, I told youthat neither wedlock nor love had any lures for me? We grew friends uponthat rude avowal, and therefore I now speak to you like some sage ofold, wise because standing apart and aloof from all the affections andties that mislead our wisdom. Nothing but real love--how rare it is; hasone human heart in a million ever known it?--nothing but real love canrepay us for the loss of freedom, the cares and fears of poverty, thecold pity of the world that we both despise and respect. And all these, and much more, follow the step you would inconsiderately take, animprudent marriage. "

"Audley Egerton, " said Beatrice, lifting her dark, moistened eyes, "yougrant that real love does compensate for an imprudent marriage. Youspeak as if you had known such love--you! Can it be possible?"

"Real love--I thought that I knew it once. Looking back with remorse, I should doubt it now but for one curse that only real love, when lost, has the power to leave evermore behind it. "

"What is that?"

"A void here, " answered Egerton, striking his heart. "Desolation!--Adieu!"

He rose and left the room. 

"Is it, " murmured Egerton, as he pursued his way through thestreets--"is it that, as we approach death, all the first fair feelingsof young life come back to us mysteriously? Thus I have heard, or read, that in some country of old, children scattering flowers preceded afuneral bier. "

CHAPTER XV. 

And so Leonard stood beside his friend's mortal clay, and watched, inthe ineffable smile of death, the last gleam which the soul had leftthere; and so, after a time, he crept back to the adjoining room with astep as noiseless as if he had feared to disturb the dead. Wearied ashe was with watching, he had no thought of sleep. He sat himself down bythe little table, and leaned his face on his hand, musing sorrowfully. Thus time passed. He heard the clock from below strike the hours. In thehouse of death the sound of a clock becomes so solemn. The soul that wemiss has gone so far beyond the reach of time! A cold, superstitiousawe gradually stole over the young man. He shivered, and lifted his eyeswith a start, half scornful, half defying. The moon was gone; the gray, comfortless dawn gleamed through the casement, and carried its raw, chilling light through the open doorway into the death-room. And there, near the extinguished fire, Leonard saw the solitary woman, weeping low;and watching still. He returned to say a word of comfort; she pressedhis hand, but waved him away. He understood. She did not wish for othercomfort than her quiet relief of tears. Again, he returned to hisown chamber, and his eye this time fell upon the papers which he hadhitherto disregarded. What made his heart stand still, and the bloodthen rush so quickly through his veins? Why did he seize upon thosepapers with so tremulous a hand, then lay them down, pause, as ifto nerve himself, and look so eagerly again? He recognized thehandwriting, --those fair, clear characters, so peculiar in theirwoman-like delicacy and grace, the same as in the wild, pathetic poems, the sight of which had made an era in his boyhood. From these pages theimage of the mysterious Nora rose once more before him. He felt that hewas with a mother. He went back, and closed the door gently, as if witha jealous piety, to exclude each ruder shadow from the world of spirits, and be alone with that mournful ghost. For a thought written in warm, sunny life, and then suddenly rising up to us, when the hand that tracedand the heart that cherished it are dust, is verily as a ghost. It is alikeness struck off of the fond human being, and surviving it. Far moretruthful than bust or portrait, it bids us see the tear flow, and thepulse beat. What ghost can the churchyard yield to us like the writingof the dead?

The bulk of the papers had been once lightly sewn to each other; theyhad come undone, perhaps in Burley's rude hands, but their orderwas easily apparent. Leonard soon saw that they formed a kind ofjournal, --not, indeed, a regular diary, nor always relating to thethings of the day. There were gaps in time--no attempt at successivenarrative; sometimes, instead of prose, a hasty burst of verse, gushingevidently from the heart; sometimes all narrative was left untold, and yet, as it were, epitomized by a single burning line--a singleexclamation--of woe or joy! Everywhere you saw records of a natureexquisitely susceptible; and, where genius appeared, it was so artless, that you did not call it genius, but emotion. At the onset the writerdid not speak of herself in the first person. The manuscript opened withdescriptions and short dialogues, carried on by persons to whose namesonly initial letters were assigned, all written in a style of simpleinnocent freshness, and breathing of purity and happiness, like a dawnof spring. Two young persons, humbly born, a youth and a girl, the laststill in childhood, each chiefly self-taught, are wandering on Sabbathevenings among green dewy fields, near the busy town, in which labourawhile is still. Few words pass between them. You see at once, thoughthe writer does not mean to convey it, how far beyond the scope of hermale companion flies the heavenward imagination of the girl. It is hewho questions, it is she who answers; and soon there steals upon you, as you read, the conviction that the youth loves the girl, and loves invain. All in this writing, though terse, is so truthful! Leonard, in theyouth, already recognizes the rude imperfect scholar, the village bard, Mark Fairfield. Then there is a gap in description; but there are shortweighty sentences, which show deepening thought, increasing years, inthe writer. And though the innocence remains, the happiness begins to beless vivid on the page. 

Now, insensibly, Leonard finds that there is a new phase in the writer'sexistence. Scenes no longer of humble, workday rural life surround her, and a fairer and more dazzling image succeeds to the companion of theSabbath eves. This image Nora evidently loves to paint, --it is akin toher own genius; it captivates her fancy; it is an image that she (inbornartist, and conscious of her art) feels to belong to a brighter andhigher school of the Beautiful. And yet the virgin's heart is notawakened, --no trace of the heart yet there! The new image thusintroduced is one of her own years, perhaps; nay, it may be youngerstill, for it is a boy that is described, with his profuse fair curls, and eyes new to grief, and confronting the sun as a young eagle's; withveins so full of the wine of life, that they overflow into every joyouswhim; with nerves quiveringly alive to the desire of glory; with thefrank generous nature, rash in its laughing scorn of the world, whichit has not tried. Who was this boy? it perplexed Leonard. He feared toguess. Soon, less told than implied, you saw that this companionship, however it chanced, brings fear and pain on the writer. Again (asbefore, with Mark Fairfield), there is love on the one side and not onthe other; with her there is affectionate, almost sisterly, interest, admiration, gratitude, but a something of pride or of terror that keepsback love. 

Here Leonard's interest grew intense. Were there touches by whichconjecture grew certainty; and he recognized, through the lapse ofyears, the boy-lover in his own generous benefactor?

Fragments of dialogue now began to reveal the suit of an ardent, impassioned nature, and the simple wonder and strange alarm of alistener who pitied but could not sympathize. Some great worldlydistinction of rank between the two became visible, --that distinctionseemed to arm the virtue and steel the affections of the lowlier born. Then a few sentences, half blotted out with tears, told of wounded andhumbled feelings, --some one invested with authority, as if the suitor'sparent, had interfered, questioned, reproached, counselled. And it wasevident that the suit was not one that dishonoured; it wooed to flight, but still to marriage. 

And now these sentences grew briefer still, as with the decision of astrong resolve. And to these there followed a passage so exquisite, thatLeonard wept unconsciously as he read. It was the description of avisit spent at home previous to some sorrowful departure. He caught theglimpse of a proud and vain, but a tender wistful mother, of a father'sfonder but less thoughtful love. And then came a quiet soothing scenebetween the girl and her first village lover, ending thus: "So she putM. 's hand into her sister's, and said, 'You loved me through the fancy, love her with the heart, ' and left them comprehending each other, andbetrothed. "

Leonard sighed. He understood now how Mark Fairfield saw, in the homelyfeatures of his unlettered wife, the reflection of the sister's soul andface. 

A few words told the final parting, --words that were a picture. The longfriendless highway, stretching on--on--towards the remorseless city, and the doors of home opening on the desolate thoroughfare, and the oldpollard-tree beside the threshold, with the ravens wheeling round it andcalling to their young. He too had watched that threshold from the samedesolate thoroughfare. He too had heard the cry of the ravens. Thencame some pages covered with snatches of melancholy verse, or somereflections of dreamy gloom. 

The writer was in London, in the house of some high-bornpatroness, --that friendless shadow of a friend which the jargon ofsociety calls "companion. " And she was looking on the bright storm ofthe world as through prison bars. Poor bird, afar from the greenwood, she had need of song, --it was her last link with freedom and nature. Thepatroness seems to share in her apprehensions of the boy suitor, whosewild rash prayers the fugitive had resisted; but to fear lest the suitorshould be degraded, not the one whom he pursues, --fear an allianceill-suited to a high-born heir. And this kind of fear stings thewriter's pride, and she grows harsh in her judgment of him who thuscauses but pain where he proffers love. Then there is a reference tosome applicant for her hand, who is pressed upon her choice; and she istold that it is her duty so to choose, and thus deliver a noble familyfrom a dread that endures so long as her hand is free. And of this fear, and of this applicant, there breaks out a petulant yet pathetic scorn. After this the narrative, to judge by the dates, pauses for days andweeks, as if the writer had grown weary and listless, --suddenly toreopen in a new strain, eloquent with hopes and with fears never knownbefore. The first person was abruptly assumed, --it was the living "I"that now breathed and moved along the lines. How was this? The woman wasno more a shadow and a secret unknown to herself. She had assumed theintense and vivid sense of individual being; and love spoke loud in theawakened human heart. 

A personage not seen till then appeared on the page. And everafterwards this personage was only named as "He, " as if the one and solerepresentative of all the myriads that walk the earth. The first noticeof this prominent character on the scene showed the restless, agitatedeffect produced on the writer's imagination. He was invested witha romance probably not his own. He was described in contrast to thebrilliant boy whose suit she had feared, pitied, and now sought toshun, --described with a grave and serious, but gentle mien, a voice thatimposed respect, an eye and lip that showed collected dignity of will. Alas? the writer betrayed herself, and the charm was in the contrast, not to the character of the earlier lover, but her own. And now, leavingLeonard to explore and guess his way through the gaps and chasms ofthe narrative, it is time to place before the reader what the narrativealone will not reveal to Leonard. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

Nora Avenel had fled from the boyish love of Harley L'Estrange, recommended by Lady Lansmere to a valetudinarian relative of her own, Lady Jane Horton, as companion. But Lady Lansmere could not believe itpossible that the lowborn girl could long sustain her generous pride, and reject the ardent suit of one who could offer to her the prospectivecoronet of a countess. She continually urged upon Lady Jane thenecessity of marrying Nora to some one of rank less disproportioned toher own, and empowered that lady to assure any such wooer of a dowry farbeyond Nora's station. Lady Jane looked around, and saw in the outskirtsof her limited social ring a young solicitor, a peer's natural son, whowas on terms of more than business-like intimacy with the fashionableclients whose distresses made the origin of his wealth. The young manwas handsome, well-dressed, and bland. Lady Jane invited him toher house; and, seeing him struck with the rare loveliness of Nora, whispered the hint of the dower. The fashionable solicitor, whoafterwards ripened into Baron Levy, did not need that hint; for, thoughthen poor, he relied on himself for fortune, and, unlike Randal, he hadwarm blood in his veins. But Lady Jane's suggestions made him sanguineof success; and when he formally proposed, and was as formally refused, his self-love was bitterly wounded. Vanity in Levy was a powerfulpassion; and with the vain, hatred is strong, revenge is rankling. Levyretired, concealing his rage; nor did he himself know how vindictivethat rage, when it cooled into malignancy, could become, until thearch-fiend OPPORTUNITY prompted its indulgence and suggested its design. 

Lady Jane was at first very angry with Nora for the rejection of asuitor whom she had presented as eligible. But the pathetic grace ofthis wonderful girl had crept into her heart, and softened it evenagainst family prejudice; and she gradually owned to herself that Norawas worthy of some one better than Mr. Levy. 

Now, Harley had ever believed that Nora returned his love, and thatnothing but her own sense of gratitude to his parents, her own instinctsof delicacy, made her deaf to his prayers. To do him justice, wild andheadstrong as he then was, his suit would have ceased at once had hereally deemed it persecution. Nor was his error unnatural; for hisconversation, till it had revealed his own heart, could not fail to havedazzled and delighted the child of genius; and her frank eyes would haveshown the delight. How, at his age, could he see the distinction betweenthe Poetess and the Woman? The poetess was charmed with rare promise ina soul of which the very errors were the extravagances of richnessand beauty. But the woman--no! the woman required some nature not yetundeveloped, and all at turbulent, if brilliant, strife with its ownnoble elements, but a nature formed and full-grown. Harley was a boy, and Nora was one of those women who must find or fancy an Ideal thatcommands and almost awes them into love. 

Harley discovered, not without difficulty, Nora's new residence. Hepresented himself at Lady Jane's, and she, with grave rebuke, forbadehim the house. He found it impossible to obtain an interview with Nora. He wrote, but he felt sure that his letters never reached her, sincethey were unanswered. His young heart swelled with rage. He droppedthreats, which alarmed all the fears of Lady Lansmere, and even theprudent apprehensions of his friend, Audley Egerton. At the requestof the mother, and equally at the wish of the son, Audley consented tovisit at Lady Jane's, and make acquaintance with Nora. 

"I have such confidence in you, " said Lady Lansmere, "that if you onceknow the girl, your advice will be sure to have weight with her. Youwill show her how wicked it would be to let Harley break our hearts anddegrade his station. "

"I have such confidence in you, " said young Harley, "that if you onceknow my Nora, you will no longer side with my mother. You will recognizethe nobility which nature only can create, you will own that Nora isworthy a rank more lofty than mine; and my mother so believes in yourwisdom, that, if you plead in my cause, you will convince even her. "

Audley listened to both with his intelligent, half-incredulous smile;and wholly of the same opinion as Lady Lansmere, and sincerely anxiousto save Harley from an indiscretion that his own notions led him toregard as fatal, he resolved to examine this boasted pearl, and to findout its flaws. Audley Egerton was then in the prime of his earnest, resolute, ambitious youth. The stateliness of his natural manners hadthen a suavity and polish which, even in later and busier life, it neverwholly lost; since, in spite of the briefer words and the colder looksby which care and power mark the official man, the minister had everenjoyed that personal popularity which the indefinable, externalsomething, that wins and pleases, can alone confer. But he had eventhen, as ever, that felicitous reserve which Rochefoucauld has calledthe "mystery of the body, "--that thin yet guardian veil which revealsbut the strong outlines of character, and excites so much of interestby provoking so much of conjecture. To the man who is born with thisreserve, which is wholly distinct from shyness, the world gives creditfor qualities and talents beyond those that it perceives; and suchcharacters are attractive to others in proportion as these last aregifted with the imagination which loves to divine the unknown. 

At the first interview, the impression which this man produced upon NoraAvenel was profound and strange. She had heard of him before as the one. Whom Harley most loved and looked up to; and she recognized at oncein his mien, his aspect, his words, the very tone of his deep tranquilvoice, the power to which woman, whatever her intellect, neverattains; and to which, therefore, she imputes a nobility not alwaysgenuine, --namely, the power of deliberate purpose and self-collected, serene ambition. The effect that Nora produced on Egerton was not lesssudden. He was startled by a beauty of face and form that belonged tothat rarest order, which we never behold but once or twice in our lives. 

He was yet more amazed to discover that the aristocracy of mind couldbestow a grace that no aristocracy of birth could surpass. He wasprepared for a simple, blushing village girl, and involuntarily he bowedlow his proud front at the first sight of that delicate bloom, and thatexquisite gentleness which is woman's surest passport to the respect ofman. Neither in the first, nor the second, nor the third interview, nor, indeed, till after many interviews, could he summon up courage tocommence his mission, and allude to Harley. And when he did so at lasthis words faltered. But Nora's words were clear to him. He saw thatHarley was not loved; and a joy, which he felt as guilty, darted throughhis whole frame. From that interview Audley returned home greatlyagitated, and at war with himself. Often, in the course of this story, has it been hinted that, under all Egerton's external coldness andmeasured self-control, lay a nature capable of strong and stubbornpassions. Those passions broke forth then. He felt that love had alreadyentered into the heart, which the trust of his friend should havesufficed to guard. 

"I will go there no more, " said he, abruptly, to Harley. 

"But why?"

"The girl does not love you. Cease then to think of her. "

Harley disbelieved him, and grew indignant. But Audley had every worldlymotive to assist his sense of honour. He was poor, though with thereputation of wealth, deeply involved in debt, resolved to rise inlife, tenacious of his position in the world's esteem. Against a hostof counteracting influences, love fought single-handed. Audley's was astrong nature; but, alas! in strong natures, if resistance to temptationis of granite, so the passions that they admit are of fire. 

Trite is the remark that the destinies of our lives often date from theimpulses of unguarded moments. It was so with this man, to an ordinaryeye so cautious and so deliberate. Harley one day came to him in greatgrief; he had heard that Nora was ill: he implored Andley to go oncemore and ascertain. Audley went. Lady Jane Horton, who was sufferingunder a disease which not long afterwards proved fatal, was too illto receive him. He was shown into the room set apart as Nora's. Whilewaiting for her entrance, he turned mechanically over the leaves of analbum, which Nora, suddenly summoned away to attend Lady Jane, had leftbehind her on the table. He saw the sketch of his own features; he readwords inscribed below it, --words of such artless tenderness, and suchunhoping sorrow, words written by one who had been accustomed to regardher genius as her sole confidant, under Heaven; to pour out to it, as the solitary poet-heart is impelled to do, thoughts, feelings, theconfession of mystic sighs, which it would never breathe to a livingear, and, save at such moments, scarcely acknowledge to itself. Audleysaw that he was beloved, and the revelation, with a sudden light, consumed all the barriers between himself and his own love. And at thatmoment Nora entered. She saw him bending over the book. She uttereda cry, sprang forward, and then sank down, covering her face with herhands. But Audley was at her feet. He forgot his friend, his trust;he forgot ambition, he forgot the world. It was his own cause that hepleaded, --his own love that burst forth from his lips. And when the twothat day parted, they were betrothed each to each. Alas for them, andalas for Harley! And now this man, who had hitherto valued himself asthe very type of gentleman, whom all his young contemporaries had soregarded and so revered, had to press the hand of a confiding friend, and bid adieu to truth. He had to amuse, to delay, to mislead hisboy-rival, --to say that he was already subduing Nora's hesitatingdoubts, and that with a little time, she could be induced to consent toforget Harley's rank, and his parent's pride, and become his wife. AndHarley believed in Egerton, without one suspicion on the mirror of hisloyal soul. 

Meanwhile, Audley, impatient of his own position, --impatient, as strongminds ever are, to hasten what they have once resolved, to terminate asuspense that every interview with Harley tortured alike by jealousyand shame, to pass out of the reach of scruples, and to say to himself, "Right--or wrong, there is no looking back; the deed is done, "--Audley, thus hurried on by the impetus of his own power of will, pressed forspeedy and secret nuptials, --secret, till his fortunes, then wavering, were more assured, his career fairly commenced. This was not hisstrongest motive, though it was one. He shrank from the discovery ofhis wrong to his friend, desired to delay the self-humiliation of suchannouncement, until, as he persuaded himself, Harley's boyish passionwas over, had yielded to the new allurements that would naturally besethis way. Stifling his conscience, Audley sought to convince himself thatthe day would soon come when Harley could hear with indifference thatNora Avenel was another's. "The dream of an hour, at his age, " murmuredthe elder friend; "but at mine the passion of a life!" He did not speakof these latter motives for concealment to Nora. He felt that to own theextent of his treason to a friend would lower him in her eyes. He spoketherefore but slightingly of Harley, treated the boy's suit as a thingpast and gone. He dwelt only on reasons that compelled self-sacrificeon his side or hers. She did not hesitate which to choose. And so, whereNora loved, so submissively did she believe in the superiority of thelover, that she would not pause to hear a murmur from her own loftiernature, or question the propriety of what he deemed wise and good. 

Abandoning prudence in this arch affair of life, Audley stillpreserved his customary caution in minor details. And this indeed wascharacteristic of him throughout all his career, heedless in largethings, wary in small. He would not trust Lady Jane Horton with hissecret, still less Lady Lansmere. He simply represented to the formerthat Nora was no longer safe from Harley's determined pursuit under LadyJane's roof, and that she had better elude the boy's knowledge ofher movements, and go quietly away for a while, to lodge with someconnection of her own. 

And so, with Lady Jane's acquiescence, Nora went first to the house ofa very distant kinswoman of her mother's, and afterwards to one thatEgerton took as their bridal home, under the name of Bertram. Hearranged all that might render their marriage most free from the chanceof premature discovery. But it so happened on the very morning of theirbridal, that one of the witnesses he selected (a confidential servant ofhis own) was seized with apoplexy. Considering, in haste, where to finda substitute, Egerton thought of Levy, his own private solicitor, hisown fashionable money-lender, a man with whom he was then as intimateas a fine gentleman is with the lawyer of his own age, who knows all hisaffairs, and has helped, from pure friendship, to make them as bad asthey are! Levy was thus suddenly summoned. Egerton, who was in greathaste, did not at first communicate to him the name of the intendedbride; but he said enough of the imprudence of the marriage, and hisreasons for secrecy, to bring on himself the strongest remonstrances;for Levy had always reckoned on Egerton's making a wealthymarriage, --leaving to Egerton the wife, and hoping to appropriate tohimself the wealth, all in the natural course of business. Egerton didnot listen to him, but hurried him on towards the place at which theceremony was to be performed; and Levy actually saw the bride beforehe had learned her name. The usurer masked his raging emotions, andfulfilled his part in the rites. His smile, when he congratulated thebride, might have shot cold into her heart; but her eyes were cast onthe earth, seeing there but a shadow from heaven, and her heart wasblindly sheltering itself in the bosom to which it was given evermore. She did not perceive the smile of hate that barbed the words of joy. Nora never thought it necessary later to tell Egerton that Levy had beena refused suitor. Indeed, with the exquisite tact of love, she saw thatsuch a confidence, the idea of such a rival, would have wounded thepride of her high-bred, well-born husband. 

And now, while Harley L'Estrange, frantic with the news that Nora hadleft Lady Jane's roof, and purposely misled into wrong directions, wasseeking to trace her refuge in vain, now Egerton, in an assumed name, in a remote quarter, far from the clubs, in which his word was oracular, far from the pursuits, whether of pastime or toil, that had hithertoengrossed his active mind, gave himself up, with wonder at his ownsurrender, to the only vision of fairyland that ever weighs down thewatchful eyelids of hard ambition. The world for a while shut out, hemissed it not. He knew not of it. He looked into two loving eyes thathaunted him ever after, through a stern and arid existence, and saidmurmuringly, "Why, this, then, is real happiness!" Often, often, in thesolitude of other years, to repeat to himself the same words, save thatfor is, he then murmured was! And Nora, with her grand, full heart, all her luxuriant wealth of fancy and of thought, child of light and ofsong, did she then never discover that there was something comparativelynarrow and sterile in the nature to which she had linked her fate? Notthere could ever be sympathy in feelings, brilliant and shifting as thetints of the rainbow. When Audley pressed her heart to his own, could hecomprehend one finer throb of its beating? Was all the iron of his mindworth one grain of the gold she had cast away in Harley's love?

Did Nora already discover this? Surely no. Genius feels no want, no repining, while the heart is contented. Genius in her paused andslumbered: it had been as the ministrant of solitude: it was needed nomore. If a woman loves deeply some one below her own grade in the mentaland spiritual orders, how often we see that she unconsciously quits herown rank, comes meekly down to the level of the beloved, is afraid lesthe should deem her the superior, --she who would not even be the equal. Nora knew no more that she had genius; she only knew that she had love. 

And so here, the journal which Leonard was reading changed its tone, sinking into that quiet happiness which is but quiet because it is sodeep. This interlude in the life of a man like Audley Egerton couldnever have been long; many circumstances conspired to abridge it. Hisaffairs were in great disorder; they were all under Levy's management. Demands that had before slumbered, or been mildly urged, grew menacingand clamorous. Harley, too, returned to London from his futileresearches, and looked out for Audley. Audley was forced to leave hissecret Eden, and reappear in the common world; and thenceforward it wasonly by stealth that he came to his bridal home, --a visitor, no more theinmate. But more loud and fierce grew the demands of his creditors, nowwhen Egerton had most need of all which respectability and positionand belief of pecuniary independence can do to raise the man who hasencumbered his arms, and crippled his steps towards fortune. He wasthreatened with writs, with prison. Levy said "that to borrow more wouldbe but larger ruin, " shrugged his shoulders, and even recommended avoluntary retreat to the King's Bench. "No place so good for frighteningone's creditors into compounding their claims; but why, " added Levy, with covert sneer, "why not go to young L'Estrange, a boy made to beborrowed from!"

Levy, who had known from Lady Jane of Harley's pursuit of Nora, hadlearned already how to avenge himself on Egerton. Audley could not applyto the friend he had betrayed. And as to other friends, no man in townhad a greater number. And no man in town knew better that he should losethem all if he were once known to be in want of their money. Mortified, harassed, tortured, shunning Harley, yet ever sought by him, fearful ofeach knock at his door, Audley Egerton escaped to the mortgaged remnantof his paternal estate, on which there was a gloomy manor-house, longuninhabited, and there applied a mind, afterwards renowned for its quickcomprehension of business, to the investigation of his affairs, with aview to save some wreck from the flood that swelled momently around him. 

And now--to condense as much as possible a record that runs darkly oninto pain and sorrow--now Levy began to practise his vindictive arts;and the arts gradually prevailed. On pretence of assisting Egerton inthe arrangement of his affairs, which he secretly contrived, however, still more to complicate, he came down frequently to Egerton Hall fora few hours, arriving by the mail, and watching the effect which Nora'salmost daily letters produced on the bridegroom, irritated by thepractical cares of life. He was thus constantly at hand to instil intothe mind of the ambitious man a regret for the imprudence of hastypassion, or to embitter the remorse which Audley felt for his treacheryto L'Estrange. Thus ever bringing before the mind of the harassed debtorimages at war with love, and with the poetry of life, he disattuned it(so to speak) for the reception of Nora's letters, all musical as theywere with such thoughts as the most delicate fancy inspires to themost earnest love. Egerton was one of those men who never confide theiraffairs frankly to women. Nora, when she thus wrote, was wholly inthe dark as to the extent of his stern prosaic distress. And so--andso--Levy always near--type of the prose of life in its most cynicform--so by degrees all that redundant affluence of affection, with itsgushes of grief for his absence, prayers for his return, sweet reproachif a post failed to bring back an answer to the woman's yearningsighs, --all this grew, to the sensible, positive man of real life, like sickly romantic exaggeration. The bright arrows shot too high intoheaven to hit the mark set so near to the earth. Ah, common fate of allsuperior natures! What treasure, and how wildly wasted! "By-the-by, "said Levy, one morning, as he was about to take leave of Audleyand return to town, --"by-the-by, I shall be this evening in theneighbourhood of Mrs. Egerton. "

EGERTON. --"Say Mrs. Bertram!"

LEVY. --"Ay; will she not be in want of some pecuniary supplies?"

EGERTON. "My wife!--Not yet. I must first be wholly ruined before shecan want; and if I were so, do you think I should not be by her side?"

LEVY. --"I beg pardon, my dear fellow; your pride of gentleman is sosusceptible that it is hard for a lawyer not to wound it unawares. Yourwife, then, does not know the exact state of your affairs?"

EGERTON. --"Of course not. Who would confide to a woman things in whichshe could do nothing, except to tease one the more?"

LEVY. --"True, and a poetess too! I have prevented your finishing youranswer to Mrs. Bertram's last letter. Can I take it--it may save a day'sdelay--that is, if you do not object to my calling on her this evening. "

EGERTON (sitting down to his unfinished letter). --"Object! no. "

LEVY (looking at his watch). --"Be quick, or I shall lose the coach. "

EGEPTON (sealing the letter). --"There. And I should be obliged to you ifyou would call; and without alarming her as to my circumstances, youcan just say that you know I am much harassed about important affairs atpresent, and so soothe the effects of my very short answers--"

LEVY. --"To those doubly-crossed, very long letters, --I will. "

"Poor Nora, " said Egerton, sighing, "she will think this answer briefand churlish enough. Explain my excuses kindly, so that they will servefor the future. I really have no time and no heart for sentiment. Thelittle I ever had is well-nigh worried out of me. Still I love herfondly and deeply. "

LEVY. --"You must have done so. I never thought it in you to sacrificethe world to a woman. "

EGERTON. --"Nor I either; but, " added the strong man, conscious of thatpower which rules the world infinitely more than knowledge, conscious oftranquil courage, "but I have not sacrificed the world yet. This rightarm shall bear up her and myself too. "

LEVY. --"Well said! but in the mean while, for heaven's sake, don'tattempt to go to London, nor to leave this place; for, in that case, I know you will be arrested, and then adieu to all hopes ofparliament, --of a career. "

Audley's haughty countenance darkened; as the dog, in his bravest mode, turns dismayed from the stone plucked from the mire, so, when Ambitionrears itself to defy mankind, whisper "disgrace and a jail, "--and, lo, crestfallen, it slinks away! That evening Levy called on Nora, andingratiating himself into her favour by praise of Egerton, with indirecthumble apologetic allusions to his own former presumption, he preparedthe way to renewed visits; she was so lonely, and she so loved to seeone who was fresh from seeing Audley, one who would talk to her ofhim! By degrees the friendly respectful visitor thus stole into herconfidence; and then, with all his panegyrics on Audley's superiorpowers and gifts, he began to dwell upon the young husband's worldlyaspirations, and care for his career; dwell on them so as vaguely toalarm Nora, --to imply that, dear as she was, she was still but secondto Ambition. His way thus prepared, he next began to insinuate hisrespectful pity at her equivocal position, dropped hints of gossip andslander, feared that the marriage might be owned too late to preservereputation. And then what would be the feelings of the proud Egertonif his wife were excluded from that world whose opinion he so prized?Insensibly thus he led her on to express (though timidly) her ownfear, her own natural desire, in her letters to Audley. When could themarriage be proclaimed? Proclaimed! Audley felt that to proclaim such amarriage at such a moment would be to fling away his last cast for fameand fortune. And Harley, too, --Harley still so uncured of his franticlove! Levy was sure to be at hand when letters like these arrived. 

And now Levy went further still in his determination to alienate thesetwo hearts. He contrived, by means of his various agents, to circulatethrough Nora's neighbourhood the very slanders at which he had hinted. He contrived that she should be insulted when she went abroad, outragedat home by the sneers of her own servant, and tremble with shame at herown shadow upon her abandoned bridal hearth. 

Just in the midst of this intolerable anguish, Levy reappeared. Hiscrowning hour was ripe. He intimated his knowledge of the humiliationsNora had undergone, expressed his deep compassion, offered to intercedewith Egerton "to do her justice. " He used ambiguous phrases, thatshocked her ear and tortured her heart, and thus provoked her on todemand him to explain; and then, throwing her into a wild state ofindefinite alarm, in which he obtained her solemn promise not to divulgeto Audley what he was about to communicate, he said, with villanoushypocrisy of reluctant shame, "that her marriage was not strictly legal;that the forms required by the law had not been complied with, thatAudley, unintentionally or purposely, had left himself free to disownthe rite and desert the bride. " While Nora stood stunned and speechlessat a falsehood which, with lawyer-like show, he contrived to maketruth-like to her inexperience, he hurried rapidly on, to re-awake onher mind the impression of Audley's pride, ambition, and respect forworldly position. "These are your obstacles, " said he; "but I think Imay induce him to repair the wrong, and right you at last. " Righted atlast--oh, infamy!

Then Nora's anger burst forth. She believe such a stain on Audley'shonour!

"But where was the honour when he betrayed his friend? Did you not knowthat he was entrusted by Lord L'Estrange to plead for him. How did hefulfil the trust?"

"Plead for L'Estrange!" Nora had not been exactly aware of this, --in thesudden love preceding those sudden nuptials, so little touching Harley(beyond Audley's first timid allusions to his suit, and her calm andcold reply) had been spoken by either. 

Levy resumed. He dwelt fully on the trust and the breach of it, and thensaid: "In Egerton's world, man holds it far more dishonour to betraya man than to dupe a woman; and if Egerton could do the one, why doubtthat he would do the other? But do not look at me with those indignanteyes. Put himself to the test; write to him to say that the suspicionsamidst which you live have become intolerable, that they infect evenyourself, despite your reason, that the secrecy of your nuptials, hisprolonged absence, his brief refusal, on unsatisfactory grounds, toproclaim your tie, all distract you with a terrible doubt. Ask him, atleast (if he will not yet declare your marriage), to satisfy you thatthe rites were legal. "

"I will go to him, " cried Nora, impetuously. 

"Go to him!--in his own house! What a scene, what a scandal! Could heever forgive you?"

"At least, then, I will implore him to come here. I can not write suchhorrible words; I cannot! I cannot! Go, go!" Levy left her, and hastenedto two or three of Audley's most pressing creditors, --men, in fact, who went entirely by Levy's own advice. He bade them instantly surroundAudley's country residence with bailiffs. Before Egerton could reachNora, he would thus be lodged in a jail. These preparations made, Levyhimself went down to Audley, and arrived, as usual, an hour or twobefore the delivery of the post. 

And Nora's letter came; and never was Audley's grave brow more dark thanwhen he read it. Still, with his usual decision, he resolved to obeyher wish, --rang the bell, and ordered his servant to put up a change ofdress, and send for post-horses. 

Levy then took him aside, and led him to the window. "Look under yontrees. Do you see those men? They are bailiffs. This is the true reasonwhy I come to you to-day. You cannot leave this house. "

Egerton recoiled. "And this frantic, foolish letter at such a time!" hemuttered, striking the open page, full of love in the midst of terror, with his clenched hand. O Woman, Woman! if thy heart be deep, and itschords tender, beware how thou lovest the man with whom all that pluckshim from the hard cares of the workday world is frenzy or a folly! Hewill break thy heart, he will shatter its chords, he will trample outfrom its delicate framework every sound that now makes musical thecommon air, and swells into unison with the harps of angels. 

"She has before written to me, " continued Audley, pacing the roomwith angry, disordered strides, "asking me when our marriage can beproclaimed, and I thought my replies would have satisfied any reasonablewoman. But now, now this is worse, immeasurably worse, --she actuallydoubts my honour! I, who have made such sacrifices, --actually doubtswhether I, Audley Egerton, an English gentleman, could have been baseenough to--"

"What?" interrupted Levy, "to deceive your friend L'Estrange? Did notshe know that?"

"Sir!" exclaimed Egerton, turning white. 

"Don't be angry, --all's fair in love as in war; and L'Estrange will liveyet to thank you for saving him from such a misalliance. But you areseriously angry: pray, forgive me. "

With some difficulty and much fawning, the usurer appeased the stormhe had raised in Audley's conscience. And he then heard, as if withsurprise, the true purport of Nora's letter. 

"It is beneath me to answer, much less to satisfy, such a doubt, "said Audley. "I could have seen her, and a look of reproach would havesufficed; but to put my hand to paper, and condescend to write, 'I amnot a villain, and I will give you the proofs that I am not'--never!"

"You are quite right; but let us see if we cannot reconcile mattersbetween your pride and her feelings. Write simply this: 'All that youask me to say or to explain, I have instructed Levy, as my solicitor, tosay and explain for me; and you may believe him as you would myself. '"

"Well, the poor fool, she deserves to be punished; and I suppose thatanswer will punish her more than a lengthier rebuke. --My mind is sodistracted, I cannot judge of these trumpery woman-fears and whims;there, I have written as you suggest. Give her all the proof she needs, and tell her that in six months at furthest, come what will, she shallbear the name of Egerton, as henceforth she must share his fate. "

"Why say six months?"

"Parliament must be dissolved, and there must be a general electionbefore then. I shall either obtain a seat, be secure from a jail, havewon field for my energies, or--"

"Or what?"

"I shall renounce ambition altogether, ask my brother to assist metowards whatever debts remain when all my property is fairly sold--theycannot be much. He has a living in his gift; the incumbent is old, and, I hear, very ill. I can take orders. "

"Sink into a country parson!"

"And learn content. I have tasted it already. She was then by my side. Explain all to her. This letter, I fear, is too unkind--But to doubt methus!"

Levy hastily placed the letter in his pocketbook; and, for fear itshould be withdrawn, took his leave. 

And of that letter he made such use, that the day after he had givenit to Nora, she had left the house, the neighbourhood; fled, and nota trace! Of all the agonies in life, that which is most poignant andharrowing, that which for the time most annihilates reason, and leavesour whole organization one lacerated, mangled heart, is the convictionthat we have been deceived where we placed all the trust of love. Themoment the anchor snaps, the storm comes on, the stars vanish behind thecloud. 

When Levy returned, filled with the infamous hope which had stimulatedhis revenge, --the hope that if he could succeed in changing intoscorn and indignation Nora's love for Audley, he might succeed alsoin replacing that broken and degraded idol, --his amaze and dismay weregreat on hearing of her departure. For several days he sought her tracesin vain. He went to Lady Jane Horton's, --Nora had not been there. Hetrembled to go back to Egerton. Surely Nora would have written to herhusband, and in spite of her promise, revealed his own falsehood; but asdays passed, and not a clew was found, he had no option but to repair toEgerton Hall, taking care that the bailiffs still surrounded it. Audley had received no line from Nora. The young husband was surprised, perplexed, uneasy, but had no suspicion of the truth. 

At length Levy was forced to break to Audley the intelligence of Nora'sflight. He gave his own colour to it. Doubtless she had gone to seekher own relations, and, by their advice, take steps to make her marriagepublicly known. This idea changed Audley's first shock into deep andstern resentment. His mind so little comprehended Nora's, and was everso disposed to what is called the common-sense view of things, that hesaw no other mode to account for her flight and her silence. Odious toEgerton as such a proceeding would be, he was far too proud to takeany steps to guard against it. "Let her do her worst, " said he, coldly, masking emotion with his usual self-command; "it will be but a ninedays' wonder to the world, a fiercer rush of my creditors on theirhunted prey"

"And a challenge from Lord L'Estrange. "

"So be it, " answered Egerton, suddenly placing his hand at his heart. 

"What is the matter? Are you ill?"

"A strange sensation here. My father died of a complaint of the heart, and I myself was once told to guard, through life, against excess ofemotion. I smiled at such a warning then. Let us sit down to business. "

But when Levy had gone, and solitude reclosed round that Man of theIron Mask, there grew upon him more and more the sense of a mighty loss. Nora's sweet loving face started from the shadows of the forlorn walls. Her docile, yielding temper, her generous, self-immolating spirit, cameback to his memory, to refute the idea that wronged her. His love, thathad been suspended for awhile by busy cares, but which, if without muchrefining sentiment, was still the master passion of his soul, flowedback into all his thoughts, --circumfused the very atmosphere with afearful, softening charm. He escaped under cover of the night fromthe watch of the bailiffs. He arrived in London. He himself soughteverywhere he could think of for his missing bride. Lady Jane Horton wasconfined to her bed, dying fast, incapable even to receive and reply tohis letter. He secretly sent down to Lansmere to ascertain if Nora hadgone to her parents. She was not there. The Avenels believed her stillwith Lady Jane Horton. 

He now grew most seriously alarmed; and in the midst of that alarm, Levysecretly contrived that he should be arrested for debt; but he was notdetained in confinement many days. Before the disgrace got wind, thewrits were discharged, Levy baffled. He was free. Lord L'Estrange hadlearned from Audley's servant what Audley would have concealed from himout of all the world. And the generous boy, who, besides the munificentallowance he received from the earl, was heir to an independent andconsiderable fortune of his own, when he should attain his majority, hastened to borrow the money and discharge all the obligations of hisfriend. The benefit was conferred before Audley knew of it, or couldprevent. Then a new emotion, and perhaps scarce less stinging than theloss of Nora, tortured the man who had smiled at the warning of science;and the strange sensation at the heart was felt again and again. 

And Harley, too, was still in search of Nora, --would talk of nothing buther, and looked so haggard and grief-worn. The bloom of the boy's youthwas gone. Could Audley then have said, "She you seek is another's; yourlove is razed out of your life; and, for consolation, learn that yourfriend has betrayed you"? Could Audley say this? He did not dare. Whichof the two suffered the most?

And these two friends, of characters so different, were so singularlyattached to each other, --inseparable at school, thrown together in theworld, with a wealth of frank confidences between them, accumulatedsince childhood. And now, in the midst of all his own anxious sorrow, Harley still thought and planned for Egerton. And self-accusing remorse, and all the sense of painful gratitude, deepened Audley's affectionfor Harley into a devotion as to a superior, while softening it into areverential pity that yearned to relieve, to atone; but how, --oh, how?

A general election was now at hand, still no news of Nora. Levy keptaloof from Audley, pursuing his own silent search. A seat for theborough of Lansmere was pressed upon Audley, not only by Harley, but hisparents, especially by the countess, who tacitly ascribed to Audley'swise counsels Nora's mysterious disappearance. 

Egerton at first resisted the thought of a new obligation to his injuredfriend; but he burned to have it, some day, in his power to repay atleast his pecuniary debt: the sense of that debt humbled him morethan all else. Parliamentary success might at last obtain for him somelucrative situation abroad, and thus enable him gradually to removethis load from his heart and his honour. No other chance of repaymentappeared open to him. He accepted the offer, and went down to Lansmere. His brother, lately married, was asked to meet him; and there alsowas Miss Leslie the heiress, whom Lady Lansmere secretly hoped her sonHarley would admire, but who had long since, no less secretly, given herheart to the unconscious Egerton. 

Meanwhile, the miserable Nora--deceived by the arts and representationsof Levy, acting on the natural impulse of a heart so susceptible toshame, flying from a home which she deemed dishonoured, flying from alover whose power over her she knew to be so great that she dreaded lesthe might reconcile her to dishonour itself--had no thought save to hideherself forever from Audley's eye. She would not go to her relations, to Lady Jane; that were to give the clew, and invite the pursuit. AnItalian lady of high rank had visited at Lady Jane's, --taken a greatfancy to Nora; and the lady's husband, having been obliged to precedeher return to Italy, had suggested the notion of engaging somecompanion; the lady had spoken of this to Nora and to Lady Jane Horton, who had urged Nora to accept the offer, elude Harley's pursuit, and goabroad for a time. Nora then had refused; for she then had seen AudleyEgerton. 

To this Italian lady she now went, and the offer was renewed with themost winning kindness, and grasped at in the passion of despair. But theItalian had accepted invitations to English country-houses before shefinally departed for the Continent. Meanwhile Nora took refuge in aquiet lodging in a sequestered suburb, which an English servant in theemployment of the fair foreigner recommended. Thus had she first cometo the cottage in which Burley died. Shortly afterwards she left Englandwith her new companion, unknown to all, --to Lady Jane as to her parents. 

All this time the poor girl was under a moral delirium, a confusedfever, haunted by dreams from which she sought to fly. Soundphysiologists agree that madness is rarest amongst persons of the finestimagination. But those persons are, of all others, liable to a temporarystate of mind in which judgment sleeps, --imagination alone prevails witha dire and awful tyranny. A single idea gains ascendancy, expels allothers, presents itself everywhere with an intolerable blinding glare. Nora was at that time under the dread one idea, to fly from shame!

But when the seas rolled, and the dreary leagues interposed betweenher and her lover; when new images presented themselves; when the feverslaked, and reason returned, --doubt broke upon the previous despair. Hadshe not been too credulous, too hasty? Fool, fool! Audley have been sopoor a traitor! How guilty was she, if she had wronged him! And in themidst of this revulsion of feeling, there stirred within her anotherlife. She was destined to become a mother. At that thought her highnature bowed; the last struggle of pride gave way; she would returnto England, see Audley, learn from his lips the truth, and even if thetruth were what she had been taught to believe, plead not for herself, but for the false one's child. 

Some delay occurred in the then warlike state of affairs on theContinent before she could put this purpose into execution; and on herjourney back, various obstructions lengthened the way. But she returnedat last, and resought the suburban cottage in which she had last lodgedbefore quitting England. At night, she went to Audley's London house;there was only a woman in charge of it. Mr. Egerton was absent, electioneering somewhere; Mr. Levy, his lawyer, called every day forany letters to be forwarded to him. Nora shrank from seeing Levy, shrankfrom writing even a letter that would pass through his bands. If shehad been deceived, it had been by him, and wilfully. But parliamentwas already dissolved; the election would soon be over. Mr. Egertonwas expected to return to town within a week. Nora went back to Mrs. Goodyer's and resolved to wait, devouring her own heart in silence. Butthe newspapers might inform her where Audley really was; the newspaperswere sent for and conned daily. 

And one morning this paragraph met her eye:--

 The Earl and Countess of Lansmere are receiving a distinguished party at their country seat. Among the guests is Miss Leslie, whose wealth and beauty have excited such sensation in the fashionable world. To the disappointment of numerous aspirants amongst our aristocracy, we hear that this lady has, however, made her distinguished choice in Mr. Audley Egerton. That gentleman is now a candidate for the borough of Lansmere, as a supporter of the Government; his success is considered certain, and, according to the report of a large circle of friends, few new members will prove so valuable an addition to the ministerial ranks. A great career may indeed be predicted for a young man so esteemed for talent and character, aided by a fortune so immense as that which he will shortly receive with the hand of the accomplished heiress. 

Again the anchor snapped, again the storm descended, again the starsvanished. Nora was now once more under the dominion of a single thought, as she had been when she fled from her bridal home. Then, it was toescape from her lover, --now, it was to see him. As the victim stretchedon the rack implores to be led at once to death, so there are momentswhen the annihilation of hope seems more merciful than the torment ofsuspense. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

When the scenes in some long diorama pass solemnly before us, there issometimes one solitary object, contrasting, perhaps, the view of statelycities or the march of a mighty river, that halts on the eye fora moment, and then glides away, leaving on the mind a strange, comfortless, undefined impression. 

Why was the object presented to us? In itself it seemed comparativelyinsignificant. It may have been but a broken column, a lonely pool witha star-beam on its quiet surface, --yet it awes us. We remember it whenphantasmal pictures of bright Damascus, or of colossal pyramids, ofbazaars in Stamboul, or lengthened caravans that defile slow amidst thesands of Araby, have sated the wondering gaze. Why were we detained inthe shadowy procession by a thing that would have been so commonplacehad it not been so lone? Some latent interest must attach to it. Was itthere that a vision of woe had lifted the wild hair of a Prophet; therewhere some Hagar had stilled the wail of her child on her indignantbreast? We would fain call back the pageantry procession, fain see againthe solitary thing that seemed so little worth the hand of the artist, and ask, "Why art thou here, and wherefore dost thou haunt us?"

Rise up, --rise up once more, by the broad great thoroughfare thatstretches onward and onward to the remorseless London! Rise up, rise up, O solitary tree with the green leaves on thy bough, and the deep rentsin thy heart; and the ravens, dark birds of omen and sorrow, that buildtheir nest amidst the leaves of the bough, and drop with noiselessplumes down through the hollow rents of the heart, or are heard, it maybe in the growing shadows of twilight, calling out to their young. 

Under the old pollard-tree, by the side of John Avenel's house, therecowered, breathless and listening, John Avenel's daughter Nora. Now, when that fatal newspaper paragraph, which lied so like truth, met hereyes, she obeyed the first impulse of her passionate heart, --she torethe wedding ring from her finger, she enclosed it, with the paragraphitself, in a letter to Audley, --a letter that she designed to conveyscorn and pride--alas! it expressed only jealousy and love. She couldnot rest till she had put this letter into the post with her own hand, addressed to, Audley at Lord Lansmere's. Scarce had it left her ere sherepented. What had she done, --resigned the birth-right of the childshe was so soon to bring into the world, resigned her last hope in herlover's honour, given up her life of life--and from belief in what?--areport in a newspaper! No, no; she would go herself to Lansmere; toher father's home, --she could contrive to see Audley before that letterreached his hand. The thought was scarcely conceived before obeyed. She found a vacant place in a coach that started from London some hoursbefore the mail, and went within a few miles of Lansmere; those lastmiles she travelled on foot. Exhausted, fainting, she gained at last thesight of home, and there halted, for in the little garden in frontshe saw her parents seated. She heard the murmur of their voices, andsuddenly she remembered her altered shape, her terrible secret. Howanswer the question, "Daughter, where and who is thy husband?" Her heart failed her; shecrept under the old pollard-tree, to gather up resolve, to watch, and tolisten. She saw the rigid face of the thrifty, prudent mother, with thedeep lines that told of the cares of an anxious life, and the chafe ofexcitable temper and warm affections against the restraint of decoroussanctimony and resolute pride. The dear stern face never seemed toher more dear and more stern. She saw the comely, easy, indolent, good-humoured father; not then the poor, paralytic sufferer, who couldyet recognize Nora's eyes under the lids of Leonard, but stalwart andjovial, --first bat in the Cricket Club, first voice in the Glee Society, the most popular canvasser of the Lansmere Constitutional True BlueParty, and the pride and idol of the Calvinistical prim wife; never fromthose pinched lips of hers had come forth even one pious rebuke tothe careless, social man. As he sat, one hand in his vest, his profileturned to the road, the light smoke curling playfully up from the pipe, over which lips, accustomed to bland smile and hearty laughter, closedas if reluctant to be closed at all, he was the very model of therespectable retired trader in easy circumstances, and released from thetoil of making money while life could yet enjoy the delight of spendingit. 

"Well, old woman, " said John Avenel, "I must be off presently to see tothose three shaky voters in Fish Lane; they will have done their worksoon, and I shall catch 'em at home. They do say as how we may have anopposition; and I know that old Smikes has gone to Lonnon in search ofa candidate. We can't have the Lansmere Constitutional Blues beat by aLonnoner! Ha, ha, ha!"

"But you will be home before Jane and her husband Mark come? How evershe could marry a common carpenter!"

"Yes, " said John, "he is a carpenter; but he has a vote, and thatstrengthens the family interest. If Dick was not gone to Amerikay, therewould be three on us. But Mark is a real good Blue! A Lonnoner, indeed!a Yellow from Lonnon beat my Lord and the Blues! Ha, ha!"

"But, John, this Mr. Egerton is a Lonnoner!"

"You don't understand things, talking such nonsense. Mr. Egerton is theBlue candidate, and the Blues are the Country Party; therefore how canhe be a Lonnoner? An uncommon clever, well-grown, handsome young man, eh! and my young Lord's particular friend. "

Mrs. Avenel sighed. 

"What are you sighing and shaking your head for?"

"I was thinking of our poor, dear, dear Nora!"

"God bless her!" cried John, heartily. 

There was a rustle under the boughs of the old hollow-heartedpollard-tree. 

"Ha, ha! Hark! I said that so loud that I have startled the ravens!"

"How he did love her!" said Mrs. Avenel, thoughtfully. "I am sure hedid; and no wonder, for she looks every inch a lady; and why should notshe be my lady, after all?"

"He? Who? Oh, that foolish fancy of yours about my young Lord? A prudentwoman like you!--stuff! I am glad my little beauty is gone to Lonnon, out of harm's way. "

"John, John, John! No harm could ever come to my Nora. She 's too pureand too good, and has too proper a pride in her, to--"

"To listen to any young lords, I hope, " said John; "though, " he added, after a pause, "she might well be a lady too. My Lord, the young one, took me by the hand so kindly the other day, and said, 'Have not youheard from her--I mean Miss Avenel--lately?' and those bright eyes ofhis were as full of tears as--as--as yours are now. "

"Well, John, well; go on. "

"That is all. My Lady came up, and took me away to talk about theelection; and just as I was going, she whispered, 'Don't let my wild boytalk to you about that sweet girl of yours. We must both see that shedoes not come to disgrace. ' 'Disgrace!' that word made me very angryfor the moment. But my Lady has such a way with her that she soon putme right again. Yet, I do think Nora must have loved my young Lord, onlyshe was too good to show it. What do you say?" And the father's voicewas thoughtful. 

"I hope she'll never love any man till she's married to him; it is notproper, John, " said Mrs. Avenel, somewhat starchly, though very mildly. 

"Ha, ha!" laughed John, chucking his prim wife under the chin, "youdid not say that to me when I stole your first kiss under that verypollard-tree--no house near it then!"

"Hush, John, hush!" and the prim wife blushed like a girl. 

"Pooh, " continued John, merrily, "I don't see why we plain folk shouldpretend to be more saintly and prudish-like than our betters. There'sthat handsome Miss Leslie, who is to marry Mr. Egerton--easy enough tosee how much she is in love with him, --could not keep her eyes off fromhim even in church, old girl! Ha, ha! What the deuce is the matter withthe ravens?"

"They'll be a comely couple, John. And I hear tell she has a power ofmoney. When is the marriage to be?"

"Oh, they say as soon as the election is over. A fine wedding we shallhave of it! I dare say my young Lord will be bridesman. We'll send forour little Nora to see the gay doings!"

Out from the boughs of the old tree came the shriek of a lostspirit, --one of those strange, appalling sounds of human agony which, once heard, are never forgotten. It is as the wail of Hope, when SHE, too, rushes forth from the Coffer of Woes, and vanishes into viewlessspace; it is the dread cry of Reason parting from clay, and of Soul, that would wrench itself from life! For a moment all was still--and thena dull, dumb, heavy fall!

The parents gazed on each other, speechless: they stole close to thepales, and looked over. Under the boughs, at the gnarled roots of theoak, they saw--gray and indistinct--a prostrate form. John opened thegate, and went round; the mother crept to the road-side, and there stoodstill. 

"Oh, wife, wife!" cried John Avenel, from under the green boughs, "it isour child Nora! Our child! our child!"

And, as he spoke, out from the green boughs started the dark ravens, wheeling round and round, and calling to their young!

And when they had laid her on the bed, Mrs. Avenel whispered John towithdraw for a moment; and with set lips but trembling hands beganto unlace the dress, under the pressure of which Nora's heart heavedconvulsively. And John went out of the room bewildered, and sathimself down on the landing-place, and wondered whether he was awake orsleeping; and a cold numbness crept over one side of him, and his headfelt very heavy, with a loud, booming noise in his ears. Suddenly hiswife stood by his side, and said, in a very low voice, "John, run for Mr. Morgan, --make haste. But mind--don't speak to any oneon the way. Quick, quick!"

"Is she dying?"

"I don't know. Why not die before?" said Mrs. Avenel, between her teeth;"but Mr. Morgan is a discreet, friendly man. "

"A true Blue!" muttered poor John, as if his mind wandered; and risingwith difficulty, he stared at his wife a moment, shook his head, and wasgone. 

An hour or two later, a little, covered, taxed cart stopped at Mr. Avenel's cottage, out of which stepped a young man with pale face andspare form, dressed in the Sunday suit of a rustic craftsman; then ahomely, but pleasant, honest face bent down to him, smilingly; and twoarms emerging from under covert of a red cloak extended an infant, whichthe young man took tenderly. The baby was cross and very sickly; itbegan to cry. The father hushed, and rocked, and tossed it, with the airof one to whom such a charge was familiar. 

"He'll be good when we get in, Mark, " said the young woman, as sheextracted from the depths of the cart a large basket containing poultryand home-made bread. 

"Don't forget the flowers that the squire's gardener gave us, " said Markthe Poet. 

Without aid from her husband, the wife took down basket and nosegay, settled her cloak, smoothed her gown, and said, "Very odd! they don'tseem to expect us, Mark. How still the house is! Go and knock; theycan't ha' gone to bed yet. "

Mark knocked at the door--no answer. A light passed rapidly across thewindows on the upper floor, but still no one came to his summons. Markknocked again. A gentleman dressed in clerical costume, now coming fromLansinere Park, on the opposite side of the road, paused at the sound ofMark's second and more impatient knock, and said civilly, "Are you not the young folks my friend John Avenel told me this morninghe expected to visit him?"

"Yes, please, Mr. Dale, " said Mrs. Fairfield, dropping her courtesy. "You remember me! and this is my dear good man!"

"What! Mark the Poet?" said the curate of Lansmere, with a smile. "Cometo write squibs for the election?"

"Squibs, sir!" cried Mark, indignantly. 

"Burns wrote squibs, " said the curate, mildly. 

Mark made no answer, but again knocked at the door. 

This time, a man, whose face, even seen by the starlight, was muchflushed, presented himself at the threshold. 

"Mr. Morgan!" exclaimed the curate, in benevolent alarm; "no illnesshere, I hope?"

"Cott! it is you, Mr. Dale!--Come in, come in; I want a word with you. But who the teuce are these people?"

"Sir, " said Mark, pushing through the doorway, "my name is Fairfield, and my wife is Mr. Avenel's daughter!"

"Oh, Jane--and her baby too!--Cood! cood! Come in; but be quiet, can'tyou? Still, still--still as death!"

The party entered, the door closed; the moon rose, and shone calmly onthe pale silent house, on the sleeping flowers of the little garden, onthe old pollard with its hollow core. The horse in the taxed cart dozedunheeded; the light still at times flitted across the upper windows. These were the only signs of life, except when a bat, now and thenattracted by the light that passed across the windows, brushed againstthe panes, and then, dipping downwards, struck up against the nose ofthe slumbering horse, and darted merrily after the moth that flutteredround the raven's nest in the old pollard. 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

All that day Harley L'Estrange had been more than usually mournful anddejected. Indeed, the return to scenes associated with Nora's presenceincreased the gloom that had settled on his mind since he had lost sightand trace of her. Audley, in the remorseful tenderness he felt for hisinjured friend, had induced L'Estrange towards evening to leave thePark, and go into a district some miles off, on pretence that herequired Harley's aid there to canvass certain important outvoters: thechange of scene might rouse him from his reveries. Harley himself wasglad to escape from the guests at Lansmere. He readily consented to go. He would not return that night. The outvoters lay remote and scattered, he might be absent for a day or two. When Harley was gone, Egertonhimself sank into deep thought. There was rumour of some unexpectedopposition. His partisans were alarmed and anxious. It was clear thatthe Lansmere interest, if attacked, was weaker than the earl wouldbelieve; Egerton might lose his election. If so, what would become ofhim? How support his wife, whose return to him he always counted on, andwhom it would then become him at all hazards to acknowledge? It wasthat day that he had spoken to William Hazeldean as to the familyliving. --"Peace, at least, " thought the ambitious man, --"I shall havepeace!" And the squire had promised him the rectory if needed; notwithout a secret pang, for his Harry was already using her conjugalinfluence in favour of her old school-friend's husband, Mr. Dale;and the squire thought Audley would be but a poor country parson, andDale--if he would only grow a little plumper than his curacy wouldpermit him to be--would be a parson in ten thousand. But while Audleythus prepared for the worst, he still brought his energies to bear onthe more brilliant option; and sat with his Committee, looking intocanvass-books, and discussing the characters, politics, and localinterests of every elector, until the night was well-nigh gone. When hegained his room; the shutters were unclosed, and he stood a few momentsat the window, gazing on the moon. At that sight, the thought of Nora, lost and afar, stole over him. The man, as we know, had in his naturelittle of romance and sentiment. Seldom was it his wont to gaze uponmoon or stars. But whenever some whisper of romance did soften his hard, strong mind, or whenever moon or stars did charm his gaze from earth, Nora's bright Muse-like face, Nora's sweet loving eyes, were seen inmoon and star-beam, Nora's low tender voice heard in the whisper ofthat which we call romance, and which is but the sound of the mysteriouspoetry that is ever in the air, would we but deign to hear it! He turnedwith a sigh, undressed, threw himself on his bed, and extinguished hislight. But the light of the moon would fill the room. It kept him awakefor a little time; he turned his face from the calm, heavenly beamresolutely towards the dull blind wall, and fell asleep. And, in thesleep, he was with Nora, --again in the humble bridal-home. Never inhis dreams had she seemed to him so distinct and life-like, --hereyes upturned to his, her hands clasped together, and resting on hisshoulder, as had been her graceful wont, her voice murmuring meekly, "Has it, then, been my fault that we parted? Forgive, forgive me!"And the sleeper imagined that he answered, "Never part from meagain, --never, never!" and that he bent down to kiss the chaste lipsthat so tenderly sought his own. And suddenly he heard a knockingsound, as of a hammer, --regular, but soft, low, subdued. Did you ever, O reader, hear the sound of the hammer on the lid of a coffin in a houseof woe, --when the undertaker's decorous hireling fears that the livingmay hear how he parts them from the dead? Such seemed the sound toAudley. The dream vanished abruptly. 

He woke, and again heard the knock; it was at his door. He sat upwistfully; the moon was gone, it was morning. "Who is there?" he criedpeevishly. 

A low voice from without answered, "Hush, it is I; dress quick; let mesee you. "

Egerton recognized Lady Lansmere's voice. Alarmed and surprised, herose, dressed in haste, and went to the door. Lady Lansmere was standingwithout, extremely pale. She put her finger to her lip, and beckoned himto follow her. He obeyed mechanically. They entered her dressing-room, afew doors from his own chamber, and the countess closed the door. 

Then laying her slight firm hand on his shoulder, she said, insuppressed and passionate excitement, "Oh, Mr. Egerton, you must serve me, and at once. Harley! Harley! savemy Harley! Go to him, prevent his coming back here, stay with him; giveup the election, --it is but a year or two lost in your life, you willhave other opportunities; make that sacrifice to your friend. "

"Speak--what is the matter? I can make no sacrifice too great forHarley!"

"Thanks, I was sure of it. Go then, I say, at once to Harley; keep himaway from Lansmere on any excuse you can invent, until you can break thesad news to him, --gently, gently. Oh, how will he bear it; how recoverthe shock? My boy, my boy!"

"Calm yourself! Explain! Break what news; recover what shock?"

"True; you do not know, you have not heard. Nora Avenel lies yonder, inher father's house, --dead, dead!"

Audley staggered back, clapping his hand to his heart, and then droppingon his knee as if bowed down by the stroke of heaven. 

"My bride, my wife!" he muttered. "Dead--it cannot be!"

Lady Lansmere was so startled at this exclamation, so stunned by aconfession wholly unexpected, that she remained unable to soothe, toexplain, and utterly unprepared for the fierce agony that burst from theman she had ever seen so dignified and cold, when he sprang to his feet, and all the sense of his eternal loss rushed upon his heart. 

At length he crushed back his emotions, and listened in apparentcalm, and in a silence broken but by quick gasps for breath, to LadyLansmere's account. 

One of the guests in the house, a female relation of Lady Lansmere's, had been taken suddenly ill about an hour or two before; the house hadbeen disturbed, the countess herself aroused, and Mr. Morgan summonedas the family medical practitioner. From him she had learned that NoraAvenel had returned to her father's house late on the previous evening, had been seized with brain fever, and died in a few hours. 

Audley listened, and turned to the door, still in silence. Lady Lansmerecaught him by the arm. "Where are you going? Ah, can I now ask youto save my son from the awful news, you yourself the sufferer? Andyet--yet--you know his haste, his vehemence, if he learned that you werehis rival, her husband; you whom he so trusted! What, what would be theresult?--I tremble!"

"Tremble not, --I do not tremble! Let me go! I will be back soon, andthen, "--(his lips writhed)--"then we will talk of Harley. "

Egerton went forth, stunned and dizzy. Mechanically he took his wayacross the park to John Avenel's house. He had been forced to enter thathouse, formally, a day or two before, in the course of his canvass; andhis worldly pride had received a shock when the home, the birth, and themanners of his bride's parents had been brought before him. He had evensaid to himself, "And is it the child of these persons that I, AudleyEgerton, must announce to the world as wife?" Now, if she had been thechild of a beggar-nay, of a felon--now if he could but recall her tolife, how small and mean would all that dreaded world appear to him!Too late, too late! The dews were glistening in the sun, the birds weresinging overhead, life wakening all around him--and his own heart feltlike a charnel-house. Nothing but death and the dead there, --nothing! Hearrived at the door: it was open: he called; no one answered: he walkedup the narrow stairs, undisturbed, unseen; he came into the chamber ofdeath. At the opposite side of the bed was seated John Avenel; but heseemed in a heavy sleep. In fact, paralysis had smitten him; but he knewit not; neither did any one. Who could heed the strong hearty man insuch a moment? Not even the poor anxious wife! He had been left thereto guard the house, and watch the dead, --an unconscious man; numbed, himself, by the invisible icy hand! Audley stole to the bedside; helifted the coverlid thrown over the pale still face. What passed withinhim during the minute he stayed there who shall say? But when he leftthe room, and slowly descended the stairs, he left behind him love andyouth, all the sweet hopes and joys of the household human life, forever and ever!

He returned to Lady Lansmere, who awaited his coming with the mostnervous anxiety. 

"Now, " said he, dryly, "I will go to Harley, and I will prevent hisreturning hither. "

"You have seen the parents. Good heavens! do they know of yourmarriage?"

"No; to Harley I must own it first. Meanwhile, silence!"

"Silence!" echoed Lady Lansmere; and her burning hand rested inAudley's, and Audley's hand was as ice. 

In another hour Egerton had left the house, and before noon he was withHarley. 

It is necessary now to explain the absence of all the Avenel family, except the poor stricken father. 

Nora had died in giving birth to a child, --died delirious. In herdelirium she had spoken of shame, of disgrace; there was no holy nuptialring on her finger. Through all her grief, the first thought of Mrs. Avenel was to save the good name of her lost daughter, the unblemishedhonour of all the living Avenels. No matron long descended fromknights or kings had keener pride in name and character than the poor, punctilious Calvinistic trader's wife. "Sorrow later, honour now!" Withhard dry eyes she mused and mused, and made out her plan. Jane Fairfieldshould take away the infant at once, before the day dawned, and nurseit with her own. Mark should go with her, for Mrs. Avenel dreaded theindiscretion of his wild grief. She would go with them herself part ofthe way, in order to command or reason them into guarded silence. Butthey could not go back to Hazeldean with another infant; Jane mustgo where none knew her; the two infants might pass as twins. And Mrs. Avenel, though naturally a humane, kindly woman, and with a mother'sheart to infants, looked with almost a glad sternness at Jane's punybabe, and thought to herself, "All difficulty would be over should therebe only one! Nora's child could thus pass throughout life for Jane's!"

Fortunately for the preservation of the secret, the Avenels kept noservant, --only an occasional drudge, who came a few hours in the day, and went home to sleep. Mrs. Avenel could count on Mr. Morgan's silenceas to the true cause of Nora's death. And Mr. Dale, why should be revealthe dishonour of a family? That very day, or the next at furthest, shecould induce her husband to absent himself, lest he should blab out thetale while his sorrow was greater than his pride. She alone would thenstay in the house of death until she could feel assured that all elsewere hushed into prudence. Ay, she felt, that with due precautions, thename was still safe. And so she awed and hurried Mark and his wife away, and went with them in the covered cart, that hid the faces of all three, leaving for an hour or two the house and the dead to her husband'scharge, with many an admonition, to which he nodded his head, and whichhe did not hear. Do you think this woman was unfeeling and inhuman?Had Nora looked from heaven into her mother's heart Nora would not havethought so. A good name when the burial stone closes over dust is stilla possession upon the earth; on earth it is indeed our only one! Betterfor our friends to guard for us that treasure than to sit down and weepover perishable clay. And weep!--Oh, stern mother, long years were leftto thee for weeping! No tears shed for Nora made such deep furrows onthe cheeks as thine did! Yet who ever saw them flow?

Harley was in great surprise to see Egerton; more surprised when Egertontold him that he found he was to be opposed, --that he had no chance ofsuccess at Lansmere, and had, therefore, resolved to retire from thecontest. He wrote to the earl to that effect; but the countess knewthe true cause, and hinted it to the earl; so that, as we saw at thecommencement of this history, Egerton's cause did not suffer whenCaptain Dashmore appeared in the borough; and, thanks to Mr. Hazeldean'sexertions and oratory, Audley came in by two votes, --the votes of JohnAvenel and Mark Fairfield. For though the former had been removed alittle way from the town, and by medical advice, and though, on othermatters, the disease that had smitten him left him docile as a child(and he had but vague indistinct ideas of all the circumstancesconnected with Nora's return, save the sense of her loss), yet he stillwould hear how the Blues went on, and would get out of bed to keep hisword: and even his wife said, "He is right; better die of it than break his promise!" The crowd gaveway as the broken man they had seen a few days before so jovial andhealthful was brought up in a chair to the poll, and said, with histremulous quavering voice, "I 'm a true Blue, --Blue forever!"

Elections are wondrous things! No man who has not seen can guess how thezeal in them triumphs over sickness, sorrow, the ordinary private lifeof us!

There was forwarded to Audley, from Lansmere Park, Nora's last letter. The postman had left it there an hour or two after he himself had gone. The wedding-ring fell on the ground, and rolled under his feet. Andthose burning, passionate reproaches, all that anger of the woundeddove, explained to him the mystery of her return, her unjust suspicions, the cause of her sudden death, which he still ascribed to brain fever, brought on by excitement and fatigue. For Nora did not speak of thechild about to be born; she had not remembered it when she wrote, or shewould not have written. On the receipt of this letter, Egerton could notremain in the dull village district, --alone, too, with Harley. Hesaid, abruptly, that he must go to London; prevailed on L'Estrange toaccompany him; and there, when he heard from Lady Lansmere that thefuneral was over, he broke to Harley, with lips as white as the dead, and his hand pressed to his heart, on which his hereditary disease wasfastening quick and fierce, the dread truth that Nora was no more. Theeffect upon the boy's health and spirits was even more crushing thanAudley could anticipate. He only woke from grief to feel remorse. "For, "said the noble Harley, "had it not been for my passion, my rash pursuit, would she ever have left her safe asylum, --ever even have left hernative town? And then--and then--the struggle between her sense ofduty and her love to me! I see it all--all! But for me she were livingstill!"

"Oh, no!" cried Egerton, his confession now rushing to his lips. 

"Believe me, she never loved you as you think. Nay, nay, hear me! Rathersuppose that she loved another, fled with him, was perhaps married tohim, and--"

"Hold!" exclaimed Harley, with a terrible burst of passion, --"you killher twice to me if you say that! I can still feel that she lives--liveshere, in my heart--while I dream that she loved me--or, at least, thatno other lip ever knew the kiss that was denied to mine! But if you tellme to doubt that--you--you--" The boy's anguish was too great forhis frame; he fell suddenly back into Audley's arms; he had broken ablood-vessel. For several days he was in great danger; but his eyes wereconstantly fixed on Audley's, with wistful intense gaze. "Tell me, "he muttered, at the risk of re-opening the ruptured veins, and of theinstant loss of life, --"tell me, you did not mean that! Tell me you haveno cause to think she loved another--was another's!"

"Hush, hush! no cause--none--none! I meant but to comfort you, as Ithought, --fool that I was!--that is all!" cried the miserable friend. And from that hour Audley gave up the idea of righting himself in hisown eyes, and submitted still to be the living lie, --he, the haughtygentleman!

Now, while Harley was still very weak and suffering, Mr. Dale came toLondon, and called on Egerton. The curate, in promising secrecy to Mrs. Avenel, had made one condition, that it should not be to the positiveinjury of Nora's living son. What if Nora were married after all?And would it not be right, at least, to learn the name of the child'sfather?

Some day he might need a father. Mrs. Avenel was obliged to contentherself with these reservations. However, she implored Mr. Dale not tomake inquiries. What could they do? If Nora were married, her husbandwould naturally, of his own accord, declare himself; if seduced andforsaken, it would but disgrace her memory (now saved from stain) todiscover the father to a child of whose very existence the world asyet knew nothing. These arguments perplexed the good curate. But JaneFairfield had a sanguine belief in her sister's innocence; and all hersuspicions naturally pointed to Lord L'Estrange. So, indeed, perhaps;did Mrs. Avenel's, though she never owned them. Of the correctnessof these suspicions Mr. Dale was fully convinced; the young lord'sadmiration, Lady Lansmere's fears, had been too evident to one who hadoften visited at the Park; Harley's abrupt departure just before Nora'sreturn home; Egerton's sudden resignation of the borough before evenopposition was declared, in order to rejoin his friend, the very day ofNora's death, --all confirmed his ideas that Harley was the betrayer orthe husband. Perhaps there might have been a secret marriage--possiblyabroad--since Harley wanted some years of his majority. He would, atleast, try to see and to sound Lord L'Estrange. Prevented this interviewby Harley's illness, the curate resolved to ascertain how far he couldpenetrate into the mystery by a conversation with Egerton. There wasmuch in the grave repute which the latter had acquired, and the singularand pre-eminent character for truth and honour with which it wasaccompanied, that made the curate resolve upon this step. Accordingly;he saw Egerton, meaning only diplomatically to extract from the newmember for Lansmere what might benefit the family of the voters who hadgiven him his majority of two. 

He began by mentioning, as a touching fact, how poor John Avenel, boweddown by the loss of his child and the malady which had crippled hislimbs and enfeebled his mind, had still risen from his bed to keep hisword. And Audley's emotions seemed to him so earnest and genuine, toshow so good a heart, that out by little and little came more: first, his suspicions that poor Nora had been betrayed; then his hopes thatthere might have been private marriage; and as Audley, with his ironself-command, showed just the proper degree of interest, and no more, hewent on, till Audley knew that he had a child. 

"Inquire no further!" said the man of the world. "Respect Mrs. Avenel'sfeelings and wishes, I entreat you; they are the right ones. Leavethe rest to me. In my position--I mean as a resident of London--Ican quietly and easily ascertain more than you could, and provoke noscandal! If I can right this--this--poor--[his voice trembled]--rightthe lost mother, or the living child, sooner or later you will hearfrom me; if not, bury this secret where it now rests, in a grave whichslander has not reached. But the child--give me the address where it isto be found--in case I succeed in finding the father, and touching hisheart. "

"Oh, Mr. Egerton, may I not say where you may find that father--who heis?"

"Sir!"

"Do not be angry; and, after all, I cannot ask you to betray anyconfidence which a friend may have placed in you. I know what you menof high honour are to each other, even in sin. No, no, I beg pardon; Ileave all in your hands. I shall hear from you then?"

"Or if not, why, then, believe that all search is hopeless. My friend!if you mean Lord L'Estrange, he is innocent. I--I--I--[the voicefaltered]--am convinced of it. "

The curate sighed, but made no answer. "Oh, ye men of the world!"thought he. He gave the address which the member for Lansmere had askedfor, and went his way, and never heard again from Audley Egerton. He wasconvinced that the man who had showed such deep feeling had failed inhis appeal to Harley's conscience, or had judged it best to leaveNora's name in peace, and her child to her own relations and the care ofHeaven. 

Harley L'Estrange, scarcely yet recovered, hastened to join our armieson the Continent, and seek the Death which, like its half-brother, rarely comes when we call it. 

As soon as Harley was gone, Egerton went to the village to which Mr. Dale had directed him, to seek for Nora's child. But here he was ledinto a mistake which materially affected the tenor of his own life, andLeonard's future destinies. Mrs. Fairfield had been naturally orderedby her mother to take another name in the village to which she had gonewith the two infants, so that her connection with the Avenel familymight not be traced, to the provocation of inquiry and gossip. The griefand excitement through which she had gone dried the source of nutrimentin her breast. She put Nora's child out to nurse at the house of a smallfarmer, at a little distance from the village, and moved from her firstlodging to be nearer to the infant. Her own child was so sickly andailing, that she could not bear to intrust it to the care of an other. She tried to bring it up by hand; and the poor child soon pined awayand died. She and Mark could not endure the sight of their baby's grave;they hastened to return to Hazeldean, and took Leonard with them. Fromthat time Leonard passed for the son they had lost. 

When Egerton arrived at the village, and inquired for the person whoseaddress had been given to him, he was referred to the cottage in whichshe had last lodged, and was told that she had been gone some days, --theday after her child was buried. Her child buried! Egerton stayed toinquire no more; thus he heard nothing of the infant that had been putout to nurse. He walked slowly into the churchyard, and stood for someminutes gazing on the small new mound; then, pressing his hand on theheart to which all emotion had been forbidden, he re-entered his chaiseand returned to London. The sole reason for acknowledging his marriageseemed to him now removed. Nora's name had escaped reproach. Evenhad his painful position with regard to Harley not constrained him topreserve his secret, there was every motive to the world's wise andhaughty son not to acknowledge a derogatory and foolish marriage, nowthat none lived whom concealment could wrong. 

Audley mechanically resumed his former life, --sought to resettle histhoughts on the grand objects of ambitious men. His poverty stillpressed on him; his pecuniary debt to Harley stung and galled hispeculiar sense of honour. He saw no way to clear his estates, to repayhis friend, but by some rich alliance. Dead to love, he faced thisprospect first with repugnance, then with apathetic indifference. Levy, of whose treachery towards himself and Nora he was unaware, still heldover him the power that the money-lender never loses over the man thathas owed, owes, or may owe again. Levy was ever urging him to propose, to the rich Miss Leslie; Lady Lansmere, willing to atone, as shethought, for his domestic loss, urged the same; Harley, influenced byhis mother, wrote from the Continent to the same effect. 

"Manage it as you will, " at last said Egerton to Levy, "so that I am nota wife's pensioner. "

"Propose for me, if you will, " he said to Lady Lansmere, --"I cannotwoo, --I cannot talk of love. "

Somehow or other the marriage, with all its rich advantages to theruined gentleman, was thus made up. And Egerton, as we have seen, wasthe polite and dignified husband before the world, --married to a womanwho adored him. It is the common fate of men like him to be loved toowell!

On her death-bed his heart was touched by his wife's melancholyreproach, --"Nothing I could do has ever made you love me!"

"It is true, " answered Audley, with tears in his voice and eyes; "Naturegave me but a small fund of what women like you call 'love, ' and Ilavished it all away. " And he then told her, though with reserve, someportion of his former history; and that soothed her; for when she sawthat he had loved, and could grieve, she caught a glimpse of the humanheart she had not seen before. She died, forgiving him, and blessing. 

Audley's spirits were much affected by this new loss. He inly resolvednever to marry again. He had a vague thought at first of retrenching hisexpenditure, and making young Randal Leslie his heir. But when he firstsaw the clever Eton boy, his feelings did not warm to him, though hisintellect appreciated Randal's quick, keen talents. He contented himselfwith resolving to push the boy, --to do what was merely just to thedistant kinsman of his late wife. Always careless and lavish in moneymatters, generous and princely, not from the delight of serving others, but from a grand seigneur's sentiment of what was due to himself and hisstation, Audley had a mournful excuse for the lordly waste of the largefortune at his control. The morbid functions of the heart had becomeorganic disease. True, he might live many years, and die at last of someother complaint in the course of nature; but the progress of the diseasewould quicken with all emotional excitement; he might die suddenly--anyday--in the very prime, and, seemingly, in the full vigour, of hislife. And the only physician in whom he confided what he wished tokeep concealed from the world (for ambitious men would fain be thoughtimmortal) told him frankly that it was improbable that, with the wearand tear of political strife and action, he could advance far intomiddle age. Therefore, no son of his succeeding--his nearest relationsall wealthy--Egerton resigned himself to his constitutional disdainof money; he could look into no affairs, provided the balance in hisbanker's hands were such as became the munificent commoner. All elsehe left to his steward and to Levy. Levy grew rapidly rich, --very, veryrich, --and the steward thrived. 

The usurer continued to possess a determined hold over the imperiousgreat man. He knew Audley's secret; he could reveal that secret toHarley. And the one soft and tender side of the statesman's nature--thesole part of him not dipped in the ninefold Styx of practical prosaiclife, which renders man so invulnerable to affection--was his remorsefullove for the school friend whom he still deceived. 

Here then you have the key to the locked chambers of Audley Egerton'scharacter, the fortified castle of his mind. The envied minister, thejoyless man; the oracle on the economies of an empire, the prodigal ina usurer's hands; the august, high-crested gentleman, to whom princeswould refer for the casuistry of honour, the culprit trembling lest thefriend he best loved on earth should detect his lie! Wrap thyself in thedecent veil that the Arts or the Graces weave for thee, O Human Nature!It is only the statue of marble whose nakedness the eye can beholdwithout shame and offence!

CHAPTER XIX. 

Of the narrative just placed before the reader, it is clear thatLeonard could gather only desultory fragments. He could but see that hisill-fated mother had been united to a man she had loved with surpassingtenderness; had been led to suspect that the marriage was fraudulent;had gone abroad in despair; returned repentant and hopeful; had gleanedsome intelligence that her lover was about to be married to another, and there the manuscript closed with the blisters left on the page byagonizing tears. The mournful end of Nora, her lonely return to dieunder the roof of her parents, --this he had learned before from thenarrative of Dr. Morgan. 

But even the name of her supposed husband was not revealed. Of himLeonard could form no conjecture, except that he was evidently of higherrank than Nora. Harley L'Estrange seemed clearly indicated in the earlyboy-lover. If so, Harley must know all that was left dark to Leonard, and to him Leonard resolved to confide the manuscripts. With thisresolution he left the cottage, resolving to return and attend thefuneral obsequies of his departed friend. Mrs. Goodyer willinglypermitted him to take away the papers she had lent to him, and addedto them the packet which had been addressed to Mrs. Bertram from theContinent. 

Musing in anxious gloom over the record he had read, Leonard enteredLondon on foot, and bent his way towards Harley's hotel; when, just ashe had crossed into Bond Street, a gentleman in company with Baron Levy, and who seemed, by the flush on his brow and the sullen tone of hisvoice, to have had rather an irritating colloquy with the fashionableusurer, suddenly caught sight of Leonard, and, abruptly quitting Levy, seized the young man by the arm. 

"Excuse me, sir, " said the gentleman, looking hard into Leonard's face, "but unless these sharp eyes of mine are mistaken, which they seldomare, I see a nephew whom, perhaps, I behaved to rather too harshly, butwho still has no right to forget Richard Avenel. "

"My dear uncle, " exclaimed Leonard, "this is indeed a joyful surprise;at a time, too, when I needed joy! No; I have never forgotten yourkindness, and always regretted our estrangement. "

"That is well said; give us your fist again. Let me look at you--quitethe gentleman, I declare--still so good-looking too. We Avenels alwayswere a handsome family. 

"Good-by, Baron Levy. Need not wait for me; I am not going to run away. I shall see you again. "

"But, " whispered Levy, who had followed Avenel across the street, andeyed Leonard with a quick, curious, searching glance--"but it must beas I say with regard to the borough; or (to be plain) you must cash thebills on the day they are due. "

"Very well, sir, very well. So you think to put the screw upon me, asif I were a poor little householder. I understand, --my money or myborough?"

"Exactly so, " said the baron, with a soft smile. 

"You shall hear from me. " (Aside, as Levy strolled away)--"D---dtarnation rascal!"

Dick Avenel then linked his arm in his nephew's, and strove for someminutes to forget his own troubles, in the indulgence of that curiosityin the affairs of another, which was natural to him, and in thisinstance increased by the real affection which he had felt for Leonard. But still his curiosity remained unsatisfied; for long before Leonardcould overcome his habitual reluctance to speak of his success inliterature, Dick's mind wandered back to his rival at Screwstown, and the curse of "over-competition, "--to the bills which Levy haddiscounted, in order to enable Dick to meet the crushing force of acapitalist larger than himself, and the "tarnation rascal" who nowwished to obtain two seats at Lansmere, one for Randal Leslie, one fora rich Nabob whom Levy had just caught as a client, and Dick, thoughwilling to aid Leslie, had a mind to the other seat for himself. Therefore Dick soon broke in upon the hesitating confessions of Leonard, with exclamations far from pertinent to the subject, and rather for thesake of venting his own griefs and resentment than with any idea thatthe sympathy or advice of his nephew could serve him. 

"Well, well, " said Dick, "another time for your history. I see you havethrived, and that is enough for the present. Very odd; but just now Ican only think of myself. I'm in a regular fix, sir. Screwstown is notthe respectable Screwstown that you remember it--all demoralizedand turned topsy-turvy by a demoniacal monster capitalist, withsteam-engines that might bring the falls of Niagara into your backparlour, sir! And as if that was not enough to destroy and drive intoalmighty shivers a decent fair-play Britisher like myself, I hear heis just in treaty for some patent infernal invention that will make hisengines do twice as much work with half as many hands! That's the waythose unfeeling ruffians increase our poor-rates! But I 'll get up ariot against him, I will! Don't talk to me of the law! What the devilis the good of the law if it don't protect a man's industry, --a liberalman, too, like me!" Here Dick burst into a storm of vituperation againstthe rotten old country in general, and Mr. Dyce, the monster capitalistof Screwstown, in particular. 

Leonard started; for Dick now named, in that monster capitalist, thevery person who was in treaty for Leonard's own mechanical improvementon the steam-engine. 

"Stop, uncle, stop! Why, then, if this man were to buy the contrivanceyou speak of, it would injure you?"

"Injure me, sir! I should be a bankrupt, --that is, if it succeeded; butI dare say it is all a humbug. "

"No, it will succeed, --I 'll answer for that!"

"You! You have seen it?"

"Why, I invented it!"

Dick hastily withdrew his arm from Leonard's. 

"Serpent's tooth!" he said falteringly, "so it is you, whom I warmed atmy hearth, who are to ruin Richard Avenel?"

"No; but to save him! Come into the City and look at my model. If youlike it, the patent shall be yours!"

"Cab, cab, cab, " cried Dick Avenel, stopping a 'Ransom;' "jump in, Leonard, --jump in. I'll buy your patent, --that is, if it be worth astraw; and as for payment--"

"Payment! Don't talk of that!"

"Well, I won't, " said Dick, mildly; "for 't is not the topic ofconversation I should choose myself, just at present. And as for thatblack-whiskered alligator, the baron, let me first get out of thoserambustious, unchristian, filbert-shaped claws of his, and then--butjump in! jump in! and tell the man where to drive!"

A very brief inspection of Leonard's invention sufficed to show RichardAvenel how invaluable it would be to him. Armed with a patent, of whichthe certain effects in the increase of power and diminution of labourwere obvious to any practical man, Avenel felt that he should have nodifficulty in obtaining such advances of money as he required, whetherto alter his engines, meet the bills discounted by Levy, or carry onthe war with the monster capitalist. It might be necessary to admit intopartnership some other monster capitalist--What then? Any partner betterthan Levy. A bright idea struck him. 

"If I can just terrify and whop that infernal intruder on my ownground for a few months, he may offer, himself, to enter intopartnership, --make the two concerns a joint-stock friendly combination, and then we shall flog the world. "

His gratitude to Leonard became so lively that Dick offered to bring hisnephew in for Lansmere instead of himself; and when Leonard declined theoffer, exclaimed, "Well, then, any friend of yours; I'm all for reformagainst those high and mighty right honourable borough-mongers; and whatwith loans and mortgages on the small householders, and a long courseof 'Free and Easies' with the independent freemen, I carry one--seatcertain, perhaps both seats of the town of Lansmere, in my breechespocket. " Dick then, appointing an interview with Leonard at hislawyer's, to settle the transfer of the invention, upon terms which hedeclared "should be honourable to both parties, " hurried off, to searchamongst his friends in the City for some monster capitalist, who alightbe induced to extricate him from the jaws of Levy and the engines of hisrival at Screwstown. "Mullins is the man, if I can but catch him, " saidDick. "You have heard of Mullins?--a wonderful great man; you should seehis nails; he never cuts them! Three millions, at least, he has scrapedtogether with those nails of his, sir. And in this rotten old country, a man must have nails a yard long to fight with a devil like Levy!Good-by, good-by, --Goon-by, MY DEAR, nephew!"

CHAPTER XX. 

Harley L'Estrange was seated alone in his apartments. He had just putdown a volume of some favourite classic author, and he was restinghis hand firmly clenched upon the book. Ever since Harley's return toEngland, there had been a perceptible change in the expression of hiscountenance, even in the very bearing and attitudes of his elasticyouthful figure. But this change had been more marked since that lastinterview with Helen which has been recorded. There was a compressed, resolute firmness in the lips, a decided character in the brow. Tothe indolent, careless grace of his movements had succeeded a certainindescribable energy, as quiet and self-collected as that whichdistinguished the determined air of Audley Egerton himself. In fact, ifyou could have looked into his heart, you would have seen that Harleywas, for the first time, making a strong effort over his passions andhis humours; that the whole man was nerving himself to a sense of duty. "No, " he muttered, --"no! I will think only of Helen; I will thinkonly of real life! And what (were I not engaged to another) would thatdark-eyed Italian girl be to me?--What a mere fool's fancy is this! Ilove again, --I, who through all the fair spring of my life have clungwith such faith to a memory and a grave! Come, come, come, HarleyL'Estrange, act thy part as man amongst men, at last! Accept regard;dream no more of passion. Abandon false ideals. Thou art no poet--whydeem that life itself can be a poem?"

The door opened, and the Austrian prince, whom Harley had interestedin the cause of Violante's father, entered, with the familiar step of afriend. 

"Have you discovered those documents yet?" said the prince. "I must nowreturn to Vienna within a few days; and unless you can arm me withsome tangible proof of Peschiera's ancient treachery, or some moreunanswerable excuse for his noble kinsman, I fear that there is no otherhope for the exile's recall to his country than what lies in the hatefuloption of giving his daughter to his perfidious foe. "

"Alas!" said Harley, "as yet all researches have been in vain; andI know not what other steps to take, without arousing Peschiera'svigilance, and setting his crafty brains at work to counteract us. Mypoor friend, then, must rest contented with exile. To give Violante tothe count were dishonour. But I shall soon be married; soon have a home, not quite unworthy of their due rank, to offer both to father and tochild. "

"Would the future Lady L'Estrange feel no jealousy of a guest so fairas you tell me this young signorina is? And would you be in no dangeryourself, my poor friend?"

"Pooh!" said Harley, colouring. "My fair guest would have two fathers;that is all. Pray do not jest on a thing so grave as honour. "

Again the door opened, and Leonard appeared. 

"Welcome, " cried Harley, pleased to be no longer alone under theprince's penetrating eye, --"welcome. This is the noble friend who sharesour interest for Riccabocca, and who could serve him so well, if wecould but discover the document of which I have spoken to you. "

"It is here, " said Leonard, simply; "may it be all that you require!"

Harley eagerly grasped at the packet, which had been sent from Italy tothe supposed Mrs. Bertram, and, leaning his face on his hand, rapidlyhurried through the contents. 

"Hurrah!" he cried at last, with his face lighted up, and a boyish tossof his right hand. "Look, look, Prince, here are Peschiera's own lettersto his kinsman's wife; his avowal of what he calls his 'patrioticdesigns;' his entreaties to her to induce her husband to share them. Look, look, how he wields his influence over the woman he had oncewooed; look how artfully he combats her objections; see how reluctantour friend was to stir, till wife and kinsman both united to urge him!"

"It is enough, -quite enough, " exclaimed the prince, looking at thepassages in Peschiera's letters which Harley pointed out to him. 

"No, it is not enough, " shouted Harley, as he continued to read theletters with his rapid sparkling eyes. "More still! O villain, doublydamned! Here, after our friend's flight, here is Peschiera's avowalof guilty passion; here, he swears that he had intrigued to ruin hisbenefactor, in order to pollute the home that had sheltered him. Ah, seehow she answers! thank Heaven her own eyes were opened at last, and shescorned him before she died! She was innocent! I said so. Violante'smother was pure. Poor lady, this moves me! Has your emperor the heart ofa man?"

"I know enough of our emperor, " answered the prince, warmly, "to knowthat, the moment these papers reach him, Peschiera is ruined, and yourfriend is restored to his honours. You will live to see the daughter, towhom you would have given a child's place at your hearth, the wealthiestheiress of Italy, --the bride of some noble lover, with rank only belowthe supremacy of kings!"

"Ah, " said Harley, in a sharp accent, and turning very pale, --"ah, Ishall not see her that! I shall never visit Italy again!--never see hermore, --never, after she has once quitted this climate of cold iron caresand formal duties! never, never!" He turned his head for a moment, andthen came with quick step to Leonard. "But you, O happy poet! No Idealcan ever be lost to you. You are independent of real life. Would that Iwere a poet!" He smiled sadly. 

"You would not say so, perhaps, my dear Lord, " answered Leonard, with equal sadness, "if you knew how little what you call 'the Ideal'replaces to a poet the loss of one affection in the genial human world. Independent of real life! Alas! no. And I have here the confessions ofa true poet-soul, which I will entreat you to read at leisure; and whenyou have read, say if you would still be a poet!"

He took forth Nora's manuscripts as he spoke. 

"Place them yonder, in my escritoire, Leonard; I will read them later. "

"Do so, and with heed; for to me there is much here that involves my ownlife, --much that is still a mystery, and which I think you can unravel!"

"I!" exclaimed Harley; and he was moving towards the escritoire, in adrawer of which Leonard had carefully deposited the papers, when oncemore, but this time violently, the door was thrown open, and Giacomorushed into the room, accompanied by Lady Lansmere. 

"Oh, my Lord, my Lord!" cried Giacomo, in Italian, "the signorina! thesignorina! Violante!"

"What of her? Mother, Mother! what of her? Speak, speak!"

"She has gone, --left our house!"

"Left! No, no!" cried Giacomo. "She must have been deceived or forcedaway. The count! the count! Oh, my good Lord, save her, as you oncesaved her father!"

"Hold!" cried Harley. "Give me your arm, Mother. A second such blow inlife is beyond the strength of man, --at least it is beyond mine. So, so!I am better now! Thank you, Mother. Stand back, all of you! give meair. So the count has triumphed, and Violante has fled with him! Explainall, --I can bear it!"

BOOK TWELFTH. 

INITIAL CHAPTER. 

WHEREIN THE CAXTON FAMILY REAPPEAR. 

"Again, " quoth my father, --"again behold us! We who greeted thecommencement of your narrative, who absented ourselves in the midcoursewhen we could but obstruct the current of events, and jostle personagesmore important, --we now gather round the close. Still, as the chorus tothe drama, we circle round the altar with the solemn but dubiouschant which prepares the audience for the completion of the appointeddestinies; though still, ourselves, unaware how the skein is to beunravelled, and where the shears are to descend. "

So there they stood, the Family of Caxton, --all grouping round me, all eager officiously to question, some over-anxious prematurely tocriticise. 

"Violante can't have voluntarily gone off with that horrid count, " saidmy mother; "but perhaps she was deceived, like Eugenia by Mr. Bellamy, in the novel of 'CAMILLA'. "

"Ha!" said my father, "and in that case it is time yet to steal a hintfrom Clarissa Harlowe, and make Violante die less of a broken heart thana sullied honour. She is one of those girls who ought to be killed! Allthings about her forebode an early tomb!"

"Dear, dear!" cried Mrs. Caxton, "I hope not!"

"Pooh, brother, " said the captain, "we have had enough of the tomb inthe history of poor Nora. The whole story grows out of a grave, and ifto a grave it must return--if, Pisistratus, you must kill somebody--killLevy. "

"Or the count, " said my mother, with unusual truculence. "Or RandalLeslie, " said Squills. "I should like to have a post-mortem cast of hishead, --it would be an instructive study. "

Here there was a general confusion of tongues, all present conspiringto bewilder the unfortunate author with their various and discordantcounsels how to wind up his story and dispose of his characters. 

"Silence!" cried Pisistratus, clapping his hands to both ears. "I can nomore alter the fate allotted to each of the personages whom you honourwith your interest than I can change your own; like you, they mustgo where events lead there, urged on by their own characters and theagencies of others. Providence so pervadingly governs the universe, that you cannot strike it even out of a book. The author may beget acharacter, but the moment the character comes into action, it escapesfrom his hands, --plays its own part, and fulfils its own inevitabledoom. "

"Besides, " said Squills, "it is easy to see, from the phrenologicaldevelopment of the organs in those several heads which Pisistratus hasallowed us to examine, that we have seen no creations of mere fiction, but living persons, whose true history has set in movement their variousbumps of Amativeness, Constructiveness, Acquisitiveness, Idealty, Wonder, Comparison, etc. They must act, and they must end, accordingto the influences of their crania. Thus we find in Randal Leslie thepredominant organs of Constructiveness, Secretiveness, Comparison, andEventuality, while Benevolence, Conscientiousness, Adhesiveness, areutterly nil. Now, to divine how such a man must end, we must first seewhat is the general composition of the society in which he moves, inshort, what other gases are brought into contact with his phlogiston. As to Leonard, and Harley, and Audley Egerton, surveying themphrenologically, I should say that--"

"Hush!" said my father, "Pisistratus has dipped his pen in the ink, andit seems to me easier for the wisest man that ever lived to account forwhat others have done than to predict what they should do. Phrenologistsdiscovered that Mr. Thurtell had a very fine organ of Conscientiousness;yet, somehow or other, that erring personage contrived to knock thebrains out of his friend's organ of Individuality. Therefore I rise topropose a Resolution, --that this meeting be adjourned till Pisistratushas completed his narrative; and we shall then have the satisfaction ofknowing that it ought, according to every principle of nature, science, and art, to have been completed differently. Why should we depriveourselves of that pleasure?"

"I second the motion, " said the captain; "but if Levy be not hanged, Ishall say that there is an end of all poetical justice. "

"Take care of poor Helen, " said Blanche, tenderly: "nor, that I wouldhave you forget Violante. "

"Pish! and sit down, or they shall both die old maids. " Frightened atthat threat, Blanche, with a deprecating look, drew her stool quietlynear me, as if to place her two proteges in an atmosphere mesmerized tomatrimonial attractions; and my mother set hard to work--at a new frockfor the baby. Unsoftened by these undue female influences, Pisistratuswrote on at the dictation of the relentless Fates. His pen was of iron, and his heart was of granite. He was as insensible to the existence ofwife and baby as if he had never paid a house bill, nor rushed froma nursery at the sound of an infant squall. O blessed privilege ofAuthorship!

 "O testudinis aureae Dulcem quae strepitum, Pieri, temperas! O mutis quoque piscibus Donatura cyeni, si libeat, sonum!"

 ["O Muse, who dost temper the sweet sound of the golden shell of the tortoise, and couldst also give, were it needed, to silent fishes the song of the swan. "]

CHAPTER II. 

It is necessary to go somewhat back in the course of this narrative, andaccount to the reader for the disappearance of Violante. 

It may be remembered that Peschiera, scared by the sudden approach ofLord L'Estrange, had little time for further words to the young Italian, than those which expressed his intention to renew the conference, andpress for her decision. But the next day, when he re-entered the garden, secretly and stealthily, as before, Violante did not appear. And afterwatching round the precincts till dusk, the count retreated, with anindignant conviction that his arts had failed to enlist on his sideeither the heart or the imagination of his intended victim. He began nowto revolve and to discuss with Levy the possibilities of one of thosebold and violent measures, which were favoured by his reckless daringand desperate condition. But Levy treated with such just ridicule anysuggestion to abstract Violante by force from Lord Lansmere's house, soscouted the notions of nocturnal assault, with the devices of scalingwindows and rope-ladders, that the count reluctantly abandoned thatromance of villany so unsuited to our sober capital, and which would nodoubt have terminated in his capture by the police, with the prospect ofcommittal to the House of Correction. 

Levy himself found his invention at fault, and Randal Leslie was calledinto consultation. The usurer had contrived that Randal's schemes offortune and advancement were so based upon Levy's aid and connivance, that the young man, with all his desire rather to make instrumentsof other men, than to be himself their instrument, found his superiorintellect as completely a slave to Levy's more experienced craft, asever subtle Genius of air was subject to the vulgar Sorcerer of earth. 

His acquisition of the ancestral acres, his anticipated seat inparliament, his chance of ousting Frank from the heritage of Hazeldean, were all as strings that pulled him to and fro, like a puppet in thesleek, filbert-nailed fingers of the smiling showman, who could exhibithim to the admiration of a crowd, or cast him away into dust and lumber. 

Randal gnawed his lip in the sullen wrath of a man who bides his hourof future emancipation, and lent his brain to the hire of the presentservitude, in mechanical acquiescence. The inherent superiority of theprofound young schemer became instantly apparent over the courage ofPeschiera and the practised wit of the baron. 

"Your sister, " said Randal, to the former, "must be the active agent inthe first and most difficult part of your enterprise. Violante cannotbe taken by force from Lord Lansmere's, --she must be induced to leaveit with her own consent. A female is needed here. Woman can best decoywoman. "

"Admirably said, " quoth the count; "but Beatrice has grown restive, andthough her dowry, and therefore her very marriage with that excellentyoung Hazeldean, depend on my own alliance with my fair kinswoman, shehas grown so indifferent to my success that I dare not reckon on heraid. Between you and me, though she was once very eager to be married, she now seems to shrink from the notion; and I have no other hold overher. "

"Has she not seen some one, and lately, whom she prefers to poor Frank?"

"I suspect that she has; but I know not whom, unless it be that detestedL'Estrange. "

"Ah, well, well. Interfere with her no further yourself, but have allin readiness to quit England, as you had before proposed, as soon asViolante be in your power. "

"All is in readiness, " said the count. "Levy has agreed to purchase afamous sailing-vessel of one of his clients. I have engaged a score orso of determined outcasts, accustomed to the sea, --Genoese, Corsicans, Sardinians, ex-Carbonari of the best sort, --no silly patriots, butliberal cosmopolitans, who have iron at the disposal of any man's gold. I have a priest to perform the nuptial service, and deaf to any fairlady's 'No. ' Once at sea, and wherever I land, Violante will lean on myarm as Countess of Peschiera. "

"But Violante, " said Randal, doggedly, determined not to yield to thedisgust with which the count's audacious cynicism filled even him--"butViolante cannot be removed in broad daylight at once to such a vessel, nor from a quarter so populous as that in which your sister resides. "

"I have thought of that too, " said the count; "my emissaries have foundme a house close by the river, and safe for our purpose as the dungeonsof Venice. "

"I wish not to know all this, " answered Randal, quickly; "you willinstruct Madame di Negra where to take Violante. --my task limits itselfto the fair inventions that belong to intellect; what belongs to forceis not in my province. I will go at once to your sister, whom I think Ican influence more effectually than you can; though later I may giveyou a hint to guard against the chance of her remorse. Meanwhile as, themoment Violante disappears, suspicion would fall upon you, show yourselfconstantly in public surrounded by your friends. Be able to account forevery hour of your time--"

"An alibi?" interrupted the ci-devant solicitor. 

"Exactly so, Baron. Complete the purchase of the vessel, and let thecount man it as he proposes. I will communicate with you both as soonas I can put you into action. To-day I shall have much to do; it will bedone. "

As Randal left the room, Levy followed him. 

"What you propose to do will be well done, no doubt, " quoth the usurer, linking his arm in Randal's; "but take care that you don't get yourselfinto a scrape, so as to damage your character. I have great hopes of youin public life; and in public life character is necessary, --that is, sofar as honour is concerned. "

"I damage my character!--and for a Count Peschiera!" said Randal, opening his eyes. "I! What do you take me for?"

The baron let go his hold. 

"This boy ought to rise very high, " said he to himself, as he turnedback to the count. 

CHAPTER III. 

Randal's acute faculty of comprehension had long since surmised thetruth that Beatrice's views and temper of mind had been strangely andsuddenly altered by some such revolution as passion only can effect;that pique or disappointment had mingled with the motive which hadinduced her to accept the hand of his rash young kinsman; and that, instead of the resigned indifference with which she might at one timehave contemplated any marriage that could free her from a position thatperpetually galled her pride, it was now with a repugnance, visible toRandal's keen eye, that she shrank from the performance of that pledgewhich Frank had so dearly bought. The temptations which the count couldhold out to her to become his accomplice in designs of which the fraudand perfidy would revolt her better nature had ceased to be of avail. Adowry had grown valueless, since it would but hasten the nuptials fromwhich she recoiled. Randal felt that he could not secure her aid, exceptby working on a passion so turbulent as to confound her judgment. Sucha passion he recognized in jealousy. He had once doubted if Harley werethe object of her love; yet, after all, was it not probable? He knew, at least, of no one else to suspect. If so, he had but to whisper, "Violante is your rival. Violante removed, your beauty may find itsnatural effect; if not, you are an Italian, and you will be at leastavenged. " He saw still more reason to suppose that Lord L'Estrange wasindeed the one by whom he could rule Beatrice, since, the last timehe had seen her, she had questioned him with much eagerness as to thefamily of Lord Lansmere, especially as to the female part of it. Randalhad then judged it prudent to avoid speaking of Violante, and feignedignorance; but promised to ascertain all particulars by the time he nextsaw the marchesa. It was the warmth with which she had thanked him thathad set his busy mind at work to conjecture the cause of her curiosityso earnestly aroused, and to ascribe that cause to jealousy. If Harleyloved Violante (as Randal himself had before supposed), the little ofpassion that the young man admitted to himself was enlisted in aidof Peschiera's schemes. For though Randal did not love Violante, hecordially disliked L'Estrange, and would have gone as far to render thatdislike vindictive, as a cold reasoner, intent upon worldly fortunes, will ever suffer mere hate to influence him. 

"At the worst, " thought Randal, "if it be not Harley, touch the chord ofjealousy, and its vibration will direct me right. "

Thus soliloquizing, he arrived at Madame di Negra's. 

Now, in reality the marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lansmere's familyhad their source in the misguided, restless, despairing interest withwhich she still clung to the image of the young poet, whom Randal hadno reason to suspect. That interest had become yet more keen from theimpatient misery she had felt ever since she had plighted herselfto another. A wild hope that she might yet escape, a vague regretfulthought that she had been too hasty in dismissing Leonard from herpresence, --that she ought rather to have courted his friendship, andcontended against her unknown rival, --at times drew her wayward mindwholly from the future to which she had consigned herself. And, todo her justice, though her sense of duty was so defective, and theprinciples which should have guided her conduct were so lost to hersight, still her feelings towards the generous Hazeldean were not sohard and blunted but what her own ingratitude added to her torment; andit seemed as if the sole atonement she could make to him was to findan excuse to withdraw her promise, and save him from herself. She hadcaused Leonard's steps to be watched; she had found that he visited atLord Lansmere's; that he had gone there often, and stayed there long. She had learned in the neighbourhood that Lady Lansmere had one ortwo young female guests staying with her. Surely this was theattraction--here was the rival!

Randal found Beatrice in a state of mind that answered his purpose;and first turning his conversation on Harley, and noting that hercountenance did not change, by little and little he drew forth hersecret. 

Then said Randal, gravely, "If one whom you honour with a tender thoughtvisits at Lord Lansmere's house, you have, indeed, cause to fear foryourself, to hope for your brother's success in the object which hasbrought him to England; for a girl of surpassing beauty is a guest inLord Lansmere's house, and I will now tell you that that girl is shewhom Count Peschiera would make his bride. "

As Randal thus spoke, and saw how his listener's brow darkened and hereye flashed, he felt that his accomplice was secured. Violante! Had notLeonard spoken of Violante, and with such praise? Had not his boyhoodbeen passed under her eyes? Who but Violante could be the rival?Beatrice's abrupt exclamations, after a moment's pause, revealed toRandal the advantage he had gained. And partly by rousing her jealousyinto revenge, partly by flattering her love with assurances that, if Violante were fairly removed from England, were the wife of CountPeschiera, it would be impossible that Leonard could remain insensibleto her own attractions; that he, Randal, would undertake to free herhonourably from her engagement to Frank Hazeldean, and obtain from herbrother the acquittal of the debt which had first fettered her hand tothat confiding suitor, --he did not quit the marchesa until she had notonly promised to do all that Randal might suggest, but impetuously urgedhim to mature his plans, and hasten the hour to accomplish them. Randalthen walked some minutes musing and slow along the streets, revolvingthe next meshes in his elaborate and most subtle web. And here his craftluminously devised its masterpiece. 

It was necessary, during any interval that might elapse betweenViolante's disappearance and her departure from England, in order todivert suspicion from Peschiera (who might otherwise be detained), thatsome cause for her voluntary absence from Lord Lansmere's should be atleast assignable; it was still more necessary that Randal himself shouldstand wholly clear from any surmise that he could have connived at thecount's designs, even should their actual perpetrator be discovered orconjectured. To effect these objects, Randal hastened to Norwood, andobtained an interview with Riccabocca. In seeming agitation and alarm, he informed the exile that he had reason to know that Peschiera hadsucceeded in obtaining a secret interview with Violante, and he fearedhad made a certain favourable impression on her mind; and speaking asif with the jealousy of a lover, he entreated Riccabocca to authorizeRandal's direct proposals to Violante, and to require her consent totheir immediate nuptials. 

The poor Italian was confounded with the intelligence conveyed to him;and his almost superstitious fears of his brilliant enemy, conjoinedwith his opinion of the susceptibility to outward attractions commonto all the female sex, made him not only implicitly credit, buteven exaggerate, the dangers that Randal intimated. The idea of hisdaughter's marriage with Randal, towards which he had lately cooled, henow gratefully welcomed. 

But his first natural suggestion was to go, or send, for Violante, andbring her to his own house. This, however, Randal artfully opposed. 

"Alas! I know, " said he, "that Peschiera has discovered your retreat, and surely she would be far less safe here than where she is now!"

"But, diavolo! you say the man has seen her where she is now, in spiteof all Lady Lansmere's promises and Harley's precautions. "

"True. Of this Peschiera boasted to me. He effected it not, of course, openly, but in some disguise. I am sufficiently, however, in hisconfidence--any man may be that with so audacious a braggart--to deterhim from renewing his attempt for some days. Meanwhile, I or yourselfwill leave discovered some surer home than this, to which you canremove, and then will be the proper time to take back your daughter. And for the present, if you will send by me a letter to enjoin her toreceive me as her future bridegroom, it will necessarily divert allthought at once from the count; I shall be able to detect by the mannerin which she receives me, how far the count has overstated the effecthe pretends to have produced. You can give me also a letter to LadyLansmere, to prevent your daughter coming hither. Oh, sir, do not reasonwith me. Have indulgence for my lover's fears. Believe that I advise forthe best. Have I not the keenest interest to do so?"

Like many a man who is wise enough with pen and paper before him, andplenty of time wherewith to get up his wisdom, Riccabocca was flurried, nervous, and confused when that wisdom was called upon for any readyexertion. From the tree of knowledge he had taken grafts enough toserve for a forest; but the whole forest could not spare him a handywalking-stick. The great folio of the dead Machiavelli lay uselessbefore him, --the living Machiavelli of daily life stood all puissant byhis side. The Sage was as supple to the Schemer as the Clairvoyant is tothe Mesmerist; and the lean slight fingers of Randal actually dictatedalmost the very words that Riccabocca wrote to his child and herhostess. 

The philosopher would have liked to consult his wife; but he was ashamedto confess that weakness. Suddenly he remembered Harley, and said, asRandal took up the letters which Riccabocca had indited, "There, that will give us time; and I will send to Lord L'Estrange andtalk to him. "

"My noble friend, " replied Randal, mournfully, "may I entreat you notto see Lord L'Estrange until at least I have pleaded my cause to yourdaughter, --until, indeed, she is no longer under his father's roof?"

"And why?"

"Because I presume that you are sincere when you deign to receive me asa son-in-law, and because I am sure that Lord L'Estrange would hear withdistaste of your disposition in my favour. Am I not right?"

Riccabocca was silent. 

"And though his arguments would fail with a man of your honour anddiscernment, they might have more effect on the young mind of yourchild. Think, I beseech you, the more she is set against me, the moreaccessible she may be to the arts of Peschiera. Speak not, therefore, Iimplore you, to Lord L'Estrange till Violante has accepted my hand, orat least until she is again under your charge; otherwise take back yourletter, --it would be of no avail. "

"Perhaps you are right. Certainly Lord L'Estrange is prejudiced againstyou; or rather, he thinks too much of what I have been, too little ofwhat I am. "

"Who can see you, and not do so? I pardon him. " After kissing the handwhich the exile modestly sought to withdraw from that act of homage, Randal pocketed the letters; and, as if struggling with emotion, rushedfrom the house. 

Now, O curious reader, if thou wilt heedfully observe to what usesRandal Leslie put those letters, --what speedy and direct results he drewforth from devices which would seem to an honest simple understandingthe most roundabout, wire-drawn wastes of invention, --I almost fearthat in thine admiration for his cleverness, thou mayest half forget thycontempt for his knavery. 

But when the head is very full, it does not do to have the heart veryempty; there is such a thing as being top-heavy!

CHAPTER IV. 

Helen and Violante had been conversing together, and Helen had obeyedher guardian's injunction, and spoken, though briefly, of her positiveengagement to Harley. However much Violante had been prepared for theconfidence, however clearly she had divined that engagement, howeverbefore persuaded that the dream of her childhood was fled forever, stillthe positive truth, coming from Helen's own lips, was attended with thatanguish which proves how impossible it is to prepare the human heart forthe final verdict which slays its future. She did not, however, betrayher emotion to Helen's artless eyes; sorrow, deep-seated, is seldomself-betrayed. But, after a little while, she crept away; and, forgetfulof Peschiera, of all things that could threaten danger (what dangercould harm her more!) she glided from the house, and went her desolateway under the leafless wintry trees. Ever and anon she paused, everand anon she murmured the same words: "If she loved him, I could beconsoled; but she does not! or how could she have spoken to meso calmly! how could her very looks have been so sad! Heartless!heartless!"

Then there came on her a vehement resentment against poor Helen, that almost took the character of scorn or hate, --its excess startledherself. "Am I grown so mean?" she said; and tears that humbled herrushed to her eyes. "Can so short a time alter one thus? Impossible!"

Randal Leslie rang at the front gate, inquired for Violante, and, catching sight of her form as he walked towards the house, advancedboldly and openly. His voice startled her as she leaned against one ofthe dreary trees, still muttering to herself, --forlorn. "I have a letterto you from your father, Signorina, " said Randal; "but before I give itto your hands, some explanation is necessary. Condescend, then, to hearme. " Violante shook her head impatiently, and stretched forth her handfor the letter. Randal observed her countenance with his keen, cold, searching eye; but he still withheld the letter, and continued, after apause, "I know that you were born to princely fortunes; and the excuse for myaddressing you now is, that your birthright is lost to you, at leastunless you can consent to a union with the man who has despoiled youof your heritage, --a union which your father would deem dishonour toyourself and him. Signorina, I might have presumed to love you, but Ishould not have named that love, had your father not encouraged me byhis assent to my suit. "

Violante turned to the speaker, her face eloquent with haughty surprise. Randal met the gaze unmoved. He continued, without warmth, and in thetone of one who reasons calmly, rather than of one who feels acutely, "The man of whom I spoke is in pursuit of you. I have cause to believethat this person has already intruded himself upon you. Ah, yourcountenance owns it; you have seen Peschiera? This house is, then, less safe than your father deemed it. No house is safe for you but ahusband's. I offer to you my name, --it is a gentleman's; my fortune, which is small; the participation in my hopes of the future, which arelarge. I place now your father's letter in your hand, and await youranswer. " Randal bowed slightly, gave the letter to Violante, and retireda few paces. 

It was not his object to conciliate Violante's affection, but rather toexcite her repugnance, or at least her terror, --we must wait todiscover why; so he stood apart, seemingly in a kind of self-confidentindifference, while the girl read the following letter:

 "My child, receive with favour Mr. Leslie. He has my consent to address you as a suitor. Circumstances of which it is needless now to inform you render it essential to my very peace and happiness that your marriage should be immediate. In a word, I have given my promise to Mr. Leslie, and I confidently leave it to the daughter of my House to redeem the pledge of her anxious and tender father. "

The letter dropped from Violante's hand. Randal approached, and restoredit to her. Their eyes met. Violante recoiled. 

"I cannot marry you, " said she, passionately. 

"Indeed?" answered Randal, dryly. "Is it because you cannot love me?"

"Yes. "

"I did not expect that you would as yet, and I still persist in my suit. I have promised to your father that I would not recede before your firstunconsidered refusal. "

"I will go to my father at once. "

"Does he request you to do so in his letter? Look again. Pardon me, buthe foresaw your impetuosity; and I have another note for Lady Lansmere, in which he begs her ladyship not to sanction your return to him (shouldyou so wish) until he come or send for you himself. He will do sowhenever your word has redeemed his own. "

"And do you dare to talk to me thus, and yet pretend to love me?"

Randal smiled ironically. 

"I pretend but to wed you. Love is a subject on which I might havespoken formerly, or may speak hereafter. I give you some little time toconsider. When I next call, let me hope that we may fix the day for ourwedding. "

"Never!"

"You will be, then, the first daughter of your House who disobeyed afather; and you will have this additional crime; that you disobeyed himin his sorrow, his exile, and his fall. "

Violante wrung her hands. 

"Is there no choice, no escape?"

"I see none for either. Listen to me. I love you, it is true; but it isnot for my happiness to marry one who dislikes me, nor for my ambitionto connect myself with one whose poverty is greater than my own. I marrybut to keep my plighted faith with your father, and to save you from avillain you would hate more than myself, and from whom no walls area barrier, no laws a defence. One person, indeed, might perhaps havepreserved you from the misery you seem to anticipate with me; thatperson might defeat the plans of your father's foe, --effect, it mightbe, terms which could revoke his banishment and restore his honours;that person is--"

"Lord L'Estrange?"

"Lord L'Estrange!" repeated Randal, sharply, and watching her paleparted lips and her changing colour; "Lord L'Estrange! What could he do?Why did you name him?"

Violante turned aside. "He saved my father once, " said she, feelingly. 

"And has interfered, and trifled, and promised, Heaven knows what, eversince: yet to what end? Pooh! The person I speak of your fatherwould not consent to see, would not believe if he saw her; yet she isgenerous, noble, could sympathize with you both. She is the sister ofyour father's enemy, the Marchesa di Negra. I am convinced that shehas great influence with her brother, --that she has known enough of hissecrets to awe him into renouncing all designs on yourself; but it isidle now to speak of her. "

"No, no, " exclaimed Violante. "Tell me where she lives--I will see her. "

"Pardon me, I cannot obey you; and, indeed, her own pride is now arousedby your father's unfortunate prejudices against her. It is too late tocount upon her aid. You turn from me, --my presence is unwelcome. I ridyou of it now. But welcome or unwelcome, later you must endure it--andfor life. "

Randal again bowed with formal ceremony, walked towards the house, andasked for Lady Lansmere. The countess was at home. Randal deliveredRiccabocca's note, which was very short, implying that he fearedPeschiera had discovered his retreat, and requesting Lady Lansmere toretain Violante, whatever her own desire, till her ladyship heard fromhim again. 

The countess read, and her lip curled in disdain. "Strange!" said she, half to herself. 

"Strange!" said Randal, "that a man like your correspondent should fearone like the Count di Peschiera. Is that it?"

"Sir, " said the countess, a little surprised, "strange that any manshould fear another in a country like ours!"

"I don't know, " said Randal, with his low soft laugh; "I fear many men, and I know many who ought to fear me; yet at every turn of the streetone meets a policeman!"

"Yes, " said Lady Lansmere. "But to suppose that this profligateforeigner could carry away a girl like Violante against her will, --a manshe has never seen, and whom she must have been taught to hate!"

"Be on your guard, nevertheless, I pray you, madam; 'Where there's awill there's a way'!"

Randal took his leave, and returned to Madame di Negra's. He stayed withher an hour, revisited the count, and then strolled to Limmer's. 

"Randal, " said the squire, who looked pale and worn, but who scornedto confess the weakness with which he still grieved and yearned for hisrebellious son, "Randal, you have nothing now to do in London; can youcome and stay with me, and take to farming? I remember that you showed agood deal of sound knowledge about thin sowing. "

"My dear sir, I will come to you as soon as the general election isover. "

"What the deuce have you got to do with the general election?"

"Mr. Egerton has some wish that I should enter parliament; indeed, negotiations for that purpose are now on foot. "

The squire shook his head. "I don't like my half-brother's politics. "

"I shall be quite independent of them, " cried Randal, loftily; "thatindependence is the condition for which I stipulate. "

"Glad to hear it; and if you do come into parliament, I hope you'll notturn your back on the land?"

"Turn my back on the land!" cried Randal, with devout horror. "Oh, sir, I am not so unnatural!"

"That's the right way to put it, " quoth the credulous squire; "it isunnatural! It is turning one's back on one's own mother. The land is amother--"

"To those who live by her, certainly, --a mother, " said Randal, gravely. "And though, indeed, my father starves by her rather than lives, andRood Hall is not like Hazeldean, still--I--"

"Hold your tongue, " interrupted the squire; "I want to talk to you. Yourgrandmother was a Hazeldean. "

"Her picture is in the drawing-room at Rood. People think me very likeher. "

"Indeed!" said the squire. "The Hazeldeans are generally inclined to bestout and rosy, which you are certainly not. But no fault of yours. Weare all as Heaven made us. However, to the point. I am going to altermy will, "--(said with a choking gulp). "This is the rough draft for thelawyers to work upon. "

"Pray, pray, sir, do not speak to me on such a subject. I cannot bear tocontemplate even the possibility of--of--"

"My death? Ha, ha! Nonsense. My own son calculated on the date of it bythe insurance-tables. Ha, ha, ha! A very fashionable son, eh! Ha, ha!"

"Poor Frank! do not let him suffer for a momentary forgetfulness ofright feeling. When he comes to be married to that foreign lady, and bea father himself, he--"

"Father himself!" burst forth the squire. "Father to a swarm ofsallow-faced Popish tadpoles! No foreign frogs shall hop about mygrave in Hazeldean churchyard. No, no. But you need not look soreproachful, --I 'm not going to disinherit Frank. "

"Of course not, " said Randal, with a bitter curve in the lip thatrebelled against the joyous smile which he sought to impose on it. 

"No; I shall leave him the life-interest in the greater part ofthe property; but if he marry a foreigner, her children will notsucceed, --you will stand after him in that case. But--now don'tinterrupt me--but Frank looks as if he would live longer than you, sosmall thanks to me for my good intentions, you may say. I mean to domore for you than a mere barren place in the entail. What do you say tomarrying?"

"Just as you please, " said Randal, meekly. 

"Good. There's Miss Sticktorights disengaged, --great heiress. Her landsrun onto Rood. At one time I thought of her for that graceless puppy ofmine. But I can manage more easily to make up the match for you. There'sa mortgage on the property; old Sticktorights would be very glad to payit off. I 'll pay it out of the Hazeldean estate, and give up the Rightof Way into the bargain. You understand?

"So come down as soon as you can, and court the young lady yourself. "

Randal expressed his thanks with much grateful eloquence; and he thendelicately insinuated, that if the squire ever did mean to bestow uponhim any pecuniary favours (always without injury to Frank), it wouldgratify him more to win back some portions of the old estate of Rood, than to have all the acres of the Sticktorights, however free from anyother incumbrance than the amiable heiress. 

The squire listened to Randal with benignant attention. This wish thecountry gentleman could well understand and sympathize with. He promisedto inquire into the matter, and to see what could be done with oldThornhill. 

Randal here let out that Mr. Thornhill was about to dispose of a largeslice of the ancient Leslie estate through Levy, and that he, Randal, could thus get it at a more moderate price than would be natural, if Mr. Thornhill knew that his neighbour the squire would bid for the purchase. 

"Better say nothing about it either to Levy or Thornhill. "

"Right, " said the squire. "No proprietor likes to sell to anotherproprietor, in the same shire, as largely acred as himself: it spoilsthe balance of power. See to the business yourself; and if I can helpyou with the purchase (after that boy is married, --I can attend tonothing before), why, I will. "

Randal now went to Egerton's. The statesman was in his library, settlingthe accounts of his house-steward, and giving brief orders for thereduction of his establishment to that of an ordinary private gentleman. 

"I may go abroad if I lose my election, " said Egerton, condescending toassign to his servant a reason for his economy; "and if I do not loseit, still, now I am out of office, I shall live much in private. "

"Do I disturb you, sir?" said Randal, entering. 

"No; I have just done. "

The house-steward withdrew, much surprised and disgusted, and meditatingthe resignation of his own office, --in order, not like Egerton, to save, but to spend. The house steward had private dealings with Baron Levy, and was in fact the veritable X. Y. Of the "Times, " for whom Dick Avenelhad been mistaken. He invested his wages and perquisites in the discountof bills; and it was part of his own money that had (though unknown tohimself) swelled the last L5, 000 which Egerton had borrowed from Levy. 

"I have settled with our committee; and, with Lord Lansmere's consent, "said Egerton, briefly, "you will stand for the borough, as we proposed, in conjunction with myself. And should any accident happen to me, --thatis, should I vacate this seat from any cause, --you may succeed to it, very shortly perhaps. Ingratiate yourself with the electors, and speakat the public-houses for both of us. I shall stand on my dignity, andleave the work of the election to you. No thanks, --you know how I hatethanks. Good-night. "

"I never stood so near to fortune and to power, " said Randal, as heslowly undressed. "And I owe it but to knowledge, --knowledge of men, life, of all that books can teach us. "

So his slight thin fingers dropped the extinguisher on the candle, andthe prosperous Schemer laid himself down to rest in the dark. Shuttersclosed, curtains drawn--never was rest more quiet, never was room moredark!

That evening, Harley had dined at his father's. He spoke much to Helen, scarcely at all to Violante. But it so happened that when later, anda little while before he took his leave, Helen, at his request, wasplaying a favourite air of his, Lady Lausmere, who had been seatedbetween him and Violante, left the room, and Violante turned quicklytowards Harley. 

"Do you know the Marchesa di Negra?" she asked, in a hurried voice. 

"A little. Why do you ask?"

"That is my secret, " answered Violante, trying to smile with her oldfrank, childlike archness. "But, tell me, do you think better of herthan of her brother?"

"Certainly. I believe her heart to be good, and that she is not withoutgenerous qualities. "

"Can you not induce my father to see her? Would you not counsel him todo so?"

"Any wish of yours is a law to me, " answered Harley, gallantly. "Youwish your father to see her? I will try and persuade him to do so. Now, in return, confide to me your secret. What is your object?"

"Leave to return to my Italy. I care not for honours, for rank; andeven my father has ceased to regret their loss. But the land, the nativeland--Oh, to see it once more! Oh, to die there!"

"Die! You children have so lately left heaven, that ye talk as ifye could return there, without passing through the gates of sorrow, infirmity, and age! But I thought you were content with England. Whyso eager to leave it? Violante, you are unkind to us, --to Helen, whoalready loves you so well. " As Harley spoke, Helen rose from the piano, and approaching Violante, placed her hand caressingly on the Italian'sshoulder. Violante shivered, and shrunk away. The eyes both of Harleyand Helen followed her. Harley's eyes were very grave and thoughtful. 

"Is she not changed--your friend?" said he, looking down. 

"Yes, lately; much changed. I fear there is something on her mind, --Iknow not what. "

"Ah, " muttered Harley, "it may be so; but at your age and hers, nothingrests on the mind long. Observe, I say the mind, --the heart is moretenacious. "

Helen sighed softly, but deeply. 

"And therefore, " continued Harley, half to himself, "we can detect whensomething is on the mind, --some care, some fear, some trouble. But whenthe heart closes over its own more passionate sorrow, who can discover, who conjecture? Yet you at least, my pure, candid Helen, --you mightsubject mind and heart alike to the fabled window of glass. "

"Oh, no!" cried Helen, involuntarily. 

"Oh, yes! Do not let me think that you have one secret I may not know, or one sorrow I may not share. For, in our relationship, that would bedeceit. "

He pressed her hand with more than usual tenderness as he spoke, andshortly afterwards left the house. 

And all that night Helen felt like a guilty thing, --more wretched eventhan Violante. 

CHAPTER V. 

Early the next morning, while Violante was still in her room, a letteraddressed to her came by the post. The direction was in a strange hand. She opened it, and read, in Italian, what is thus translated:--

 I would gladly see you, but I cannot call openly at the house in which you live. Perhaps I may have it in my power to arrange family dissensions, --to repair any wrongs your father may have sustained. Perhaps I may be enabled to render yourself an essential service. But for all this it is necessary that we should meet and confer frankly. Meanwhile time presses, delay is forbidden. Will you meet me, an hour after noon, in the lane, just outside the private gate of your gardens? I shall be alone, and you cannot fear to meet one of your own sex, and a kinswoman. Ah, I so desire to see you! Come, I beseech you. 

 BEATRICE. 

Violante read, and her decision was taken. She was naturally fearless, and there was little that she would not have braved for the chance ofserving her father. And now all peril seemed slight in comparisonwith that which awaited her in Randal's suit, backed by her father'sapproval. Randal had said that Madame di Negra alone could aid her inescape from himself. Harley had said that Madame di Negra had generousqualities; and who but Madame di Negra would write herself a kinswoman, and sign herself "Beatrice"?

A little before the appointed hour, she stole unobserved through thetrees, opened the little gate, and found herself in the quiet, solitarylane. In a few minutes; a female figure came up, with a quick, lightstep; and throwing aside her veil, said, with a sort of wild, suppressedenergy, "It is you! I was truly told. Beautiful! beautiful! And oh! whatyouth and what bloom!"

The voice dropped mournfully; and Violante, surprised by the tone, andblushing under the praise, remained a moment silent; then she said, withsome hesitation, "You are, I presume, the Marchesa di Negra? And I have heard of youenough to induce me to trust you. "

"Of me! From whom?" asked Beatrice, almost fiercely. "From Mr Leslie, and--and--"

"Go on; why falter?"

"From Lord L'Estrange. "

"From no one else?"

"Not that I remember. "

Beatrice sighed heavily, and let fall her veil. Some foot-passengers nowcame up the lane; and seeing two ladies, of mien so remarkable, turnedround, and gazed curiously. 

"We cannot talk here, " said Beatrice, impatiently; "and I have so muchto say, so much to know. Trust me yet more; it is for yourself I speak. My carriage waits yonder. Come home with me, --I will not detain you anhour; and I will bring you back. "

This proposition startled Violante. She retreated towards the gate witha gesture of dissent. Beatrice laid her hand on the girl's arm, andagain lifting her veil, gazed at her with a look half of scorn, half ofadmiration. 

"I, too, would once have recoiled from one step beyond the formal lineby which the world divides liberty from woman. Now see how bold I am. Child, child, do not trifle with your destiny. You may never again havethe same occasion offered to you. It is not only to meet you that Iam here; I must know something of you, --something of your heart. Whyshrink? Is not the heart pure?"

Violante made no answer; but her smile, so sweet and so lofty, humbledthe questioner it rebuked. 

"I may restore to Italy your father, " said Beatrice, with an alteredvoice. "Come!"

Violante approached, but still hesitatingly. "Not by union with yourbrother?"

"You dread that so much then?"

"Dread it? No. Why should I dread what is in my power to reject. But ifyou can really restore my father, and by nobler means, you may save mefor--"

Violante stopped abruptly; the marchesa's eyes sparkled. 

"Save you for--ah! I can guess what you leave unsaid. But come, come!more strangers, see; you shall tell me all at my own house. And if youcan make one sacrifice, why, I will save you all else. Come, or farewellforever!"

Violante placed her hand in Beatrice's, with a frank confidence thatbrought the accusing blood into the marchesa's cheek. 

"We are women both, " said Violante; "we descend from the same nobleHouse; we have knelt alike to the same Virgin Mother; why should I notbelieve and trust you?"

"Why not?" muttered Beatrice, feebly; and she moved on, with her headbowed on her breast, and all the pride of her step was gone. 

They reached a carriage that stood by the angle of the road. Beatricespoke a word apart to the driver, who was an Italian, in the pay of thecount; the man nodded, and opened the carriage door. The ladies entered. Beatrice pulled down the blinds; the man remounted his box, and drove onrapidly. Beatrice, leaning back, groaned aloud. Violante drew nearer toher side. "Are you in pain?" said she, with her tender, melodious voice;"or can I serve you as you would serve me?"

"Child, give me your hand, and be silent while I look at you. Was I everso fair as this? Never! And what deeps--what deeps roll between her andme!"

She said this as of some one absent, and again sank into silence; butcontinued still to gaze on Violante, whose eyes, veiled by their longfringes, drooped beneath the gaze. 

Suddenly Beatrice started, exclaiming, "No, it shall not be!" and placedher hand on the check-string. 

"What shall not be?" asked Violante, surprised by the cry and theaction. Beatrice paused; her breast heaved visibly under her dress. 

"Stay, " she said slowly. "As you say, we are both women of the samenoble House; you would reject the suit of my brother, yet you have seenhim; his the form to please the eye, his the arts that allure the fancy. He offers to you rank, wealth, your father's pardon and recall. If Icould remove the objections which your father entertains, prove thatthe count has less wronged him than he deems, would you still reject therank and the wealth and the hand of Giulio Franzini?"

"Oh, yes, yes; were his hand a king's!"

"Still, then, as woman to woman--both, as you say, akin, and sprung fromthe same lineage--still, then, answer me, answer me, for you speak toone who has loved--Is it not that you love another? Speak. "

"I do not know. Nay, not love, --it was a romance; it is a thingimpossible. Do not question, --I cannot answer. " And the broken wordswere choked by sudden tears. 

Beatrice's face grew hard and pitiless. Again she lowered her veil, andwithdrew her hand from the check-string; but the coachman had felt thetouch, and halted. "Drive on, " said Beatrice, "as you were directed. "

Both were now long silent, --Violante with great difficulty recoveringfrom her emotion, Beatrice breathing hard, and her arms folded firmlyacross her breast. 

Meanwhile the carriage had entered London; it passed the quarter inwhich Madame di Negra's house was situated; it rolled fast over abridge; it whirled through a broad thoroughfare, then through defiles oflanes, with tall blank dreary houses on either side. On it went, andon, till Violante suddenly took alarm. "Do you live so far?" she said, drawing up the blind, and gazing in dismay on the strange, ignoblesuburb. "I shall be missed already. Oh, let us turn back, I beseechyou!"

"We are nearly there now. The driver has taken this road in order toavoid those streets in which we might have been seen together, --perhapsby my brother himself. Listen to me, and talk of-of the lover whomyou rightly associate with a vain romance. 'Impossible, '--yes, it isimpossible!"

Violante clasped her hands before her eyes, and bowed down her head. "Why are you so cruel?" said she. "This is not what you promised. Howare you to serve my father, how restore him to his country? This is whatyou promised!"

"If you consent to one sacrifice, I will fulfil that promise. We arearrived. "

The carriage stopped before a tall, dull house, divided from otherhouses by a high wall that appeared to enclose a yard, and standingat the end of a narrow lane, which was bounded on the one side by theThames. In that quarter the river was crowded with gloomy, dark-lookingvessels and craft, all lying lifeless under the wintry sky. 

The driver dismounted and rang the bell. Two swarthy Italian facespresented themselves at the threshold. Beatrice descended lightly, andgave her hand to Violante. "Now, here we shall be secure, " said she;"and here a few minutes may suffice to decide your fate. "

As the door closed on Violante, who, now waking to suspicion, to alarm, looked fearfully round the dark and dismal hall, Beatrice turned: "Letthe carriage wait. "

The Italian who received the order bowed and smiled; but when the twoladies had ascended the stairs he re-opened the street-door, and said tothe driver, "Back to the count, and say, 'All is safe. '"

The carriage drove off. The man who had given this order barred andlocked the door, and, taking with him the huge key, plunged into themystic recesses of the basement and disappeared. The hall, thus leftsolitary, had the grim aspect of a prison, --the strong door sheeted withiron, the rugged stone stairs, lighted by a high window grimed with thedust of years, and jealously barred, and the walls themselves abuttingout rudely here and there, as if against violence even from within. 

CHAPTER VI. 

It was, as we have seen, without taking counsel of the faithful Jemimathat the sage recluse of Norwood had yielded to his own fears andRandal's subtle suggestions, in the concise and arbitrary letter whichhe had written to Violante; but at night, when churchyards give up thedead, and conjugal hearts the secrets hid by day from each other, the wise man informed his wife of the step he had taken. And Jemimathen--who held English notions, very different from those which prevailin Italy, as to the right of fathers to dispose of their daughterswithout reference to inclination or repugnance--so sensibly yet somildly represented to the pupil of Machiavelli that he had not goneexactly the right way to work, if he feared that the handsome counthad made some impression on Violante, and if he wished her to turn withfavour to the suitor he recommended, --that so abrupt a command couldonly chill the heart, revolt the will, and even give to theaudacious Peschiera some romantic attraction which he had not beforepossessed, --as effectually to destroy Riccabocca's sleep that night. Andthe next day he sent Giacomo to Lady Lansmere's with a very kind letterto Violante and a note to the hostess, praying the latter to bring hisdaughter to Norwood for a few hours, as he much wished to conversewith both. It was on Giacomo's arrival at Knightsbridge that Violante'sabsence was discovered. Lady Lansmere, ever proudly careful of theworld and its gossip, kept Giacomo from betraying his excitement to herservants, and stated throughout the decorous household that the younglady had informed her she was going to visit some friends that morning, and had no doubt gone through the garden gate, since it was found open;the way was more quiet there than by the high-road, and her friendsmight have therefore walked to meet her by the lane. Lady Lansmereobserved that her only surprise was that Violante had gone earlierthan she had expected. Having said this with a composure that compelledbelief, Lady Lansmere ordered the carriage, and, taking Giacomo withher, drove at once to consult her son. 

Harley's quick intellect had scarcely recovered from the shock upon hisemotions before Randal Leslie was announced. "Ah, " said Lady Lansmere, "Mr. Leslie may know something. He came to her yesterday with a notefrom her father. Pray let him enter. "

The Austrian prince approached Harley. "I will wait in the next room, "he whispered. "You may want me if you have cause to suspect Peschiera inall this. "

Lady Lansmere was pleased with the prince's delicacy, and, glancing atLeonard, said, "Perhaps you, too, sir, may kindly aid us, if you wouldretire with the prince. Mr. Leslie may be disinclined to speak ofaffairs like these, except to Harley and myself. "

"True, madam, but beware of Mr. Leslie. "

As the door at one end of the room closed on the prince and Leonard, Randal entered at the other, seemingly much agitated. 

"I have just been to your house, Lady Lansmere. I heard you were here;pardon me if I have followed you. I have called at Knightsbridge to seeViolante, learned that she had left you. I implore you to tell me howor wherefore. I have the right to ask: her father has promised me herhand. " Harley's falcon eye had brightened tip at Randal's entrance. Itwatched steadily the young man's face. It was clouded for a moment byhis knitted brows at Randal's closing words; but he left it to LadyLansmere to reply and explain. This the countess did briefly. 

Randal clasped his hands. "And has she not gone to her father's? Are yousure of that?"

"Her father's servant has just come from Norwood. "

"Oh, I am to blame for this! It is my rash suit, her fear of it, heraversion! I see it all!" Randal's voice was hollow with remorse anddespair. "To save her from Peschiera, her father insisted on herimmediate marriage with myself. His orders were too abrupt, my ownwooing too unwelcome. I knew her high spirit; she has fled to escapefrom me. But whither, if not to Norwood, --oh, whither? What otherfriends has she, what relations?"

"You throw a new light on this mystery, " said Lady Lansmere; "perhapsshe may have gone to her father's after all, and the servant may havecrossed, but missed her on the way. I will drive to Norwood at once. "

"Do so, --do; but if she be not there, be careful not to alarm Riccaboccawith the news of her disappearance. Caution Giacomo not to do so. Hewould only suspect Peschiera, and be hurried to some act of violence. "

"Do not you, then, suspect Peschiera, Mr. Leslie?" asked Harley, suddenly. 

"Ha! is it possible? Yet, no. I called on him this morning with FrankHazeldean, who is to marry his sister. I was with him till I went on toKnightsbridge, at the very time of Violante's disappearance. He couldnot then have been a party to it. "

"You saw Violante yesterday. Did you speak to her of Madame di Negra?"asked Harley, suddenly recalling the questions respecting the marchesawhich Violante had addressed to him. 

In spite of himself, Randal felt that he changed countenance. "Of Madamedi Negra? I do not think so. Yet I might. Oh, yes, I remember now. Sheasked me the marchesa's address; I would not give it. "

"The address is easily found. Can she have gone to the marchesa'shouse?"

"I will run there, and see, " cried Randal, starting up. "And I with you. Stay, my dear mother. Proceed, as you propose, to Norwood, and take Mr. Leslie's advice. Spare our friend the news of his daughter's loss--iflost she be--till she is restored to him. He can be of no use meanwhile. Let Giacomo rest here; I may want him. "

Harley then passed into the next room, and entreated the prince andLeonard to await his return, and allow Giacomo to stay in the same room. 

He then went quickly back to Randal. Whatever might be his fears oremotions, Harley felt that he had need of all his coolness of judgmentand presence of mind. The occasion made abrupt demand upon powers whichhad slept since boyhood, but which now woke with a vigour that wouldhave made even Randal tremble, could he have detected the wit, the courage, the electric energies, masked under that tranquilself-possession. Lord L'Estrange and Randal soon reached the marchesa'shouse, and learned that she had been out since morning in one of CountPeschiera's carriages. Randal stole an alarmed glance at Harley's face. Harley did not seem to notice it. 

"Now, Mr. Leslie, what do you advise next?"

"I am at a loss. Ah, perhaps, afraid of her father, knowing how despoticis his belief in paternal rights, and how tenacious he is of his wordonce passed, as it has been to me, she may have resolved to take refugein the country, perhaps at the Casino, or at Mrs. Dale's, or Mrs. Hazeldean's. I will hasten to inquire at the coach-office. Meanwhile, you--"

"Never mind me, Mr. Leslie. Do what you think best. But, if yoursurmises be just, you must have been a very rude wooer to the high-bornlady you aspired to win. "

"Not so; but perhaps an unwelcome one. If she has indeed fled from me, need I say that my suit will be withdrawn at once? I am not a selfishlover, Lord L'Estrange. "

"Nor I a vindictive man. Yet, could I discover who has conspired againstthis lady, a guest under my father's roof, I would crush him into themire as easily as I set my foot upon this glove. Good-day to you, Mr. Leslie. "

Randal stood still for a few moments as Harley strided on; then his lipsneered as it muttered, "Insolent! But does he love her? If so, I amavenged already. "

CHAPTER VII. 

Harley went straight to Peschiera's hotel. He was told that the counthad walked out with Mr. Frank Hazeldean and some other gentlemen who hadbreakfasted with him. He had left word, in case any one called, that hehad gone to Tattersall's to look at some horses that were for sale. ToTattersall's went Harley. The count was in the yard leaning against apillar, and surrounded by fashionable friends. Lord L'Estrange paused, and, with an heroic effort at self-mastery, repressed his rage. "I maylose all if I show that I suspect him; and yet I must insult and fighthim rather than leave his movements free. Ah, is that young Hazeldean?A thought strikes me!" Frank was standing apart from the group round thecount, and looking very absent and very sad. Harley touched him on theshoulder, and drew him aside unobserved by the count. 

"Mr. Hazeldean, your uncle Egerton is my dearest friend. Will you be afriend to me? I want you. "

"My Lord--"

"Follow me. Do not let Count Peschiera see us talking together. "

Harley quitted the yard, and entered St. James's Park by the littlegate close by. In a very few words he informed Frank of Violante'sdisappearance and of his reasons for suspecting the count. Frank's firstsentiment was that of indignant disbelief that the brother of Beatricecould be so vile; but as he gradually called to mind the cynicaland corrupt vein of the count's familiar conversation, the hints toPeschiera's prejudice that had been dropped by Beatrice herself, andthe general character for brilliant and daring profligacy which even theadmirers of the count ascribed to him, Frank was compelled to reluctantacquiescence in Harley's suspicions; and he said, with an earnestgravity very rare to him, "Believe me, Lord L'Estrange, if I can assist you in defeating a baseand mercenary design against this poor young lady, you have but to showme how. One thing is clear, Peschicra was not personally engaged in thisabduction, since I have been with him all day; and--now I think of it--Ibegin to hope that you wrong him; for he has invited a large party of usto make an excursion with him to Boulogne next week, in order to try hisyacht, which he could scarcely do if--"

"Yacht, at this time of the year! a man who habitually resides atVienna--a yacht!"

"Spendquick sells it a bargain, on account of the time of year and otherreasons; and the count proposes to spend next summer in cruising aboutthe Ionian Isles. He has some property on those isles, which he hasnever yet visited. "

"How long is it since he bought this yacht?"

"Why, I am not sure that it is already bought, --that is, paid for. Levy was to meet Spendquick this very morning to arrange the matter. Spendquick complains that Levy screws him. "

"My dear Mr. Hazeldean, you are guiding me through the maze. Where shallI find Lord Spendquick?"

"At this hour, probably in bed. Here is his card. "

"Thanks. And where lies the vessel?"

"It was off Blackwall the other day. I went to see it, 'The FlyingDutchman, '--a fine vessel, and carries guns. "

"Enough. Now, heed me. There can be no immediate danger to Violante, solong as Peschiera does not meet her, so long as we know his movements. You are about to marry his sister. Avail yourself of that privilege tokeep close by his side. Refuse to be shaken off. Make what excusesfor the present your invention suggests. I will give you an excuse. Beanxious and uneasy to know where you can find Madame di Negra. "

"Madame di Negra!" cried Frank. "What of her? Is she not in CurzonStreet?"

"No; she has gone out in one of the count's carriages. In allprobability the driver of that carriage, or some servant in attendanceon it, will come to the count in the course of the day; and in orderto get rid of you, the count will tell you to see this servant, andascertain yourself that his sister is safe. Pretend to believe whatthe man says, but make him come to your lodgings on pretence of writingthere a letter for the marchesa. Once at your lodgings, and he willbe safe; for I shall see that the officers of justice secure him. Themoment he is there, send an express for me to my hotel. "

"But, " said Frank, a little bewildered, "if I go to my lodgings, how canI watch the count?"

"It will nor then be necessary. Only get him to accompany you to yourlodgings, and part with him at the door. "

"Stop, stop! you cannot suspect Madame di Negra of connivance in ascheme so infamous. Pardon me, Lord L'Estrange; I cannot act in thismatter, --cannot even hear you except as your foe, if you insinuate aword against the honour of the woman I love. "

"Brave gentleman, your hand. It is Madame di Negra I would save, aswell as my friend's young child. Think but of her, while you act asI entreat, and all will go well. I confide in you. Now, return to thecount. "

Frank walked back to join Peschiera, and his brow was thoughtful, andhis lips closed firmly. Harley had that gift which belongs to the geniusof Action. He inspired others with the light of his own spirit and theforce of his own will. Harley next hastened to Lord Spendquick, remainedwith that young gentleman some minutes, then repaired to his hotel, where Leonard, the prince, and Giacomo still awaited him. 

"Come with me, both of you. You, too, Giacomo. I must now see thepolice. We may then divide upon separate missions. "

"Oh, my dear Lord, " cried Leonard, "you must have had good news. Youseem cheerful and sanguine. "

"Seem! Nay, I am so! If I once paused to despond--even to doubt--Ishould go mad. A foe to baffle, and an angel to save! Whose spiritswould not rise high, whose wits would not move quick to the warm pulseof his heart?"

CHAPTER VIII. 

Twilight was dark in the room to which Beatrice had conducted Violante. A great change had come over Beatrice. Humble and weeping, she kneltbeside Violante, hiding her face, and imploring pardon. And Violante, striving to resist the terror for which she now saw such cause as nowoman-heart can defy, still sought to soothe, and still sweetly assuredforgiveness. 

Beatrice had learned, after quick and fierce questions, which at lastcompelled the answers that cleared away every doubt, that her jealousyhad been groundless, that she had no rival in Violante. From that momentthe passions that had made her the tool of guilt abruptly vanished, andher conscience startled her with the magnitude of her treachery. Perhapshad Violante's heart been wholly free, or she had been of that merecommonplace, girlish character which women like Beatrice are apt todespise, the marchesa's affection for Peschiera, and her dread of him, might have made her try to persuade her young kinswoman at least toreceive the count's visit, --at least to suffer him to make his ownexcuses, and plead his own cause. But there had been a loftiness ofspirit in which Violante had first defied the mareliesa's questions, followed by such generous, exquisite sweetness, when the girl perceivedhow that wild heart was stung and maddened, and such purity of mournfulcandour when she had overcome her own virgin bashfulness sufficiently toundeceive the error she detected, and confess where her own affectionswere placed, that Beatrice bowed before her as mariner of old to somefair saint that had allayed the storm. 

"I have deceived you!" she cried, through her sobs; "but I will now saveyou at any cost. Had you been as I deemed, --the rival who had despoiledall the hopes of my future life, --I could without remorse have beenthe accomplice I am pledged to be. But now you--Oh, you, so good andso noble--you can never, be the bride of Peschiera. Nay, start not; heshall renounce his designs forever, or I will go myself to our emperor, and expose the dark secrets of his life. Return with me quick to thehome from which I ensnared you. "

Beatrice's hand was on the door while she spoke. Suddenly her face fell, her lips grew white; the door was locked from without. She called, --noone answered; the bell-pull in the room gave no sound; the windows werehigh and barred, --they did not look on the river, nor the street, but ona close, gloomy, silent yard, high blank walls all round it; no one tohear the cry of distress, rang it ever so loud and sharp. 

Beatrice divined that she herself had been no less ensnared than hercompanion; that Peschiera, distrustful of her firmness in evil, hadprecluded her from the power of reparation. She was in a house onlytenanted by his hirelings. Not a hope to save Violante from a fate thatnow appalled her seemed to remain. Thus, in incoherent self-reproachesand frenzied tears, Beatrice knelt beside her victim, communicating moreand more the terrors that she felt, as the hours rolled on, and the roomdarkened, till it was only by the dull lamp which gleamed through thegrimy windows from the yard without, that each saw the face of theother. 

Night came on; they heard a clock from some distant church strikethe hours. The dim fire had long since burned out, and the air becameintensely cold. No one broke upon their solitude, --not a voice was heardin the house. They felt neither cold nor hunger, --they felt but thesolitude, and the silence, and the dread of something that was to come. 

At length, about midnight, a bell rang at the street door; then therewas the quick sound of steps, of sullen bolts withdrawn, of low, murmured voices. Light streamed through the chinks of the door to theapartment, the door itself opened. Two Italians bearing tapers entered, and the Count di Peschiera followed. 

Beatrice sprang up, and rushed towards her brother. He laid his handgently on her lips, and motioned to the Italians to withdraw. Theyplaced the lights on the table, and vanished without a word. 

Peschiera then, putting aside his sister, approached Violante. 

"Fair kinswoman, " said he, with an air of easy but resolute assurance, "there are things which no man can excuse, and no woman can pardon, unless that love, which is beyond all laws, suggests excuse for the one, and obtains pardon for the other. In a word, I have sworn to win you, and I have had no opportunities to woo. Fear not; the worst that canbefall you is to be my bride! Stand aside, my sister, stand aside. "

"Giulio Franzini, I stand between you and her; you shall strike me tothe earth before you can touch even the hem of her robe!"

"What, my sister! you turn against me?"

"And unless you instantly retire and leave her free, I will unmask youto the emperor. "

"Too late, mon enfant! You will sail with us. The effects you mayneed for the voyage are already on board. You will be witness to ourmarriage, and by a holy son of the Church. Then tell the emperor whatyou will. "

With a light and sudden exertion of his strength, the count put awayBeatrice, and fell on his knee before Violante, who, drawn to her fullheight, death-like pale, but untrembling, regarded him with unutterabledisdain. 

"You scorn me now, " said he, throwing into his features an expressionof humility and admiration, "and I cannot wonder at it. But, believeme, that until the scorn yield to a kinder sentiment, I will take noadvantage of the power I have gained over your fate. "

"Power!" said Violante, haughtily. "You have ensnared me into thishouse, you have gained the power of a day; but the power over myfate, --no!"

"You mean that your friends have discovered your disappearance, and areon your track. Fair one, I provide against your friends, and I defy allthe laws and police of England. The vessel that will bear you from theseshores waits in the river hard by. Beatrice, I warn you, --be still, unhand me. In that vessel will be a priest who shall join our hands, butnot before you will recognize the truth, that she who flies with GiulioPeschiera must become his wife or quit him as the disgrace of her House, and the scorn of her sex. "

"O villain! villain!" cried Beatrice. 

"Peste, my sister, gentler words. You, too, would marry. I tell no talesof you. Signorina, I grieve to threaten force. Give me your hand; wemust be gone. "

Violante eluded the clasp that would have profaned her, and dartingacross the room, opened the door, and closed it hastily behind her. Beatrice clung firmly to the count to detain him from pursuit. But justwithout the door, close, as if listening to what passed within, stood aman wrapped from head to foot in a large boat cloak. The ray of the lampthat beamed on the man glittered on the barrel of a pistol which he heldin his right hand. 

"Hist!" whispered the man in English, and passing his arm round her; "inthis house you are in that ruffian's power; out of it, safe. Ah, I am byyour side, --I, Violante!"

The voice thrilled to Violante's heart. She started, looked up, butnothing was seen of the man's face, what with the hat and cloak, save amass of raven curls, and a beard of the same hue. 

The count now threw open the door, dragging after him his sister, whostill clung round him. 

"Ha, that is well!" he cried to the man, in Italian. "Bear the ladyafter me, gently; but if she attempt to cry out, why, force enough tosilence her, not more. As for you, Beatrice, traitress that you are, Icould strike you to the earth, but--No, this suffices. " He caughthis sister in his arms as he spoke, and regardless of her cries andstruggles, sprang down the stairs. 

The hall was crowded with fierce, swarthy men. The count turned toone of them, and whispered; in an instant the marchesa was seized andgagged. The count cast a look over his shoulder; Violante was closebehind, supported by the man to whom Peschiera had consigned her, andwho was pointing to Beatrice, and appeared warning Violante againstresistance. 

Violante was silent, and seemed resigned. Peschiera smiled cynically, and, preceded by some of his hirelings, who held torches, descended afew steps that led to an abrupt landing-place between the hall and thebasement story. There a small door stood open, and the river flowedclose by. A boat was moored on the bank, round which grouped four men, who had the air of foreign sailors. At the appearance of Peschiera, three of these men sprang into the boat, and got ready their oars. Thefourth carefully re-adjusted a plank thrown from the boat to the wharf, and offered his arm obsequiously to Peschiera. The count was the firstto enter, and, humming a gay opera air, took his place by the helm. The two females were next lifted in, and Violante felt her handpressed almost convulsively by the man who stood by the plank. The restfollowed, and in another minute the boat bounded swiftly over the wavestowards a vessel that lay several furlongs adown the river, and apartfrom all the meaner craft that crowded the stream. The stars struggledpale through the foggy atmosphere; not a word was heard within theboat, --no sound save the regular splash of the oars. The count pausedfrom his lively tune, and gathering round him the ample fold of his furpelisse, seemed absorbed in thought. Even by the imperfect light of thestars, Peschiera's face wore an air of sovereign triumph. The resulthad justified that careless and insolent confidence in himself and infortune, which was the most prominent feature in the character of theman, who, both bravo and gamester, had played against the world withhis rapier in one hand and cogged dice in the other. Violante, once ina vessel filled by his own men, was irretrievably in his power. Evenher father must feel grateful to learn that the captive of Peschiera hadsaved name and repute in becoming Peschiera's wife. Even the pride ofsex in Violante herself must induce her to confirm what Peschiera, ofcourse, intended to state, --namely, that she was a willing partner ina bridegroom's schemes of flight towards the altar rather than the poorvictim of a betrayer, and receiving his hand but from his mercy. Hesaw his fortune secured, his success envied, his very characterrehabilitated by his splendid nuptials. Ambition began to mingle withhis dreams of pleasure and pomp. What post in the Court or the State toohigh for the aspirations of one who had evinced the most incontestabletalent for active life, --the talent to succeed in all that the will hadundertaken? Thus mused the count, half-forgetful of the present, andabsorbed in the golden future, till he was aroused by a loud hail fromthe vessel and the bustle on board the boat, as the sailors caught atthe rope flung forth to them. 

He then rose and moved towards Violante. But the man who was still incharge of her passed the count lightly, half-leading, half-carrying hispassive prisoner. "Pardon, Excellency, " said the man, in Italian, "butthe boat is crowded, and rocks so much that your aid would but disturbour footing. " Before Peschiera could reply, Violante was already on thesteps of the vessel, and the count paused till, with elated smile, he saw her safely standing on the deck. Beatrice followed, and thenPeschiera himself; but when the Italians in his train also throngedtowards the sides of the boat, two of the sailors got before them, andlet go the rope, while the other two plied their oars vigorously, and pulled back towards shore. The Italians burst into an amazed andindignant volley of execrations. "Silence, " said the sailor who hadstood by the plank, "we obey orders. If you are not quiet, we shallupset the boat. We can swim; Heaven and Monsignore San Giacomo pity youif you cannot!"

Meanwhile, as Peschiera leaped upon deck, a flood of light poured uponhim from lifted torches. That light streamed full on the face and formof a man of commanding stature, whose arm was around Violante, and whosedark eyes flashed upon the count more luminously than the torches. Onone side this man stood the Austrian prince; on the other side (a cloak, and a profusion of false dark locks, at his feet) stood Lord L'Estrange, his arms folded, and his lips curved by a smile in which the ironicalhumour native to the man was tempered with a calm and supreme disdain. The count strove to speak, but his voice faltered. 

All around him looked ominous and hostile. He saw many Italian faces, but they scowled at him with vindictive hate; in the rear were Englishmariners, peering curiously over the shoulders of the foreigners, andwith a broad grin on their open countenances. Suddenly, as the countthus stood perplexed, cowering, stupefied, there burst from allthe Italians present a hoot of unutterable scorn, "Il traditore! iltraditore!" (the traitor! the traitor!)

The count was brave, and at the cry he lifted his head with a certainmajesty. 

At that moment Harley, raising his hand as if to silence the hoot, cameforth from the group by which he had been hitherto standing, and towardshim the count advanced with a bold stride. 

"What trick is this?" he said, in French, fiercely. "I divine that it isyou whom I can single out for explanation and atonement. "

"Pardieu, Monsieur le Comte, " answered Harley, in the same language, which lends itself so well to polished sarcasm and high-bred enmity, "let us distinguish. Explanation should come from me, I allow; butatonement I have the honour to resign to yourself. This vessel--"

"Is mine!" cried the count. "Those men, who insult me, should be in mypay. "

"The men in your pay, Monsieur le Comte, are on shore, drinking successto your voyage. But, anxious still to procure you the gratification ofbeing amongst your own countrymen, those whom I have taken into my payare still better Italians than the pirates whose place they supply;perhaps not such good sailors; but then I have taken the liberty to addto the equipment of a vessel which cost me too much to risk lightly, some stout English seamen, who are mariners more practised than evenyour pirates. Your grand mistake, Monsieur le Comte, is in thinking thatthe 'Flying Dutchman' is yours. With many apologies for interfering withyour intention to purchase it, I beg to inform you that Lord Spendquickhas kindly sold it to me. Nevertheless, Monsieur le Comte, for the nextfew weeks I place it--men and all--at your service. "

Peschiera smiled scornfully. 

"I thank your Lordship; but since I presume that I shall no longer havethe travelling companion who alone could make the voyage attractive, Ishall return to shore, and will simply request you to inform me at whathour you can receive the friend whom I shall depute to discuss thatpart of the question yet untouched, and to arrange that the atonement, whether it be due from me or yourself, may be rendered as satisfactoryas you have condescended to make the explanation. "

"Let not that vex you, Monsieur le Comte; the atonement is, in much, made already; so anxious have I been to forestall all that your nicesense of honour would induce so complete a gentleman to desire. You haveensnared a young heiress, it is true; but you see that it was only torestore her to the arms of her father. You have juggled an illustriouskinsman out of his heritage; but you have voluntarily come on board thisvessel, first, to enable his Highness the Prince Von ------, of whoserank at the Austrian Court you are fully aware, to state to your emperorthat he himself has been witness of the manner in which you interpretedhis Imperial Majesty's assent to your nuptials with a child of one ofthe first subjects in his Italian realm; and, next, to commence by anexcursion to the seas of the Baltic the sentence of banishment which Ihave no doubt will accompany the same act that restores to the chief ofyour House his lands and his honours. "

The count started. 

"That restoration, " said the Austrian prince, who had advanced toHarley's side, "I already guarantee. Disgrace that you are, GiulioFranzini, to the nobles of the Empire, I will not leave my royal mastertill his hand strike your name from the roll. I have here your ownletters, to prove that your kinsman was duped by yourself into therevolt which you would have headed as a Catiline, if it had not bettersuited your nature to betray it as a Judas. In ten days from this time, these letters will be laid before the emperor and his Council. "

"Are you satisfied, Monsieur le Comte, " said Harley, "with youratonement so far? If not, I have procured you the occasion to render ityet more complete. Before you stands the kinsman you have wronged. Heknows now, that though, for a while, you ruined his fortunes, you failedto sully his hearth. His heart can grant you pardon, and hereafter hishand may give you alms. Kneel then, Giulio Franzini, kneel at the feetof Alphonso, Duke of Serrano. "

The above dialogue had been in French, which only a few of the Italianspresent understood, and that imperfectly; but at the name with whichHarley concluded his address to the count, a simultaneous cry from thoseItalians broke forth. 

"Alphonso the Good! Alphonso the Good! Viva, viva, the good Duke ofSerrano!"

And, forgetful even of the count, they crowded round the tall form ofRiccabocca, striving who should first kiss his hand, the very hem of hisgarment. 

Riccabocca's eyes overflowed. The gaunt exile seemed transfigured intoanother and more kingly man. An inexpressible dignity invested him. Hestretched forth his arms, as if to bless his countrymen. Even that rudecry, from humble men, exiles like himself, consoled him for years ofbanishment and penury. 

"Thanks, thanks, " he continued; "thanks! Some day or other, you will allperhaps return with me to the beloved land!"

The Austrian prince bowed his head, as if in assent to the prayer. 

"Giulio Franzini, " said the Duke of Serrano, --for so we may now call thethreadbare recluse of the Casino, --"had this last villanous design ofyours been allowed by Providence, think you that there is one spot onearth on which the ravisher could have been saved from a father's arm?But now, Heaven has been more kind. In this hour let me imitate itsmercy;" and with relaxing brow the duke mildly drew near to his guiltykinsman. 

From the moment the Austrian prince had addressed him, the count hadpreserved a profound silence, showing neither repentance nor shame. Gathering himself up, he had stood firm, glaring round him like one atbay. But as the duke now approached, he waved his hand, and exclaimed, "Back, pedant; back; you have not triumphed yet. And you, pratingGerman, tell your tales to our emperor. I shall be by his throne toanswer, --if, indeed, you escape from the meeting to which I will forceyou by the way. " He spoke, and made a rush towards the side of thevessel. But Harley's quick wit had foreseen the count's intention, andHarley's quick eye had given the signal by which it was frustrated. Seized in the gripe of his own watchful and indignant countrymen, justas he was about to plunge into the stream, Peschiera was dragged back, pinioned clown. Then the expression of his whole countenance changed;the desperate violence of the inborn gladiator broke forth. His greatstrength enabled him to break loose more than once, to dash more thanone man to the floor of the deck; but at length, overpowered by numbers, though still struggling, all dignity, all attempt at presence of mindgone, uttering curses the most plebeian, gnashing his teeth, and foamingat the mouth, nothing seemed left of the brilliant Lothario but thecoarse fury of the fierce natural man. 

Then still preserving that air and tone of exquisite imperturbableirony, which the highest comedian might have sought to imitate in vain, Harley bowed low to the storming count. 

"Adieu, Monsieur le Comte, adieu! The vessel which you have honoured meby entering is bound to Norway. The Italians who accompany you weresent by yourself into exile, and, in return, they now kindly promise toenliven you with their society, whenever you feel somewhat tired ofyour own. Conduct the count to his cabin. Gently there, gently. Adieu, Monsieur le Comte, adieu! et bon voyage. "

Harley turned lightly on his heel, as Peschiera, in spite of hisstruggles, was now fairly carried down to the cabin. 

"A trick for the trickster, " said L'Estrange to the Austrian prince. "The revenge of a farce on the would-be tragedian. "

"More than that, -he is ruined. "

"And ridiculous, " quoth Harley. "I should like to see his look whenthey land him in Norway. " Harley then passed towards the centre of thevessel, by which, hitherto partially concealed by the sailors, who werenow busily occupied, stood Beatrice, --Frank Hazeldean, who had firstreceived her on entering the vessel, standing by her side; and Leonard, a little apart from the two, in quiet observation of all that had passedaround him. Beatrice appeared but little to heed Frank; her dark eyeswere lifted to the dim starry skies, and her lips were moving as if inprayer; yet her young lover was speaking to her in great emotion, lowand rapidly. 

"No, no, do not think for a moment that we suspect you, Beatrice. I willanswer for your honour with my life. Oh, why will you turn from me; whywill you not speak?"

"A moment later, " said Beatrice, softly. "Give me one moment yet. " Shepassed slowly and falteringly towards Leonard, placed her hand, thattrembled, on his arm, and led him aside to the verge of the vessel. Frank, startled by her movement, made a step as if to follow, andthen stopped short and looked on, but with a clouded and doubtfulcountenance. Harley's smile had gone, and his eye was also watchful. 

It was but a few words that Beatrice spoke, it was but a sentence or sothat Leonard answered; and then Beatrice extended her hand, which theyoung poet bent over, and kissed in silence. She lingered an instant;and even by the starlight, Harley noted the blush that overspread herface. The blush faded as Beatrice returned to Frank. Lord L'Estrangewould have retired, --she signed to him to stay. 

"My Lord, " she said, very firmly, "I cannot accuse you of harshnessto my sinful and unhappy brother. His offence might perhaps deserve aheavier punishment than that which you inflict with such playful scorn. But whatever his penance, contempt now or poverty later, I feel thathis sister should be by his side to share it. I am not innocent if he beguilty; and, wreck though he be, nothing else on this dark sea of lifeis now left to me to cling to. Hush, my Lord! I shall not leave thisvessel. All that I entreat of you is, to order your men to respect mybrother, since a woman will be by his side. "

"But, Marchesa, this cannot be; and--"

"Beatrice, Beatrice--and me!--our betrothal? Do you forget me?" criedFrank, in reproachful agony. 

"No, young and too noble lover; I shall remember you ever in my prayers. But listen. I have been deceived, hurried on, I might say, by others, but also, and far more, by my own mad and blinded heart, --deceived, hurried on, to wrong you and to belie myself. My shame burns into mewhen I think that I could have inflicted on you the just anger of yourfamily, linked you to my own ruined fortunes, --my own--"

"Your own generous, loving heart!--that is all I asked!" cried Frank. 

"Cease, cease! that heart is mine still!" Tears gushed from theItalian's eyes. 

"Englishman, I never loved you; this heart was dead to you, and it willbe dead to all else forever. Farewell. You will forget me sooner thanyou think for, --sooner than I shall forget you, as a friend, as abrother--if brothers had natures as tender and as kind as yours! Now, myLord, will you give me your arm? I would join the count. "

"Stay; one word, Madame, " said Frank, very pale, and through his setteeth, but calmly, and with a pride on his brow which had never beforedignified its habitual careless expression, --"one word. I may not beworthy of you in anything else, but an honest love, that never doubted, never suspected, that would have clung to you though all the world wereagainst, --such a love makes the meanest man of worth. One word, frankand open. By all that you hold most sacred in your creed, did you speakthe truth when you said that you never loved me?"

Beatrice bent down her head; she was abashed before this manly naturethat she had so deceived, and perhaps till then undervalued. 

"Pardon, pardon, " she said, in reluctant accents, half-choked by therising of a sob. 

At her hesitation, Frank's face lighted as if with sudden hope. Sheraised her eyes, and saw the change in him, then glanced where Leonardstood, mournful and motionless. She shivered, and added firmly, "Yes, pardon; for I spoke the truth, and I had no heart to give. Itmight have been as wax to another, --it was of granite to you. " Shepaused, and muttered inly, "Granite, and--broken!"

Frank said not a word more. He stood rooted to the spot, not even gazingafter Beatrice as she passed on, leaning on the arm of Lord L'Estrange. He then walked resolutely away, and watched the boat that the men werenow lowering from the side of the vessel. Beatrice stopped when she camenear the place where Violante stood, answering in agitated whispers herfather's anxious questions. As she stopped, she leaned more heavily uponHarley. "It is your arm that trembles now, Lord L'Estrange, " said she, with a mournful smile, and, quitting him ere he could answer, she boweddown her head meekly before Violante. "You have pardoned me already, "she said, in a tone that reached only the girl's ear, "and my last wordsshall not be of the past. I see your future spread bright before meunder those steadfast stars. Love still; hope and trust. These are thelast words of her who will soon die to the world. Fair maid, they areprophetic!"

Violante shrunk back to her father's breast, and there hid her glowingface, resigning her hand to Beatrice, who pressed it to her bosom. The marchesa then came back to Harley, and disappeared with him in theinterior of the vessel. 

When Harley again came on deck, he seemed much flurried and disturbed. He kept aloof from the duke and Violante, and was the last to enter theboat, that was now lowered into the water. 

As he and his companions reached the land, they saw the vessel inmovement, gliding slowly down the river. "Courage, Leonard, courage!"murmured Harley. "You grieve, and nobly. But you have shunned the worstand most vulgar deceit in civilized life; you have not simulated love. Better that yon poor lady should be, awhile, the sufferer from a harshtruth, than the eternal martyr of a flattering lie! Alas, my Leonard!with the love of the poet's dream are linked only the Graces; with thelove of the human heart come the awful Fates!"

"My Lord, poets do not dream when they love. You will learn how thefeelings are deep in proportion as the fancies are vivid, when you readthat confession of genius and woe which I have left in your hands. "

Leonard turned away. Harley's gaze followed him with inquiring interest, and suddenly encountered the soft dark grateful eyes of Violante. "TheFates, the Fates!" murmured Harley. 

CHAPTER IX. 

We are at Norwood in the sage's drawing-room. Violante has long sinceretired to rest. Harley, who had accompanied the father and daughter totheir home, is still conversing with the former. 

"Indeed, my dear Duke, " said Harley

"Hush, hush! Diavolo, don't call me Duke yet; I am at home here oncemore as Dr. Riccabocca. "

"My dear doctor, then, allow me to assure you that you overrate my claimto your thanks. Your old friends, Leonard and Frank Hazeldean, must comein for their share. Nor is the faithful Giacomo to be forgotten. "

"Continue your explanation. "

"In the first place, I learned, through Frank, that one Baron Levy, acertain fashionable money-lender, and general ministrant to theaffairs of fine gentlemen, was just about to purchase a yacht from LordSpendquick on behalf of the count. A short interview with Spendquickenabled me to outbid the usurer, and conclude a bargain by which theyacht became mine, --a promise to assist Spendquick in extricatinghimself from the claws of the money-lender (which I trust to do byreconciling him with his father, who is a man of liberality and sense)made Spendquick readily connive at my scheme for outwitting the enemy. He allowed Levy to suppose that the count might take possession ofthe vessel; but affecting an engagement, and standing out for terms, postponed the final settlement of the purchase-money till the next day. I was thus master of the vessel, which I felt sure was destined to servePeschiera's infamous design. But it was my business not to alarm thecount's suspicions; I therefore permitted the pirate crew he hadgot together to come on board. I knew I could get rid of them whennecessary. Meanwhile, Frank undertook to keep close to the count untilhe could see and cage within his lodgings the servant whom Peschierahad commissioned to attend his sister. If I could but apprehend thisservant, I had a sanguine hope that I could discover and free yourdaughter before Peschiera could even profane her with his presence. ButFrank, alas! was no pupil of Machiavelli. Perhaps the count detected hissecret thoughts under his open countenance, perhaps merely wished toget rid of a companion very much in his way; but, at all events, hecontrived to elude our young friend as cleverly as you or I could havedone, --told him that Beatrice herself was at Roehampton, had borrowedthe count's carriage to go there, volunteered to take Frank to thehouse, took him. Frank found himself in a drawing-room; and afterwaiting a few minutes, while the count went out on pretence of seeinghis sister, in pirouetted a certain distinguished opera-dancer!Meanwhile the count was fast back on the road to London, and Frank hadto return as he could. He then hunted for the count everywhere, and sawhim no more. It was late in the day when Frank found me out with thisnews. I became seriously alarmed. Peschiera might perhaps learn mycounter-scheme with the yacht, or he might postpone sailing until he hadterrified or entangled Violante into some--In short, everything was tobe dreaded from a man of the count's temper. I had no clew to the placeto which your daughter was taken, no excuse to arrest Peschiera, nomeans even of learning where he was. He had not returned to Mivart's. The Police was at fault, and useless, except in one valuable pieceof information. They told me where some of your countrymen, whomPeschiera's perfidy had sent into exile, were to be found. Icommissioned Giacomo to seek these men out, and induce them to man thevessel. It might be necessary, should Peschiera or his confidentialservants come aboard, after we had expelled or drawn off the piratecrew, that they should find Italians whom they might well mistake fortheir own hirelings. To these foreigners I added some English sailorswho had before served in the same vessel, and on whom Spendquick assuredme I could rely. Still these precautions only availed in case Peschierashould resolve to sail, and defer till then all machinations againsthis captives. While, amidst my fears and uncertainties, I was strugglingstill to preserve presence of mind, and rapidly discussing with theAustrian prince if any other steps could be taken, or if our soleresource was to repair to the vessel and take the chance of what mightensue, Leonard suddenly and quietly entered my room. You know hiscountenance, in which joy or sadness is not betrayed so much bythe evidence of the passions as by variations in the intellectualexpression. It was but by the clearer brow and the steadier eye that Isaw he had good tidings to impart. "

"Ah, " said Riccabocca, --for so, obeying his own request, we will yetcall the sage, --"ah, I early taught that young man the great lessoninculcated by Helvetius. 'All our errors arise from our ignorance or ourpassions. ' Without ignorance and without passions, we should be serene, all-penetrating intelligences. "

"Mopsticks, " quoth Harley, "have neither ignorance nor passions; but asfor their intelligence--"

"Pshaw!" interrupted Riccabocca, --"proceed. "

"Leonard had parted from us some hours before. I had commissioned himto call at Madame di Negra's, and, as he was familiarly known to herservants, seek to obtain quietly all the information he could collect, and, at all events, procure (what in my haste I had failed to do) thename and description of the man who had driven her out in the morning, and make what use he judged best of every hint he could gather or gleanthat might aid our researches. Leonard only succeeded in learning thename and description of the coachman, whom he recognized as one Beppo, to whom she had often given orders in his presence. None could say wherehe then could be found, if not at the count's hotel. Leonard went nextto that hotel. The man had not been there all the day. While revolvingwhat next he should do, his eye caught sight of your intendedson-in-law, gliding across the opposite side of the street. One of thoseluminous, inspiring conjectures, which never occur to you philosophers, had from the first guided Leonard to believe that Randal Leslie wasmixed up in this villanous affair. "

"Ha! He?" cried Riccabocca. "Impossible! For what interest, whatobject?"

"I cannot tell, neither could Leonard; but we had both formed the sameconjecture. Brief: Leonard resolved to follow Randal Leslie, andtrack all his movements. He did then follow him, unobserved, --and at adistance, first to Audley Egerton's house, then to Eaton Square, thenceto a house in Bruton Street, which Leonard ascertained to be BaronLevy's. Suspicious that, my clear sage?"

"Diavolo, yes!" said Riccabocca, thoughtfully. 

"At Levy's, Randal stayed till dusk. He then came out, with hiscat-like, stealthy step, and walked quickly into the neighbourhood ofLeicester Square. Leonard saw him enter one of those small hotels whichare appropriated to foreigners. Wild, outlandish fellows were loiteringabout the door and in the street. Leonard divined that the count or thecount's confidants were there. "

"If that can be proved, " cried Riccabocca, "if Randal could have beenthus in communication with Peschiera, could have connived at suchperfidy, I am released from my promise. Oh, to prove it!"

"Proof will come later, if we are on the right track. Let me go on. While waiting near the door of this hotel, Beppo himself, the very manLeonard was in search of, came forth, and, after speaking a few wordsto some of the loitering foreigners, walked briskly towards Piccadilly. Leonard here resigned all further heed of Leslie, and gave chaseto Beppo, whom he recognized at a glance. Coming up to him, he saidquietly, 'I have a letter for the Marchesa di Negra. She told me I wasto send it to her by you. I have been searching for you the whole day. 'The man fell into the trap, and the more easily, because--as he sinceowned in excuse for a simplicity which, I dare say, weighed on hisconscience more than any of the thousand-and-one crimes he may havecommitted in the course of his illustrious life--he had been employedby the marchesa as a spy upon Leonard, and, with an Italian's acumen inaffairs of the heart, detected her secret. "

"What secret?" asked the innocent sage. 

"Her love for the handsome young poet. I betray that secret, in order togive her some slight excuse for becoming Peschiera's tool. She believedLeonard to be in love with your daughter, and jealousy urged her totreason. Violante, no doubt, will explain this to you. Well, the manfell into the trap. 'Give me the letter, Signor, and quick. '

"'It is at a hotel close by; come there, and you will have a guinea foryour trouble. '

"So Leonard walked our gentleman into my hotel; and having taken himinto my dressing-room, turned the key and there left him. On learningthis capture, the prince and myself hastened to see our prisoner. He wasat first sullen and silent; but when the prince disclosed his rank andname (you know the mysterious terror the meaner Italians feel for anAustrian magnate), his countenance changed, and his courage fell. Whatwith threats and what with promises, we soon obtained all that we soughtto know; and an offered bribe, which I calculated at ten times theamount the rogue could ever expect to receive from his spendthriftmaster, finally bound him cheerfully to our service, soul and body. Thuswe learned the dismal place to which your noble daughter had beenso perfidiously ensnared. We learned also that the count had not yetvisited her, hoping much from the effect that prolonged incarcerationmight have in weakening her spirit and inducing her submission. Peschiera was to go to the house at midnight, thence to transport her tothe vessel. Beppo had received orders to bring the carriage to LeicesterSquare, where Peschiera would join him. The count (as Leonard surmised)had taken skulking refuge at the hotel in which Randal Leslie haddisappeared. The prince, Leonard, Frank (who was then in the hotel), andmyself held a short council. Should we go at once to the house, and, by the help of the police, force an entrance, and rescue your daughter?This was a very hazardous resource. The abode, which, at various times, had served for the hiding-place of men haunted by the law, abounded, according to our informant, in subterranean vaults and secret passages, and had more than one outlet on the river. At our first summons at thedoor, therefore, the ruffians within might not only escape themselves, but carry off their prisoner. The door was strong, and before ourentrance could be forced, all trace of her we sought might be lost. Again, too, the prince was desirous of bringing Peschiera's guiltydesign home to him, --anxious to be able to state to the emperor, andto the great minister his kinsman, that he himself had witnessed thecount's vile abuse of the emperor's permission to wed your daughter. Inshort, while I only thought of Violante, the prince thought also of herfather's recall to his dukedom. Yet, still to leave Violante in thatterrible house, even for an hour, a few minutes, subjected to the actualpresence of Peschiera, unguarded save by the feeble and false woman whohad betrayed and might still desert her--how contemplate that fearfulrisk? What might not happen in the interval between Peschiera's visitto the house and his appearance with his victim on the vessel? An ideaflashed on me: Beppo was to conduct the count to the house; if I couldaccompany Beppo in disguise, enter the house, myself be present?--Irushed back to our informant, now become our agent; I found the planstill more feasible than I had at first supposed. Beppo had asked thecount's permission to bring with him a brother accustomed to the sea, and who wished to quit England. I might personate that brother. Youknow that the Italian language, in most of its dialects and varieties ofpatois--Genoese, Piedmontese, Venetian--is as familiar tome as Addison'sEnglish! Alas! rather more so. Presto! the thing was settled. I felt myheart, from that moment, as light as a feather, and my sense as keen asthe dart which a feather wings. My plans now were formed in a breath, and explained in a sentence. It was right that you should be presenton board the vessel, not only to witness your foe's downfall, but toreceive your child in a father's arms. Leonard set out to Norwood foryou, cautioned not to define too precisely for what object you werewanted, till on board. 

"Frank, accompanied by Beppo (for there was yet time for thesepreparations before midnight), repaired to the yacht, taking Giacomo bythe way. There our new ally, familiar to most of that piratical crew, and sanctioned by the presence of Frank, as the count's friend andprospective brother-in-law, told Peschiera's hirelings that they were toquit the vessel, and wait on shore under Giacomo's auspices till furtherorders; and as soon as the decks were cleared of these ruffians (save afew left to avoid suspicion, and who were afterwards safely stowed downin the hold), and as soon as Giacomo had lodged his convoy in a publichouse, where he quitted them drinking his health over unlimited rationsof grog, your inestimable servant quietly shipped on board the Italianspressed into the service, and Frank took charge of the English sailors. 

"The prince, promising to be on board in due time, then left me to makearrangements for his journey to Vienna by the dawn. I hastened to amasquerade warehouse, where, with the help of an ingenious stagewrightartificer, I disguised myself into a most thorough-paced-lookingcut-throat, and then waited the return of my friend Beppo with the mostperfect confidence. "

"Yet, if that rascal had played false, all these precautions were lost. Cospetto! you were not wise, " said the prudent philosopher. 

"Very likely not. You would have been so wise, that by this time yourdaughter would have been lost to you forever. "

"But why not employ the police?"

"First, Because I had already employed them to little purpose; secondly, Because I no longer wanted them; thirdly, Because to use them formy final catastrophe would be to drag your name, and your daughter'sperhaps, before a police court, --at all events, before the tribunalof public gossip; and lastly, Because, having decided upon the properpunishment, it had too much of equity to be quite consistent with law;and in forcibly seizing a man's person, and shipping him off to Norway, my police would have been sadly in the way. Certainly my plan rathersavours of Lope de Vega than of Blackstone. However, you see successatones for all irregularities. I resume: Beppo came back in time tonarrate all the arrangements that had been made, and to inform me thata servant from the count had come on board just as our new crew wereassembled there, to order the boat to be at the place where we foundit. The servant it was deemed prudent to detain and secure. Giacomoundertook to manage the boat. 

"I am nearly at the close of my story. Sure of my disguise, I got on thecoach-box with Beppo. The count arrived at the spot appointed, and didnot even honour myself with a question or glance. 'Your brother?' hesaid to Beppo; 'one might guess that; he has the family likeness. Not ahandsome race yours! Drive on. '

"We arrived at the house. I dismounted to open the carriage-door. Thecount gave me one look. 'Beppo says you have known the sea. '

"'Excellency, yes. I am a Genoese. '

"'Ha! how is that? Beppo is a Lombard. '--Admire the readiness with whichI redeemed my blunder. 

"'Excellency, it pleased Heaven that Beppo should be born in Lombardy, and then to remove my respected parents to Genoa, at which city theywere so kindly treated that my mother, in common gratitude, was boundto increase its population. It was all she could do, poor woman. You seeshe did her best. '

"The count smiled, and said no more. The door opened, I followed him;your daughter can tell you the rest. "

"And you risked your life in that den of miscreants! Noble friend!"

"Risked my life, --no; but I risked the count's. There was one momentwhen my hand was on my trigger, and my soul very near the sin ofjustifiable homicide. But my tale is done. The count is now on theriver, and will soon be on the salt seas, though not bound to Norway, as I had first intended. I could not inflict that frigid voyage on hissister. So the men have orders to cruise about for six days, keepingaloof from shore, and they will then land the count and the marchesa, byboat, on the French coast. That delay will give time for the prince toarrive at Vienna before the count could follow him. "

"Would he have that audacity?"

"Do him more justice! Audacity, faith! he does not want for that. But Idreaded not his appearance at Vienna with such evidence against him. I dreaded his encountering the prince on the road, and forcing a duel, before his character was so blasted that the prince could refuse it; andthe count is a dead shot of course, --all such men are!"

"He will return, and you--"

"I! Oh, never fear; he has had enough of me. And now, my dearfriend, --now that Violante is safe once more under your own roof;now that my honoured mother must long ere this have been satisfied byLeonard, who left us to go to her, that our success has been achievedwithout danger, and, what she will value almost as much, withoutscandal; now that your foe is powerless as a reed floating on the watertowards its own rot, and the Prince Von -------is perhaps about to enterhis carriage on the road to Dover, charged with the mission of restoringto Italy her worthiest son, --let me dismiss you to your own happyslumbers, and allow me to wrap myself in my cloak, and snatch a shortsleep on the sofa, till yonder gray dawn has mellowed into riper day. My eyes are heavy, and if you stay here three minutes longer, I shall beout of reach of hearing, in the land of dreams. Buona notte!"

"But there is a bed prepared for you. "

Harley shook his head in dissent, and composed himself at length on thesofa. 

Riccabocca, bending, wrapped the cloak round his guest, kissed him onthe forehead, and crept out of the room to rejoin Jemima, who still satup for him, nervously anxious to learn from him those explanations whichher considerate affection would not allow her to ask from the agitatedand exhausted Violante. "Not in bed!" cried the sage, on seeing her. "Have you no feelings of compassion for my son that is to be? Just, too, when there is a reasonable probability that we can afford a son?"

Riccabocca here laughed merrily, and his wife threw herself on hisshoulder, and cried for joy. 

But no sleep fell on the lids of Harley L'Estrange. He started up whenhis host had left him, and paced the apartment, with noiseless but rapidstrides. All whim and levity had vanished from his face, which, by thelight of the dawn, seemed death-like pale. On that pale face there wasall the struggle and all the anguish of passion. 

"These arms have clasped her, " he murmured; "these lips have inhaled herbreath! I am under the same roof, and she is saved, --saved evermore fromdanger and from penury, and forever divided from me. Courage, courage!Oh, honour, duty; and thou, dark memory of the past, --thou that didstpledge love at least to a grave, --support, defend me! Can I be so weak!"

The sun was in the wintry skies when Harley stole from the house. Noone was stirring except Giacomo, who stood by the threshold of the door, which he had just unbarred, feeding the house-dog. "Good-day, " said theservant, smiling. "The dog has not been of much use, but I don't thinkthe padrone will henceforth grudge him a breakfast. I shall take him toItaly, and marry him there, in the hope of improving the breed of ournative Lombard dogs. "

"Ah, " said Harley, "you will soon leave our cold shores. May sunshinesettle on you all!" He paused, and looked up at the closed windowswistfully. 

"The signorina sleeps there, " said Giacomo, in a husky voice, "just overthe room in which you slept. "

"I knew it, " muttered Harley. "An instinct told me of it. Open the gate;I must go home. My excuses to your lord, and to all. "

He turned a deaf ear to Giacomo's entreaties to stay till at least thesignorina was up, --the signorina whom he had saved. Without trustinghimself to speak further, he quitted the demesne, and walked with swiftstrides towards London. 

CHAPTER X. 

Harley had not long reached his hotel, and was still seated before hisuntasted breakfast, when Mr. Randal Leslie was announced. Randal, whowas in the firm belief that Violante was now on the wide seas withPeschiera, entered, looking the very personation of anxiety and fatigue. For like the great Cardinal Richelieu, Randal had learned the art howto make good use of his own delicate and somewhat sickly aspect. Thecardinal, when intent on some sanguinary scheme requiring unusualvitality and vigour, contrived to make himself look a harmless suffererat death's door. And Randal, whose nervous energies could at that momenthave whirled him from one end of this huge metropolis to the other, witha speed that would have outstripped a prize pedestrian, now sank intoa chair with a jaded weariness that no mother could have seen withoutcompassion. He seemed since the last night to have galloped towards thelast stage of consumption. 

"Have you discovered no trace, my Lord? Speak, speak!"

"Speak! certainly. I am too happy to relieve your mind, Mr. Leslie. Whatfools we were! Ha, ha!"

"Fools--how?" faltered Randal. 

"Of course; the young lady was at her father's house all the time. "

"Eh? what?"

"And is there now. "

"It is not possible!" said Randal, in the hollow, dreamy tone of asomnambulist. "At her father's house, at Norwood! Are you sure?"

"Sure. "

Randal made a desperate and successful effort at self-control. "Heavenbe praised!" he cried. "And just as I had begun to suspect the count, the marchesa; for I find that neither of them slept at home last night;and Levy told me that the count had written to him, requesting thebaron to discharge his bills, as he should be for some time absent fromEngland. "

"Indeed! Well, that is nothing to us, --very much to Baron Levy, if heexecutes his commission, and discharges the bills. What! are you goingalready?"

"Do you ask such a question? How can I stay? I must go to Norwood, --mustsee Violante with my own eyes! Forgive my emotion--I--I--"

Randal snatched at his hat and hurried away. The low scornful laugh ofHarley followed him as he went. 

"I have no more doubt of his guilt than Leonard has. Violante atleast shall not be the prize of that thin-lipped knave. What strangefascination can he possess, that he should thus bind to him the twomen I value most, --Audley Egerton and Alphonso di Serrano? Both so wisetoo!--one in books, one in action. And both suspicious men! While I, soimprudently trustful and frank--Ah, that is the reason; our natures areantipathetic; cunning, simulation, falsehood, I have no mercy, no pardonfor these. Woe to all hypocrites if I were a grand Inquisitor!"

"Mr. Richard Avenel, " said the waiter, throwing open the door. 

Harley caught at the arm of the chair on which he sat, and graspedit nervously, while his eyes became fixed intently on the form of thegentleman who now advanced into the room. He rose with an effort. 

"Mr. Avenel!" he said falteringly. "Did I hear your name aright?Avenel!"

"Richard Avenel, at your service, my Lord, " answered Dick. "My family isnot unknown to you; and I am not ashamed of my family, though my parentswere small Lansmere tradesfolks, and I am--ahem!--a citizen of theworld, and well-to-do!" added Dick, dropping his kid gloves into hishat, and then placing the hat on the table, with the air of an oldacquaintance who wishes to make himself at home. Lord L'Estrange bowedand said, as he reseated himself (Dick being firmly seated already), "You are most welcome, sir; and if there be anything I can do for one ofyour name--"

"Thank you, my Lord, " interrupted Dick. "I want nothing of any man. Abold word to say; but I say it. Nevertheless, I should not have presumedto call on your Lordship, unless, indeed, you had done me the honourto call first at my house, Eaton Square, No. ---- I should not havepresumed to call if it had not been on business, --public business, I maysay--NATIONAL business!"

Harley bowed again. A faint smile flitted for a moment to his lip, but, vanishing, gave way to a mournful, absent expression of countenance, ashe scanned the handsome features before him, and, perhaps, masculine andbold though they were, still discovered something of a family likenessto one whose beauty had once been his ideal of female loveliness; forsuddenly he stretched forth his hand, and said, with more than his usualcordial sweetness, "Business or not business, let us speak to each otheras friends, --for the sake of a name that takes me back to Lansmere, tomy youth. I listen to you with interest. "

Richard Avenel, much surprised by this unexpected kindliness, andtouched, he knew not why, by the soft and melancholy tone of Harley'svoice, warmly pressed the hand held out to him; and seized with a rarefit of shyness, coloured and coughed and hemmed and looked first down, then aside, before he could find the words which were generally readyenough at his command. 

"You are very good, Lord L'Estrange; nothing can be handsomer. I feel ithere, my Lord, " striking his buff waistcoat, --"I do, 'pon my honour. Butnot to waste your time (time's money), I come to the point. It is aboutthe borough of Lansmere. Your family interest is very strong in thatborough; but excuse me if I say that I don't think you are aware that Itoo have cooked up a pretty considerable interest on the other side. Nooffence, --opinions are free. And the popular tide runs strong with us--Imean with me--at the impending crisis, --that is, at the next election. Now, I have a great respect for the earl your father, and so have thosewho brought me into the world--my father, John, was always a regulargood Blue, --and my respect for yourself since I came into this roomhas gone up in the market a very great rise indeed, --considerable. So Ishould just like to see if we could set our heads together, and settlethe borough between us two, in a snug private way, as public men oughtto do when they get together, nobody else by, and no necessity for thatsort of humbug, which is so common in this rotten old country. Eh, myLord?"

"Mr. Avenel, " said Harley, slowly, recovering himself from theabstraction with which he had listened to Dick's earlier sentences, "Ifear I do not quite understand you; but I have no other interest in thenext election for the borough of Lansmere than as may serve one whom, whatever be your politics, you must acknowledge to be--"

"A humbug!"

"Mr. Avenel, you cannot mean the person I mean. I speak of one of thefirst statesmen of our time, --of Mr. Audley Egerton, of--"

"A stiff-necked, pompous--"

"My earliest and dearest friend. "

The rebuke, though gently said, sufficed to silence Dick for a moment;and when he spoke again, it was in an altered tone. 

"I beg your pardon, my Lord, I am sure. Of course, I can say nothingdisrespectful of your friend, --very sorry that he is your friend. Inthat case, I am almost afraid that nothing is to be done. But Mr. AudleyEgerton has not a chance. 

"Let me convince you of this. " And Dick pulled out a little book, boundneatly in red. 

"Canvass book, my Lord. I am no aristocrat. I don't pretend to carry afree and independent constituency in my breeches' pocket. Heaven forbid!But as a practical man of business, what I do is done properly. Justlook at this book. 

"Well kept, eh? Names, promises, inclinations, public opinions, andprivate interests of every individual Lansmere elector! Now, as one manof honour to another, I show you this book, and I think you will seethat we have a clear majority of at least eighty votes as against Mr. Egerton. "

"That is your view of the question, " said Harley, taking the bookand glancing over the names catalogued and ticketed therein. But hiscountenance became serious as he recognized many names familiar to hisboyhood as those of important electors on the Lansmere side, and whichhe now found transferred to the hostile. "But surely there are personshere in whom you deceive yourself, --old friends of my family, stanchsupporters of our party. "

"Exactly so. But this new question has turned all old thingstopsy-turvy. No relying on any friend of yours. No reliance except inthis book!" said Dick, slapping the red cover with calm but ominousemphasis. 

"Now, what I want to propose is this: Don't let the Lansmere interest bebeaten; it would vex the old earl, --go to his heart, I am sure. "

Harley nodded. 

"And the Lansmere interest need not be beaten, if you'll put up anotherman instead of this red-tapist. (Beg pardon. ) You see I only want to getin one man, you want to get in another. Why not? Now, there 's a smartyouth, --connection of Mr. Egerton's, --Randal Leslie. I have no objectionto him, though he is of your colours. Withdraw Mr. Egerton, and I 'llwithdraw my second man before it comes to the poll; and so we shallhalve the borough slick between us. That's the way to do business, --eh, my Lord?"

"Randal Leslie! Oh, you wish to bring in Mr. Leslie? But he stands withEgerton, not against him. "

"Ah, " said Dick, smiling as if to himself, "so I hear; and we couldbring him in over Egerton without saying a word to you. But all ourfamily respect yours, and so I have wished to do the thing handsome andopen. Let the earl and your party be content with young Leslie. "

"Young Leslie has spoken to you?"

"Not as to my coming here. Oh, no, that's a secret, --private andconfidential, my Lord. And now, to make matters still more smooth, Ipropose that my man shall be one to your Lordship's own heart. I findyou have been very kind to my nephew; does you credit, my Lord, --awonderful young man, though I say it. I never guessed there was so muchin him. Yet all the time he was in my house, he had in his desk the verysketch of an invention that is now saving me from ruin, --from positiveruin, --Baron Levy, the King's Bench, and almighty smash! Now, sucha young man ought to be in parliament. I like to bring forward arelation, --that is, when he does one credit; 't is human nature andsacred ties--one's own flesh and blood; and besides, one hand rubs theother, and one leg helps on the other, and relations get on best inthe world when they pull together; that is, supposing that they are theproper sort of relations, and pull one on, not down. I had once thoughtof standing for Lansmere myself, --thought of it very lately. The countrywants men like me, I know that; but I have an idea that I had better seeto my own business. The country may, or may not, do without me, stupidold thing that she is! But my mill and my new engines--there is no doubtthat they cannot do without me. In short, as we are quite alone, and, as I said before, there 's no kind of necessity for that sort of humbugwhich exists when other people are present, provide elsewhere for Mr. Egerton, whom I hate like poison, --I have a right to do that, I suppose, without offence to your Lordship, --and the two younkers, LeonardFairfield and Randal Leslie, shall be members for the free andindependent borough of Lansmere!"

"But does Leonard wish to come into parliament?"

"No, he says not; but that's nonsense. If your Lordship will justsignify your wish that he should not lose this noble opportunity toraise himself in life, and get something handsome out of the nation, I'msure he owes you too much to hesitate, --'specially when 't is to his ownadvantage. And besides, one of us Avenels ought to be in parliament; andif I have not the time and learning, and so forth, and he has, why, itstands to reason that he should be the man. And if he can do somethingfor me one day--not that I want anything--but still a baronetcy or sowould be a compliment to British Industry, and be appreciated as such bymyself and the public at large, --I say, if he could do something ofthat sort, it would keep up the whole family; and if he can't, why, I'llforgive him. "

"Avenel, " said Harley, with that familiar and gracious charm of mannerwhich few ever could resist, "Avenel, if as a great personal favour tomyself--to me your fellow-townsman (I was born at Lansmere)--if I askedyou to forego your grudge against Audley Egerton, whatever that grudgebe, and not oppose his election, while our party would not oppose yournephew's, could you not oblige me? Come, for the sake of dear Lansmere, and all the old kindly feelings between your family and mine, say 'yes, so shall it be. '"

Richard Avenel was almost melted. He turned away his face; but theresuddenly rose to his recollection the scornful brow of Audley Egerton, the lofty contempt with which he, then the worshipful Mayor ofScrewstown, had been shown out of the minister's office-room; and theblood rushing over his cheeks, he stamped his foot on the floor, andexclaimed angrily, "No; I swore that Audley Egerton should smart for hisinsolence to me, as sure as my name be Richard Avenel; and all the softsoap in the world will not wash out that oath. So there is nothing forit but for you to withdraw that man, or for me to defeat him. And Iwould do so, ay, --and in the way that could most gall him, --if it costme half my fortune. But it will not cost that, " said Dick, cooling, "noranything like it; for when the popular tide runs in one's favour, 'tis astonishing how cheap an election may be. It will cost him enoughthough, and all for nothing, --worse than nothing. Think of it, my Lord. "

"I will, Mr. Avenel. And I say, in my turn, that my friendship is asstrong as your hate; and that if it costs me, not half, but my wholefortune, Audley Egerton shall come in without a shilling of expense tohimself, should we once decide that he stand the contest. "

"Very well, my Lord, --very well, " said Dick, stiffly, and drawing onhis kid gloves; "we'll see if the aristocracy is always to ride overthe free choice of the people in this way. But the people are roused, my Lord. The March of Enlightenment is commenced, the Schoolmaster isabroad, and the British Lion--"

"Nobody here but ourselves, my dear Avenel. Is not this rather what youcall--humbug?"

Dick started, stared, coloured, and then burst out laughing, "Give usyour hand again, my Lord. You are a good fellow, that you are. And foryour sake--"

"You'll not oppose Egerton?"

"Tooth and nail, tooth and nail!" cried Dick, clapping his hands to hisears, and fairly running out of the room. 

There passed over Harley's countenance that change so frequent toit, --more frequent, indeed, to the gay children of the world than thoseof consistent tempers and uniform habits might suppose. There is many aman whom we call friend, and whose face seems familiar to us as our own;yet, could we but take a glimpse of him when we leave his presence, andhe sinks back into his chair alone, we should sigh to see how often thesmile on the frankest lip is but a bravery of the drill, only worn whenon parade. 

What thoughts did the visit of Richard Avenel bequeath to Harley? Itwere hard to define them. 

In his place, an Audley Egerton would have taken some comfort from thevisit, would have murmured, "Thank Heaven! I have not to present to theworld that terrible man as my brother-in-law. " But probably Harley hadescaped, in his revery, from Richard Avenel altogether. Even as theslightest incident in the daytime causes our dreams at night, but isitself clean forgotten, so the name, so the look of the visitor, mighthave sufficed but to influence a vision, as remote from its casualsuggester as what we call real life is from that life much more real, that we imagine, or remember, in the haunted chambers of the brain. Forwhat is real life? How little the things actually doing around us affectthe springs of our sorrow or joy; but the life which our dulness callsromance, --the sentiment, the remembrance, the hope, or the fear, thatare never seen in the toil of our hands, never heard in the jargon onour lips, --from that life all spin, as the spider from its entrails, the web by which we hang in the sunbeam, or glide out of sight into theshelter of home. 

"I must not think, " said Harley, rousing himself with a sigh, "either ofpast or present. Let me hurry on to some fancied future. 'Happiest arethe marriages, ' said the French philosopher, and still says many asage, 'in which man asks only the mild companion, and woman but the calmprotector. ' I will go to Helen. "

He rose; and as he was about to lock up his escritoire, he rememberedthe papers which Leonard had requested him to read. He took them fromtheir deposit, with a careless hand, intending to carry them with himto his father's house. But as his eye fell upon the characters, the handsuddenly trembled, and he recoiled some paces, as if struck by a violentblow. Then, gazing more intently on the writing, a low cry broke fromhis lips. He reseated himself, and began to read. 

CHAPTER XI. 

Randal--with many misgivings at Lord L'Estrange's tone, in which hewas at no loss to detect a latent irony--proceeded to Norwood. He foundRiccabocca exceedingly cold and distant; but he soon brought that sageto communicate the suspicions which Lord L'Estrange had instilledinto his mind, and these Randal was as speedily enabled to dispel. Heaccounted at once for his visits to Levy and Peschiera. Naturally he hadsought Levy, an acquaintance of his own, --nay, of Audley Egerton's, --butwhom he knew to be professionally employed by the count. He hadsucceeded in extracting from the baron Peschiera's suspicious change oflodgment from Mivart's Hotel to the purlieus of Leicester Square; hadcalled there on the count, forced an entrance, openly accused himof abstracting Violante; high words had passed between them, --even achallenge. Randal produced a note from a military friend of his, whom hehad sent to the count an hour after quitting the hotel. This note statedthat arrangements were made for a meeting near Lord's Cricket Ground, at seven o'clock the next morning. Randal then submitted to Riccaboccaanother formal memorandum from the same warlike friend, to the purportthat Randal and himself had repaired to the ground, and no count hadbeen forthcoming. It must be owned that Randal had taken all suitableprecautions to clear himself. Such a man is not to blame for want ofinvention, if he be sometimes doomed to fail. 

"I, then, much alarmed, " continued Randal, "hastened to Baron Levy, whoinformed me that the count had written him word that he should be forsome time absent from England. Rushing thence, in despair, to yourfriend Lord L'Estrange, I heard that your daughter was safe with you. And though, as I have just proved, I would have risked my life againstso notorious a duellist as the count, on the mere chance of preservingViolante from his supposed designs, I am rejoiced to think that she hadno need of my unskilful arm. But how and why can the count have leftEngland after accepting a challenge? A man so sure of his weapon, too, --reputed to be as fearless of danger as he is blunt in conscience. Explain, --you who know mankind so well, --explain. I cannot. " Thephilosopher could not resist the pleasure of narrating the detection andhumiliation of his foe, the wit, ingenuity, and readiness of hisfriend. So Randal learned, by little and little, the whole drama of thepreceding night. He saw, then, that the exile had all reasonable hopeof speedy restoration to rank and wealth. Violante, indeed; would bea brilliant prize, --too brilliant, perhaps, for Randal, but not to besacrificed without an effort. Therefore wringing convulsively the handof his meditated father-in-law, and turning away his head as if toconceal his emotions, the ingenuous young suitor faltered forth thatnow Dr. Riccabocca was so soon to vanish into the Duke di Serrano, he--Randal Leslie of Rood, born a gentleman, indeed, but of fallenfortunes--had no right to claim the promise which had been given to himwhile a father had cause to fear for a daughter's future; with the fearceased the promise. Alight Heaven bless father and daughter both!

This address touched both the heart and honour of the exile. RandalLeslie knew his man. And though, before Randal's visit, Riccabocca wasnot quite so much a philosopher but what he would have been well pleasedto have found himself released, by proof of the young man's treachery, from an alliance below the rank to which he had all chance of earlyrestoration, yet no Spaniard was ever more tenacious of plighted wordthan this inconsistent pupil of the profound Florentine. And Randal'sprobity being now clear to him, he repeated, with stately formalities, his previous offer of Violante's hand. 

"But, " still falteringly sighed the provident and far-calculatingRandal--"but your only child, your sole heiress! Oh, might not yourconsent to such a marriage (if known before your recall) jeopardize yourcause? Your lands, your principalities, to devolve on the child of anhumble Englishman! I dare not believe it. Ah, would Violante were notyour heiress!"

"A noble wish, " said Riccabocca, smiling blandly, "and one that theFates will realize. Cheer up; Violante will not be my heiress. "

"Ah, " cried Randal, drawing a long breath--"ah, what do I hear?"

"Hist! I shall soon a second time be a father. And, to judge by theunerring researches of writers upon that most interesting of allsubjects, parturitive science, I shall be the father of a son. He will, of course, succeed to the titles of Serrano. And Violante--"

"Will have nothing, I suppose?" exclaimed Randal, trying his best tolook overjoyed till he had got his paws out of the trap into which hehad so incautiously thrust them. 

"Nay, her portion by our laws--to say nothing of my affection--would farexceed the ordinary dower which the daughters of London merchants bringto the sons of British peers. Whoever marries Violante, provided Iregain my estates, must submit to the cares which the poets assure usever attend on wealth. "

"Oh!" groaned Randal, as if already bowed beneath the cares, andsympathizing with the poets. 

"And now, let me present you to your betrothed. " Although poor Randalhad been remorselessly hurried along what Schiller calls the "gamutof feeling, " during the last three minutes, down to the deep chord ofdespair at the abrupt intelligence that his betrothed was no heiressafter all; thence ascending to vibrations of pleasant doubt as to theunborn usurper of her rights, according to the prophecies of parturitivescience; and lastly, swelling into a concord of all sweet thoughts atthe assurance that, come what might, she would be a wealthier bridethan a peer's son could discover in the matrimonial Potosi of LombardStreet, --still the tormented lover was not there allowed to reposehis exhausted though ravished soul. For, at the idea of personallyconfronting the destined bride--whose very existence had almost vanishedfrom his mind's eye, amidst the golden showers that it saw fallingdivinely round her--Randal was suddenly reminded of the exceedingbluntness with which, at their last interview, it had been his policy toannounce his suit, and of the necessity of an impromptu falsetto suitedto the new variations that tossed him again to and fro on the mercilessgamut. However, he could not recoil from her father's proposition, though, in order to prepare Riccabocca for Violante's representation, he confessed pathetically that his impatience to obtain her consent andbaffle Peschiera had made him appear a rude and presumptuous wooer. Thephilosopher, who was disposed to believe one kind of courtship to bemuch the same as another, in cases where the result of all courtshipswas once predetermined, smiled benignly, patted Randal's thin cheek, with a "Pooh, pooh, pazzie!" and left the room to summon Violante. 

"If knowledge be power, " soliloquized Randal, "ability is certainly goodluck, as Miss Edgeworth shows in that story of Murad the Unlucky, whichI read at Eton; very clever story it is, too. So nothing comes amiss tome. Violante's escape, which has cost me the count's L10, 000, proves tobe worth to me, I dare say, ten times as much. No doubt she'll have ahundred thousand pounds at the least. And then, if her father have noother child, after all, or the child he expects die in infancy, why, once reconciled to his Government and restored to his estates, the lawmust take its usual course, and Violante will be the greatest heiressin Europe. As to the young lady herself, I confess she rather awes me; Iknow I shall be henpecked. Well, all respectable husbands are. There issomething scampish and ruffianly in not being henpecked. " Here Randal'ssmile might have harmonized well with Pluto's "iron tears;" but, ironas the smile was, the serious young man was ashamed of it. "What am Iabout, " said he, half aloud, "chuckling to myself and wasting time, whenI ought to be thinking gravely how to explain away my former cavaliercourtship? Such a masterpiece as I thought it then! But who couldforesee the turn things would take? Let me think; let me think. Plagueon it, here she comes. "

But Randal had not the fine ear of your more romantic lover; and, tohis great relief, the exile entered the room unaccompanied by Violante. Riccabocca looked somewhat embarrassed. 

"My dear Leslie, you must excuse my daughter to-day; she is stillsuffering from the agitation she has gone through, and cannot see you. "

The lover tried not to look too delighted. 

"Cruel!" said he; "yet I would not for worlds force myself on herpresence. I hope, Duke, that she will not find it too difficult to obeythe commands which dispose of her hand, and intrust her happiness to mygrateful charge. "

"To be plain with you, Randal, she does at present seem to find it moredifficult than I foresaw. She even talks of--"

"Another attachment--Oh, heavens!"

"Attachment, pazzie! Whom has she seen? No, a convent! But leave it tome. In a calmer hour she will comprehend that a child must know no lotmore enviable and holy than that of redeeming a father's honour. Andnow, if you are returning to London, may I ask you to convey to youngMr. Hazeldean my assurances of undying gratitude for his share in mydaughter's delivery from that poor baffled swindler. "

It is noticeable that, now Peschiera was no longer an object of dread tothe nervous father, he became but an object of pity to the philosopher, and of contempt to the grandee. 

"True, " said Randal, "you told me Frank had a share in Lord L'Estrange'svery clever and dramatic device. My Lord must be by nature a fineactor, --comic, with a touch of melodrame! Poor Frank! apparently hehas lost the woman he adored, --Beatrice di Negra. You say she hasaccompanied the count. Is the marriage that was to be between her andFrank broken off?"

"I did not know such a marriage was contemplated. I understood her to beattached to another. Not that that is any reason why she would not havemarried Mr. Hazeldean. Express to him my congratulations on his escape. "

"Nay, he must not know that I have inadvertently betrayed hisconfidence; but you now guess, what perhaps puzzled you before, --namely, how I came to be so well acquainted with the count and his movements. Iwas so intimate with my relation Frank, and Frank was affianced to themarchesa. "

"I am glad you give me that explanation; it suffices. After all, themarchesa is not by nature a bad woman, --that is, not worse than womengenerally are, so Harley says, and Violante forgives and excuses her. "

"Generous Violante! But it is true. So much did the marchesa appearto me possessed of fine, though ill-regulated qualities, that I alwaysconsidered her disposed to aid in frustrating her brother's criminaldesigns. So I even said, if I remember right, to Violante. "

Dropping this prudent and precautionary sentence, in order to guardagainst anything Violante might say as to that subtle mention ofBeatrice which had predisposed her to confide in the marchesa, Randalthen hurried on, "But you want repose. I leave you the happiest, themost grateful of men. I will give your courteous message to Frank. "

CHAPTER XII. 

Curious to learn what had passed between Beatrice and Frank, and deeplyinterested in all that could oust Frank out of the squire's goodwill, or aught that could injure his own prospects by tending to unite son andfather, Randal was not slow in reaching his young kinsman's lodgings. Itmight be supposed that having, in all probability, just secured sogreat a fortune as would accompany Violante's hand, Randal might beindifferent to the success of his scheme on the Hazeldean exchequer. Such a supposition would grievously wrong this profound young man. For, in the first place, Violante was not yet won, nor her father yetrestored to the estates which would defray her dower; and, in the nextplace, Randal, like Iago, loved villany for the genius it called forthin him. The sole luxury the abstemious aspirer allowed to himself wasthat which is found in intellectual restlessness. Untempted by wine, dead to love, unamused by pleasure, indifferent to the arts, despisingliterature save as means to some end of power, Randal Leslie wasthe incarnation of thought hatched out of the corruption of will. At twilight we see thin airy spectral insects, all wing and nippers, hovering, as if they could never pause, over some sullen mephitic pool. Just so, methinks, hover over Acheron such gnat-like, noiseless soarersinto gloomy air out of Stygian deeps, as are the thoughts of spiritslike Randal Leslie's. Wings have they, but only the better to pouncedown, --draw their nutriment from unguarded material cuticles; and justwhen, maddened, you strike, and exulting exclaim, "Caught, by Jove!"wh-irr flies the diaphanous, ghostly larva, and your blow falls on yourown twice-offended cheek. 

The young men who were acquainted with Randal said he had not avice! The fact being that his whole composition was one epic vice, soelaborately constructed that it had not an episode which a critic couldcall irrelevant. Grand young man!

"But, my dear fellow, " said Randal, as soon as he had learned from Frankall that had passed on board the vessel between him and Beatrice, "Icannot believe this. 'Never loved you'? What was her object, then, indeceiving not only you, but myself? I suspect her declaration was butsome heroical refinement of generosity. After her brother's dejectionand probable ruin, she might feel that she was no match for you. Then, too, the squire's displeasure! I see it all; just like her, --noble, unhappy woman!"

Frank shook his head. "There are moments, " said he, with a wisdom thatcomes out of those instincts which awake from the depths of youth'sfirst great sorrow, --"moments when a woman cannot feign, and there aretones in the voice of a woman which men cannot misinterpret. She doesnot love me, --she never did love me; I can see that her heart has beenelsewhere. No matter, --all is over. I don't deny that I am sufferingan intense grief; it gnaws like a kind of sullen hunger; and I feel sobroken, too, as if I had grown old, and there was nothing left worthliving for. I don't deny all that. "

"My poor, dear friend, if you would but believe--"

"I don't want to believe anything, except that I have been a great fool. I don't think I can ever commit such follies again. But I'm a man. Ishall get the better of this; I should despise myself if I could not. And now let us talk of my dear father. Has he left town?"

"Left last night by the mail. You can write and tell him you have givenup the marchesa, and all will be well again between you. "

"Give her up! Fie, Randal! Do you think I should tell such a lie? Shegave me up; I can claim no merit out of that. "

"Oh, yes! I can make the squire see all to your advantage. Oh, if itwere only the marchesa! but, alas! that cursed postobit! How couldLevy betray you? Never trust to usurers again; they cannot resist thetemptation of a speedy profit. 

"They first buy the son, and then sell him to the father. And the squirehas such strange notions on matters of this kind. "

"He is right to have them. There, just read this letter from my mother. It came to me this morning. I could hang myself if I were a dog; but I'ma man, and so I must bear it. "

Randal took Mrs. Hazeldean's letter from Frank's trembling hand. Thepoor mother had learned, though but imperfectly, Frank's misdeeds fromsome hurried lines which the squire had despatched to her; and she wroteas good, indulgent, but sensible, right-minded mothers alone can write. More lenient to an imprudent love than the squire, she touched withdiscreet tenderness on Frank's rash engagements with a foreigner, butseverely on his own open defiance of his father's wishes. Her angerwas, however, reserved for that unholy post-obit. Here the hearty genialwife's love overcame the mother's affection. To count, in cold blood, onthat husband's death, and to wound his heart so keenly, just where itsjealous, fatherly fondness made it most susceptible!

 "O Frank, Frank!" wrote Mrs. Hazeldean, "were it not for this, were it only for your unfortunate attachment to the Italian lady, only for your debts, only for the errors of hasty, extravagant youth, I should be with you now, my arms round your neck, kissing you, chiding you back to your father's heart. But--but the thought that between you and his heart has been the sordid calculation of his death, --that is a wall between us. I cannot come near you. I should not like to look on your face, and think how my William's tears fell over it, when I placed you, new born, in his arms, and bade him welcome his heir. What! you a mere boy still, your father yet in the prime of life, and the heir cannot wait till nature leaves him fatherless. Frank; Frank this is so unlike you. Can London have ruined already a disposition so honest and affectionate?--No; I cannot believe it. There must be some mistake. Clear it up, I implore you; or, though as a mother I pity you, as a wife I cannot forgive. "

Even Randal was affected by the letter; for, as we know, even Randalfelt in his own person the strength of family ties. The poor squire'scholer and bluffness had disguised the parental heart from an eye that, however acute, had not been willing to search for it; and Randal, everaffected through his intellect, had despised the very weakness on whichhe had preyed. But the mother's letter, so just and sensible (allowingthat the squire's opinions had naturally influenced the wife totake what men of the world would call a very exaggerated view ofthe every-day occurrence of loans raised by a son, payable only ata father's death), --this letter, I say, if exaggerated according tofashionable notions, so sensible if judged by natural affections, touched the dull heart of the schemer, because approved by the quicktact of his intelligence. 

"Frank, " said he, with a sincerity that afterwards amazed himself, "godown at once to Hazeldean; see your mother, and explain to her how thistransaction really happened. The woman you loved, and wooed as wife, in danger of an arrest, your distraction of mind, Levy's counsels, yourhope to pay off the debt, so incurred to the usurer, from the fortuneyou would shortly receive with the marchesa. Speak to your mother, --sheis a woman; women have a common interest in forgiving all faults thatarise from the source of their power over us men, --I mean love. Go!"

"No, I cannot go; you see she would not like to look on my face. And Icannot repeat what you say so glibly. Besides, somehow or other, as I amso dependent upon my father, --and he has said as much, --I feel as ifit would be mean in me to make any excuses. I did the thing, and mustsuffer for it. But I'm a in--an--no--I 'm not a man here. " Frank burstinto tears. 

At the sight of those tears, Randal gradually recovered from his strangeaberration into vulgar and low humanity. His habitual contempt for hiskinsman returned; and with contempt came the natural indifference to thesufferings of the thing to be put to use. It is contempt for the wormthat makes the angler fix it on the hook, and observe with complacencythat the vivacity of its wriggles will attract the bite. If the wormcould but make the angler respect, or even fear it, the barb would findsome other bait. Few anglers would impale an estimable silkworm, andstill fewer the anglers who would finger into service a formidablehornet. 

"Pooh, my--dear Frank, " said Randal; "I have given you my advice; youreject it. Well, what then will you do?"

"I shall ask for leave of absence, and run away some where, " said Frank, drying his tears. "I can't face London; I can't mix with others. I wantto be by myself, and wrestle with all that I feel here--in my heart. Then I shall write to my mother, say the plain truth, and leave her tojudge as kindly of me as she can. "

"You are quite right. Yes, leave town! Why not go abroad? You have neverbeen abroad. New scenes will distract your mind. Run over to Paris. "

"Not to Paris--I don't want gayeties; but I did intend to go abroadsomewhere, --any dull dismal hole of a place. Good-by! Don't think of meany more for the present. "

"But let me know where you go; and meanwhile I will see the squire. "

"Say as little of me as you can to him. I know you mean most kindly, butoh, how I wish there never had been any third person between me and myfather! There: you may well snatch away your hand. What an ungratefulwretch to you I am. I do believe I am the wickedest fellow. What! youshake hands with me still! My dear Randal, you have the best heart--Godbless you!" Frank turned away, and disappeared within his dressing-room. 

"They must be reconciled now, sooner or later, --squire and son, " saidRandal to himself, as he left the lodgings. "I don't see how I canprevent that, --the marchesa being withdrawn, --unless Frank does it forme. But it is well he should be abroad, --something maybe made outof that; meanwhile I may yet do all that I could reasonably hopeto do, --even if Frank had married Beatrice, --since he was not to bedisinherited. Get the squire to advance the money for the Thornhillpurchase, complete the affair; this marriage with Violante will help;Levy must know that; secure the borough;--well thought of. I will go toAvenel's. By-the-by, by-the-by, the squire might as well keep me stillin the entail after Frank, supposing Frank die childless. This loveaffair may keep him long from marrying. His hand was very hot, --a hecticcolour; those strong-looking fellows often go off in rapid decline, especially if anything preys on their minds, --their minds are so verysmall. 

"Ah, the Hazeldean parson, --and with Avenel! That young man, too, whois he? I have seen him before some where. --My dear Mr. Dale, this isa pleasant surprise. I thought you had returned to Hazeldean with ourfriend the squire?"

MR. DALE. --"The squire! Has he left town, and without telling me?"

RANDAL (taking aside the parson). --"He was anxious to get back to Mrs. Hazeldean, who was naturally very uneasy about her son and this foolishmarriage; but I am happy to tell you that that marriage is effectuallyand permanently broken off. "

MR. DALE. --"How, how? My poor friend told me he had wholly failed tomake any impression on Frank, --forbade me to mention the subject. I wasjust going to see Frank myself. I always had some influence with him. But, Mr. Leslie, explain this very sudden and happy event. The marriagebroken off!"

RANDAL. --"It is a long story, and I dare not tell you my humble share init. Nay, I must keep that secret. Frank might not forgive me. Sufficeit that you have my word that the fair Italian has left England, anddecidedly refused Frank's addresses. But stay, take my advice, don'tgo to him; you see it was not only the marriage that has offended thesquire, but some pecuniary transactions, --an unfortunate post-obit bondon the Casino property. Frank ought to be left to his own repentantreflections. They will be most salutary; you know his temper, --he don'tbear reproof; and yet it is better, on the other hand, not to let himtreat too lightly what has passed. Let us leave him to himself for a fewdays He is in an excellent frame of mind. "

MR. DALE (shaking Randal's hand warmly). --"You speak admirably--apost-obit!--so often as he has heard his father's opinion on suchtransactions. No, I will not see him; I should be too angry--"

RANDAL (leading the parson back, resumes, after an exchange ofsalutations with Avenel, who, meanwhile, had been conferring with hisnephew). --"You should not be so long away from your rectory, Mr. Dale. What will your parish do without you?"

MR. DALE. --"The old fable of the wheel and the fly. I am afraid thewheel rolls on the same. But if I am absent from my parish, I am stillin the company of one who does me honour as an old parishioner. Youremember Leonard Fairfield, your antagonist in the Battle of theStocks?"

MR. AVENEL. --"My nephew, I am proud to say, sir. " Randal bowed withmarked civility, Leonard with a reserve no less marked. 

MR. AVENEL (ascribing his nephew's reserve to shyness). --"You should befriends, you two youngsters. Who knows but you may run together in thesame harness? Ah, that reminds me, Leslie, I have a word or two to sayto you. Your servant, Mr. Dale. Shall be happy to present you toMrs. Avenel. My card, --Eaton Square, Number --. You will call on meto-morrow, Leonard. And mind, I shall be very angry if you persist inyour refusal. Such an opening!" Avenel took Randal's arm, while theparson and Leonard walked on. 

"Any fresh hints as to Lansmere?" asked Randal. 

"Yes; I have now decided on the plan of contest. You must fight two andtwo, --you and Egerton against me and (if I can get him to stand, as Ihope) my nephew, Leonard. "

"What!" said Randal, alarmed; "then, after all, I can hope for nosupport from you?"

"I don't say that; but I have reason to think Lord L'Estrange willbestir himself actively in favour of Egerton. If so, it will be a verysharp contest; and I must manage the whole election on our side, andunite all our shaky votes, which I can best do by standing myself inthe first instance, reserving it to after consideration whether I shallthrow up at the last; for I don't particularly want to come in, as Idid a little time ago, before I had found out my nephew. Wonderful youngman! with such a head, --will do me credit in the rotten old House; andI think I had best leave London, go to Screwstown, and look to mybusiness. No, if Leonard stand, I roust first see to get him in; andnext, to keep Egerton out. It will probably, therefore, end in thereturn of one and one or either side, as we thought of before, --Leonardon our side; and Egerton sha'n't be the man on the other. Youunderstand?"

"I do, my dear Avenel. Of course, as I before said, I can't dictate toyour party whom they should prefer, --Egerton or myself. And it will beobvious to the public that your party would rather defeat so eminent anadversary as Mr. Egerton than a tyro in politics like me. Of course Icannot scheme for such a result; it would be misconstrued, and damage mycharacter. But I rely equally on your friendly promise. "

"Promise! No, I don't promise. I must first see how the cat jumps; andI don't know yet how our friends may like you, nor how they can bemanaged. All I can say is, that Audley Egerton sha'n't be M. P. ForLansmere. Meanwhile, you will take care not to commit yourself inspeaking so that our party can't vote for you consistently; they mustcount on having you--when you get into the House. "

"I am not a violent party-man at present, " answered Randal, prudently. "And if public opinion prove on your side, it is the duty of a statesmanto go with the times. "

"Very sensibly said; and I have a private bill or two, and some otherlittle jobs, I want to get through the House, which we can discusslater, should it come to a frank understanding between us. We mustarrange how to meet privately at Lansmere, if necessary. I'll see tothat. I shall go down this week. I think of taking a hint from the freeand glorious land of America, and establishing secret caucuses. Nothinglike 'em. "

"Caucuses?"

"Small sub-committees that spy on their men night and day, and don'tsuffer them to be intimidated to vote the other way. "

"You have an extraordinary head for public affairs, Avenel. You shouldcome into parliament yourself; your nephew is so very young. "

"So are you. "

"Yes; but I know the world. Does he?"

"The world knows him, though not by name, and he has been the making ofme. "

"How? You surprise me. "

Avenel first explained about the patent which Leonard had securedto him; and next confided, upon honour, Leonard's identity with theanonymous author whom the parson had supposed to be Professor Moss. 

Randal Leslie felt a jealous pang. What! then--had this village boy, this associate of John Burley (literary vagabond, whom he supposedhad long since gone to the dogs, and been buried at the expense of theparish)--had this boy so triumphed over birth, rearing, circumstance, that, if Randal and Leonard had met together in any public place, andLeonard's identity with the rising author had been revealed, every eyewould have turned from Randal to gaze on Leonard? The common consent ofmankind would have acknowledged the supreme royalty of genius when itonce leaves its solitude, and strides into the world. What! wasthis rude villager the child of Fame, who, without an effort, andunconsciously, had inspired in the wearied heart of Beatrice di Negraa love that Randal knew, by an instinct, no arts, no craft, could evercreate for him in the heart of woman? And now, did this same youth standon the same level in the ascent to power as he, the well-born RandalLeslie, the accomplished protege of the superb Audley Egerton? Were theyto be rivals in the same arena of practical busy life? Randal gnawed hisquivering lip. 

All the while, however, the young man whom he so envied was a prey tosorrows deeper far than could ever find room or footing in the narrowand stony heart of the unloving schemer. 

As Leonard walked through the crowded streets with the friend andmonitor of his childhood, confiding the simple tale of his earliertrials, --when, amidst the wreck of fortune and in despair of fame, theChild-angel smiled by his side, like Hope, --all renown seemed to him sobarren, all the future so dark! His voice trembled, and his countenancebecame so sad, that his benignant listener, divining that around theimage of Helen there clung some passionate grief that overshadowed allworldly success, drew Leonard gently and gently on, till the young man, long yearning for some confidant, told him all, --how, faithful throughlong years to one pure and ardent memory, Helen had been seen once more, the child ripened to woman, and the memory revealing itself as love. 

The parson listened with a mild and thoughtful brow, which expanded intoa more cheerful expression as Leonard closed his story. 

"I see no reason to despond, " said Mr. Dale. "You fear that MissDigby does not return your attachment; you dwell upon her reserve, herdistant, though kindly manner. Cheer up! All young ladies are under theinfluence of what phrenologists call the organ of Secretiveness, whenthey are in the society of the object of their preference. Just as youdescribe Miss Digby's manner to you, was my Carry's manner to myself. "

The parson here indulged in a very appropriate digression upon femalemodesty, which he wound up by asserting that that estimable virtuebecame more and more influenced by the secretive organ, in proportion asthe favoured suitor approached near and nearer to a definite proposal. It was the duty of a gallant and honourable lover to make that proposalin distinct and orthodox form, before it could be expected that a younglady should commit herself and the dignity of her sex by the slightesthint as to her own inclinations. 

"Next, " continued the parson, "you choose to torment yourself bycontrasting your own origin and fortunes with the altered circumstancesof Miss Digby, --the ward of Lord L'Estrange, the guest of Lady Lansmere. You say that if Lord L'Estrange could have countenanced such a union, he would have adopted a different tone with you, --sounded your heart, encouraged your hopes, and so forth. I view things differently. Ihave reason to do so; and from all you have told me of this nobleman'sinterest in your fate, I venture to make you this promise, that if MissDigby would accept your hand, Lord L'Estrange shall ratify her choice. "

"My dear Mr. Dale, " cried Leonard, transported, "you make me thatpromise?"

"I do, --from what you have said, and from what I myself know of LordL'Estrange. Go, then, at once to Knightsbridge, see Miss Digby, showher your heart, explain to her, if you will, your prospects, ask herpermission to apply to Lord L'Estrange (since he has constitutedhimself her guardian); and if Lord L'Estrange hesitate, --which, if yourhappiness be set on this union, I think he will not, --let me know, andleave the rest to me. "

Leonard yielded himself to the parson's persuasive eloquence. Indeed, when he recalled to mind those passages in the manuscripts of theill-fated Nora, which referred to the love that Harley had once borneto her, --for he felt convinced that Harley and the boy suitor of Nora'snarrative were one and the same; and when all the interest that Harleyhad taken in his own fortunes was explained by his relationship to her(even when Lord L'Estrange had supposed it less close than he would nowdiscover it to be), the young man, reasoning by his own heart, could notbut suppose that the noble Harley would rejoice to confer happiness uponthe son of her, so beloved by his boyhood. 

"And to thee, perhaps, O my mother!" thought Leonard, with swimmingeyes--"to thee, perhaps, even in thy grave, I shall owe the partnerof my life, as to the mystic breath of thy genius I owe the first pureaspirations of my soul. "

It will be seen that Leonard had not confided to the parson hisdiscovery of Nora's manuscripts, nor even his knowledge of his realbirth; for the proud son naturally shrank from any confidence thatimplicated Nora's fair name, until at least Harley, who, it was clearfrom those papers, must have intimately known his father, shouldperhaps decide the question which the papers themselves left so terriblyvague, --namely, whether he were the offspring of a legal marriage, orNora had been the victim of some unholy fraud. 

While the parson still talked, and while Leonard still mused andlistened, their steps almost mechanically took the direction towardsKnightsbridge, and paused at the gates of Lord Lansmere's house. 

"Go in, my young friend; I will wait without to know the issue, " saidthe parson, cheeringly. "Go, and with gratitude to Heaven, learn how tobear the most precious joy that can befall mortal man; or how to submitto youth's sharpest sorrow, with the humble belief that even sorrow isbut some mercy concealed. "

CHAPTER XIII. 

Leonard was shown into the drawing-room, and it so chanced that Helenwas there alone. The girl's soft face was sadly changed, evensince Leonard had seen it last; for the grief of natures mild andundemonstrative as hers, gnaws with quick ravages; but at Leonard'sunexpected entrance, the colour rushed so vividly to the pale cheeksthat its hectic might be taken for the lustre of bloom and health. Sherose hurriedly, and in great confusion faltered out, "that she believedLady Lansmere was in her room, --she would go for her, " and moved towardsthe door, without seeming to notice the hand tremulously held forth toher; when Leonard exclaimed in uncontrollable emotions which pierced toher very heart, in the keen accent of reproach, --

"Oh, Miss Digby--oh, Helen--is it thus that you greet me, --rather thusthat you shun me? Could I have foreseen this when we two orphans stoodby the mournful bridge, --so friendless, so desolate, and so clingingeach to each? Happy time!" He seized her hand suddenly as he spoke thelast words, and bowed his face over it. 

"I must not hear you. Do not talk so, Leonard, you break my heart. Letme go, let me go!"

"Is it that I am grown hateful to you; is it merely that you see my loveand would discourage it? Helen, speak to me, --speak!"

He drew her with tender force towards him; and, holding her firmlyby both hands, sought to gaze upon the face that she turned fromhim, --turned in such despair. 

"You do not know, " she said at last, struggling for composure, --"you donot know the new claims on me, my altered position, how I am bound, oryou would be the last to speak thus to me, the first to give me courage, and bid me--bid me--"

"Bid you what?"

"Feel nothing here but duty!" cried Helen, drawing from his clasp bothher hands, and placing them firmly on her breast. 

"Miss Digby, " said Leonard, after a short pause of bitter reflection, inwhich he wronged, while he thought to divine, her meaning, "you speak ofnew claims on you, your altered position--I comprehend. You may retainsome tender remembrance of the past; but your duty now is to rebuke mypresumption. It is as I thought and feared. This vain reputation whichI have made is but a hollow sound, --it gives me no rank, assures me nofortune. I have no right to look for the Helen of old in the Helen ofto-day. Be it so--forget what I have said, and forgive me. "

This reproach stung to the quick the heart to which it appealed. A flashbrightened the meek, tearful eyes, almost like the flash of resentment;her lips writhed in torture, and she felt as if all other pain werelight compared with the anguish that Leonard could impute to her motiveswhich to her simple nature seemed so unworthy of her, and so galling tohimself. 

A word rushed as by inspiration to her lip, and that word calmed andsoothed her. 

"Brother!" she said touchingly, "brother!"

The word had a contrary effect on Leonard. Sweet as it was, tender asthe voice that spoke it, it imposed a boundary to affection, it came asa knell to hope. He recoiled, shook his head mournfully: "Too late toaccept that tie, --too late even for friendship. Henceforth--for longyears to come--henceforth, till this heart has ceased to beat at yourname to thrill at your presence, we two--are strangers. "

"Strangers! Well--yes, it is right--it must be so; we must not meet. Oh, Leonard Fairfield, who was it that in those days that you recall to me, who was it that found you destitute and obscure; who, not degrading youby charity, placed you in your right career; opened to you, amidst thelabyrinth in which you were well-nigh lost, the broad road to knowledge, independence, fame? Answer me, --answer! Was it not the same who reared, sheltered your sister orphan? If I could forget what I have owed tohim, should I not remember what he has done for you? Can I hear of yourdistinction, and not remember it? Can I think how proud she may be whowill one day lean on your arm, and bear the name you have already raisedbeyond all the titles of an hour, --can I think of this, and not rememberour common friend, benefactor, guardian? Would you forgive me, if Ifailed to do so?"

"But, " faltered Leonard, fear mingling with the conjectures these wordscalled forth--"but is it that Lord L'Estrange would not consent to ourunion? Or of what do you speak? You bewilder me. "

Helen felt for some moments as if it were impossible to reply; and thewords at length were dragged forth as if from the depth of her verysoul. 

"He came to me, our noble friend. I never dreamed of it. He did not tellme that he loved me. He told me that he was unhappy, alone; that in me, and only in me, he could find a comforter, a soother--He, he! And I hadjust arrived in England, was under his mother's roof, had not then oncemore seen you; and--and--what could I answer? Strengthen me, strengthenme, you whom I look up to and revere. Yes, yes, you are right. We mustsee each other no more. I am betrothed to another, --to him! Strengthenme!"

All the inherent nobleness of the poet's nature rose at once at thisappeal. 

"Oh, Helen--sister--Miss Digby, forgive me. You need no strength fromme; I borrow it from you. I comprehend you, I respect. Banish allthought of me. Repay our common benefactor. Be what he asks of you, --hiscomforter, his soother; be more, --his pride and his joy. Happiness willcome to you, as it comes to those who confer happiness and forget self. God comfort you in the passing struggle; God bless you, in the longyears to come. Sister, I accept the holy name now, and will claim ithereafter, when I too can think more of others than myself. "

Helen had covered her face with her hands, sobbing; but with that soft, womanly constraint which presses woe back into the heart. A strangesense of utter solitude suddenly pervaded her whole being, and by thatsense of solitude she knew that he was gone. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

In another room in that same house sat, solitary as Helen, a stern, gloomy, brooding man, in whom they who had best known him from hischildhood could scarcely have recognized a trace of the humane, benignant, trustful, but wayward and varying Harley, Lord L'Estrange. 

He had read that fragment of a memoir, in which, out of all the chasmsof his barren and melancholy past, there rose two malignant truths thatseemed literally to glare upon him with mocking and demon eyes. Thewoman whose remembrance had darkened all the sunshine of his life hadloved another; the friend in whom he had confided his whole affectionateloyal soul had been his perfidious rival. He had read from the firstword to the last, as if under a spell that held him breathless; and whenhe closed the manuscript, it was without a groan or sigh; but over hispale lips there passed that withering smile, which is as sure an indexof a heart overcharged with dire and fearful passions, as the arrowyflash of the lightning is of the tempests that are gathered within thecloud. 

He then thrust the papers into his bosom, and, keeping his hand overthem, firmly clenched, he left the room, and walked slowly on towardshis father's house. With every step by the way, his nature, in the warof its elements, seemed to change and harden into forms of granite. Love, humanity, trust, vanished away. Hate, revenge, misanthropy, suspicion, and scorn of all that could wear the eyes of affection, or speak with the voice of honour, came fast through the gloom of histhoughts, settling down in the wilderness, grim and menacing as theharpies of ancient song--

 "Uncaeque manus, et pallida semper Ora. "

 "Hands armed with fangs, and lips forever pale. "

Thus the gloomy man had crossed the threshold of his father's house, andsilently entered the apartments still set apart for him. He had arrivedabout an hour before Leonard; and as he stood by the hearth, with hisarms folded on his breast, and his eyes fixed lead-like on the ground, his mother came in to welcome and embrace him. He checked her eagerinquiries after Violante, he recoiled from the touch of her hand. 

"Hold, madam, " said he, startling her ear with the cold austerity of histone. "I cannot heed your questions, --I am filled with the question Imust put to yourself. You opposed my boyish love for Leonora Avenel. Ido not blame you, --all mothers of equal rank would have done the same. Yet, had you not frustrated all frank intercourse with her, I might havetaken refusal from her own lips, --survived that grief, and now been ahappy man. Years since then have rolled away, --rolled over her quietslumbers, and my restless waking life. All this time were you aware thatAudley Egerton had been the lover of Leonora Avenel?"

"Harley, Harley! do not speak to me in that cruel voice, do not look atme with those hard eyes!"

"You knew it, then, --you, my mother!" continued Harley, unmoved by herrebuke; "and why did you never say, 'Son, you are wasting the bloomand uses of your life in sorrowful fidelity to a lie! You are lavishingtrust and friendship on a perfidious hypocrite. '"

"How could I speak to you thus; how could I dare to do so, seeing youstill so cherished the memory of that unhappy girl, still believed thatshe had returned your affection? Had I said to you what I knew (but nottill after her death), as to her relations with Audley Egerton--"

"Well? You falter; go on; had you done so?"

"Would you have felt no desire for revenge? Might there not have beenstrife between you, danger, bloodshed? Harley, Harley! Is not suchsilence pardonable in a mother? And why deprive you too of the onlyfriend you seemed to prize; who alone had some influence over you; whoconcurred with me in the prayer and hope, that some day you would finda living partner worthy to replace this lost delusion, arouse yourfaculties, --be the ornament your youth promised to your country? For youwrong Audley, --indeed you do!"

"Wrong him! Ah, let me not do that. Proceed. "

"I do not excuse him his rivalship, nor his first concealment of it. Butbelieve me, since then, his genuine remorse, his anxious tenderness foryour welfare, his dread of losing your friendship--"

"Stop! It was doubtless Audley Egerton who induced you yourself toconceal what you call his 'relations' with her whom I can now so calmlyname, --Leonora Avenel?"

"It was so, in truth; and from motives that--"

"Enough! let me hear no more. "

"But you will not think too sternly of what is past? You are about toform new ties. You cannot be wild and wicked enough to meditate whatyour brow seems to threaten. You cannot dream of revenge, --risk Audley'slife or your own?"

"Tut, tut, tut! What cause here for duels? Single combats are out ofdate; civilized men do not slay each other with sword and pistol. Tut!revenge! Does it look like revenge, that one object which brings mehither is to request my father's permission to charge myself with thecare of Audley Egerton's election? What he values most in the world ishis political position; and here his political existence is at stake. You know that I have had through life the character of a weak, easy, somewhat over-generous man. Such men are not revengeful. Hold! You layyour hand on my arm, --I know the magic of that light touch, Mother;but its power over me is gone. Countess of Lansmere, hear me! Ever frominfancy (save in that frantic passion for which I now despise myself), Ihave obeyed you, I trust, as a duteous son. Now, our relative positionsare somewhat altered. I have the right to exact--I will not say tocommand--the right which wrong and injury bestow upon all men. Madam, the injured man has prerogatives that rival those of kings. I nowcall upon you to question me no more; not again to breathe the name ofLeonora Avenel, unless I invite the subject; and not to inform AudleyEgerton by a hint, by a breath, that I have discovered--what shall Icall it?--his 'pardonable deceit. ' Promise me this, by your affectionas mother, and on your faith as gentlewoman; or I declare solemnly, thatnever in life will you look upon my face again. "

Haughty and imperious though the countess was, her spirit quailed beforeHarley's brow and voice. 

"Is this my son, --this my gentle Harley?" she said falteringly. "Oh, putyour arms round my neck; let me feel that I have not lost my child!"

Harley looked softened, but he did not obey the pathetic prayer;nevertheless, he held out his hand, and turning away his face, said, ina milder voice, "Have I your promise?"

"You have, you have; but on condition that there pass no words betweenyou and Audley that can end but in the strife which--"

"Strife!" interrupted Harley. "I repeat that the idea of challenge andduel between me and my friend from our school days, and on a quarrelthat we could explain to no seconds, would be a burlesque upon all thatis grave in the realities of life and feeling. I accept your promise andseal it thus--"

He pressed his lips to his mother's forehead, and passively received herembrace. 

"Hush, " he said, withdrawing from her arms, "I hear my father's voice. "

Lord Lansmere threw open the door widely, and with a certainconsciousness that a door by which an Earl of Lansmere entered ought tobe thrown open widely. It could not have been opened with more majestyif a huissier or officer of the Household had stood on either side. Thecountess passed by her lord with a light step, and escaped. 

"I was occupied with my architect in designs for the new infirmary, ofwhich I shall make a present to our county. I have only just heard thatyou were here, Harley. What is all this about our fair Italian guest?Is she not coming back to us? Your mother refers me to you forexplanations. "

"You shall have them later, my dear father; at present I can think onlyof public affairs. "

"Public affairs! they are indeed alarming. I am rejoiced to hear youexpress yourself so worthily. An awful crisis, Harley! And, graciousHeaven! I have heard that a low man, who was born in Lansmere, but madea fortune in America, is about to contest the borough. They tell me heis one of the Avenels, --a born Blue; is it possible?"

"I have come here on that business. As a peer you cannot, of course, interfere; but I propose, with your leave, to go down myself toLansmere, and undertake the superintendence of, the election. It wouldbe better, perhaps, if you were not present; it would give us moreliberty of action. "

"My dear Harley, shake hands; anything you please. You know how I havewished to see you come forward, and take that part in life which becomesyour birth. "

"Ah, you think I have sadly wasted my existence hitherto. "

"To be frank with you, yes, Harley, " said the earl, with a pride thatwas noble in its nature, and not without dignity in its expression. "Themore we take from our country, the more we owe to her. From the momentyou came into the world as the inheritor of lands and honours, you werecharged with a trust for the benefit of others, that it degrades one ofour order of gentleman not to discharge. "

Harley listened with a sombre brow, and made no direct reply. 

"Indeed, " resumed the earl, "I would rather you were about to canvassfor yourself than for your friend Egerton. But I grant he is an examplethat it is never too late to follow. Why, who that had seen you bothas youths, notwithstanding Audley had the advantage of being someyears your senior--who could have thought that he was the one to becomedistinguished and eminent, and you to degenerate into the luxuriousidler, averse to all trouble and careless of all fame? You, with suchadvantages, not only of higher fortunes, but, as every one said, ofsuperior talents; you, who had then so much ambition, so keen a desirefor glory, sleeping with Plutarch's Lives under your pillow, and only, my wild son, only too much energy. But you are a young man still; it isnot too late to redeem the years you have thrown away. "

"The years are nothing, --mere dates in an almanac; but the feelings, what can give me back those?--the hope, the enthusiasm, the--No matter!feelings do not, help men to rise in the world. Egerton's feelings arenot too lively. What I might have been, leave it to me to remember; letus talk of the example you set before me, --of Audley Egerton. "

"We must get him in, " said the earl, sinking his voice into a whisper. "It is of more importance to him than I even thought for. But you knowhis secrets. Why did you not confide to me frankly the state of hisaffairs?"

"His affairs? Do you mean that they are seriously embarrassed? Thisinterests me much. Pray speak; what do you know?"

"He has discharged the greater part of his establishment. That in itselfis natural on quitting office; but still it set people talking; and ithas got wind that his estates are not only mortgaged for more than theyare worth, but that he has been living upon the discount of bills; inshort, he has been too intimate with a man whom we all know by sight, --aman who drives the finest horses in London, and they tell me (but thatI cannot believe) lives in the familiar society of the young puppieshe snares to perdition. What's the man's name? Levy, is it not?--yes, Levy. "

"I have seen Levy with him, " said Harley; and a sinister joy lighted uphis falcon eyes. "Levy--Levy--it is well. "

"I hear but the gossip of the clubs, " resumed the earl; "but they do saythat Levy makes little disguise of his power over our very distinguishedfriend, and rather parades it as a merit with our party (and, indeed, with all men--for Egerton has personal friends in every party) that hekeeps sundry bills locked up in his desk until Egerton is once more safein parliament. Nevertheless if, after all, our friend were to lose hiselection, and Levy were then to seize on his effects, and proclaim hisruin, it would seriously damage, perhaps altogether destroy, Audley'spolitical career. "

"So I conclude, " said Harley. "A Charles Fox might be a gamester, anda William Pitt be a pauper. But Audley Egerton is not of their giantstature; he stands so high because he stands upon heaps of respectablegold. Audley Egerton, needy and impoverished, out of parliament, and, asthe vulgar slang has it, out at elbows, skulking from duns, perhaps inthe Bench--"

"No, no; our party would never allow that; we would subscribe--"

"Worse than all, living as the pensioner of the party he aspired tolead! You say truly, his political prospects would be blasted. A manwhose reputation lay in his outward respectability! Why, people wouldsay that Audley Egerton has been--a solemn lie; eh, my father?"

"How can you talk with such coolness of your friend? You need saynothing to interest me in his election--if you mean that. Once inparliament, he must soon again be in office, --and learn to live onhis salary. You must get him to submit to me the schedule of hisliabilities. I have a head for business, as you know. I will arrange hisaffairs for him. And I will yet bet five to one, though I hate wagers, that he will be prime minister in three years. He is not brilliant, itis true; but just at this crisis we want a safe, moderate, judicious, conciliatory man; and Audley has so much tact, such experience of theHouse, such knowledge of the world, and, " added the earl, emphaticallysumming up his eulogies, "he is so thorough a gentleman!"

"A thorough gentleman, as you say, --the soul of honour! But, my dearfather, it is your hour for riding; let me not detain you. It issettled, then; you do not come yourself to Lansmere. You put the houseat my disposal, and allow me to invite Egerton, of course, and whatother guests I may please; in short, you leave all to me?"

"Certainly; and if you cannot get in your friend, who can? That borough, it is an awkward, ungrateful place, and has been the plague of my life. So much as I have spent there, too, --so much as I have done to itstrade!" And the earl, with an indignant sigh, left the room. 

Harley seated himself deliberately at his writing-table, leaning hisface on his hand, and looking abstractedly into space from under knitand lowering brows. 

Harley L'Estrange was, as we have seen, a man singularly tenaciousof affections and impressions. He was a man, too, whose nature waseminently bold, loyal, and candid; even the apparent whim and levitywhich misled the world, both as to his dispositions and his powers, might be half ascribed to that open temper which, in its over-contemptfor all that seemed to savour of hypocrisy, sported with forms andceremonials, and extracted humour, sometimes extravagant, sometimesprofound, from "the solemn plausibilities of the world. " The shockhe had now received smote the very foundations of his mind, and, overthrowing all the airier structures which fancy and wit had builtupon its surface, left it clear as a new world for the operations of thedarker and more fearful passions. When a man of a heart so loving anda nature so irregularly powerful as Harley's suddenly and abruptlydiscovers deceit where he had most confided, it is not (as with thecalmer pupils of that harsh teacher, Experience) the mere withdrawalof esteem and affection from the one offender; it is, that trust ineverything seems gone; it is, that the injured spirit looks back to thePast, and condemns all its kindlier virtues as follies that conducedto its own woe; and looks on to the Future as to a journey beset withsmiling traitors, whom it must meet with an equal simulation, orcrush with a superior force. The guilt of treason to men like theseis incalculable, --it robs the world of all the benefits they wouldotherwise have lavished as they passed; it is responsible for all theill that springs from the corruption of natures whose very luxuriance, when the atmosphere is once tainted, does but diffuse disease, --even asthe malaria settles not over thin and barren soils, not over wastes thathave been from all time desolate, but over the places in which southernsuns had once ripened delightful gardens, or the sites of cities, inwhich the pomp of palaces has passed away. 

It was not enough that the friend of his youth, the confidant of hislove, had betrayed his trust, --been the secret and successful rival; notenough that the woman his boyhood had madly idolized, and all the whilehe had sought her traces with pining, remorseful heart-believing shebut eluded his suit from the emulation of a kindred generosity, desiringrather to sacrifice her own love than to cost to his the sacrifice ofall which youth rashly scorns and the world so highly estimates, --notenough that all this while her refuge had been the bosom of another. This was not enough of injury. His whole life had been wasted on adelusion; his faculties and aims, the wholesome ambition of loftyminds, had been arrested at the very onset of fair existence; hisheart corroded by a regret for which there was no cause; his consciencecharged with the terror that his wild chase had urged a too tendervictim to the grave, over which he had mourned. What years that mightotherwise have been to himself so serene, to the world so useful, hadbeen consumed in objectless, barren, melancholy dreams! And all thiswhile to whom had his complaints been uttered?--to the man who knewthat his remorse was an idle spectre and his faithful sorrow a mockingself-deceit. Every thought that could gall man's natural pride, everyremembrance that could sting into revenge a heart that had loved toodeeply not to be accessible to hate, conspired to goad those maddeningFuries who come into every temple which is once desecrated by thepresence of the evil passions. In that sullen silence of the soul, vengeance took the form of justice. Changed though his feelings towardsLeonora Avenel were, the story of her grief and her wrongs embitteredstill more his wrath against his rival. The fragments of her memoir leftnaturally on Harley's mind the conviction that she had been the victimof an infamous fraud, the dupe of a false marriage. His idol had notonly been stolen from the altar, --it had been sullied by the sacrifice;broken with remorseless hand, and thrust into dishonoured clay;mutilated, defamed; its very memory a thing of contempt to him who hadravished it from worship. The living Harley and the dead Nora--bothcalled aloud to their joint despoiler, "Restore what thou hast takenfrom us, or pay the forfeit!"

Thus, then, during the interview between Helen and Leonard, thus HarleyL'Estrange sat alone! and as a rude irregular lump of steel, whenwheeled round into rapid motion, assumes the form of the circle itdescribes, so his iron purpose, hurried on by his relentless passion, filled the space into which he gazed with optical delusions, schemeafter scheme revolving and consummating the circles that clasped a foe. 

CHAPTER XV. 

The entrance of a servant, announcing a name which Harley, in theabsorption of his gloomy revery, did not hear, was followed by that of aperson on whom he lifted his eyes in the cold and haughty surprisewith which a man much occupied greets and rebukes the intrusion of anunwelcome stranger. 

"It is so long since your Lordship has seen me, " said the visitor, withmild dignity, "that I cannot wonder you do not recognize my person, andhave forgotten my name. "

"Sir, " answered Harley, with an impatient rudeness, ill in harmony withthe urbanity for which he was usually distinguished, --"sir, your personis strange to me, and your name I did not hear; but, at all events, I amnot now at leisure to attend to you. Excuse my plainness. "

"Yet pardon me if I still linger. My name is Dale. I was formerly curateat Lansmere; and I would speak to your Lordship in the name and thememory of one once dear to you, --Leonora Avenel. "

HARLEY (after a short pause). --"Sir, I cannot conjecture your business. But be seated. I remember you now, though years have altered both, andI have since heard much in your favour from Leonard Fairfield. Still letme pray, that you will be brief. "

MR. DALE. --"May I assume at once that you have divined the parentageof the young man you call Fairfield? When I listened to his gratefulpraises of your beneficence, and marked with melancholy pleasurethe reverence in which he holds you, my heart swelled within me. Iacknowledged the mysterious force of nature. "

HARLEY. --"Force of nature! You talk in riddles. "

MR. DALE (indignantly). --"Oh, my Lord, how can you so disguise yourbetter self? Surely in Leonard Fairfield you have long since recognizedthe son of Nora Avenel?"

Harley passed his hand over his face. "Ah, " thought he, "she lived tobear a son then, --a son to Egerton! Leonard is that son. I should haveknown it by the likeness, by the fond foolish impulse that moved me tohim. This is why he confided to me these fearful memoirs. He seeks hisfather, --he shall find him. "

MR. DALE (mistaking the cause of Harley's silence). --"I honour yourcompunction, my Lord. Oh, let your heart and your conscience continue tospeak to your worldly pride. "

HARLEY. --"My compunction, heart, conscience! Mr. Dale, you insult me!"

MR. DALE (sternly). --"Not so; I am fulfilling my mission, which bids merebuke the sinner. Leonora Avenel speaks in me, and commands the guiltyfather to acknowledge the innocent child!"

Harley half rose, and his eyes literally flashed fire; but he calmed hisanger into irony. "Ha!" said he, with a sarcastic smile, "so you supposethat I was the perfidious seducer of Nora Avenel, --that I am the callousfather of the child who came into the world without a name. Very well, sir, taking these assumptions for granted, what is it you demand from meon behalf of this young man?"

"I ask from you his happiness, " replied Mr. Dale, imploringly; andyielding to the compassion with which Leonard inspired him, andpersuaded that Lord L'Estrange felt a father's love for the boy whomhe had saved from the whirlpool of London, and guided to safety andhonourable independence, he here, with simple eloquence, narrated allLeonard's feelings for Helen, --his silent fidelity to her image, thougha child's, his love when he again beheld her as a woman, the modestfears which the parson himself had combated, the recommendation that Mr. Dale had forced upon him, to confess his affection to Helen, and pleadhis cause. "Anxious, as you may believe, for his success, " continuedthe parson, "I waited without your gates till he came from Miss Digby'spresence. And oh, my Lord, had you but seen his face!--such emotion andsuch despair! I could not learn from him what had passed. He escapedfrom me and rushed away. All that I could gather was from a fewbroken words, and from those words I formed the conjecture (it may beerroneous) that the obstacle to his happiness was not in Helen's heart, my Lord, but seemed to me as if it were in yourself. Therefore, when hehad vanished from my sight, I took courage, and came at, once to you. If he be your son, and Helen Digby be your ward, --she herself an orphan, dependent on your bounty, --why should they be severed? Equals in years, united by early circumstance, congenial, it seems, in simple habits andrefined tastes, --what should hinder their union, unless it be the wantof fortune? And all men know your wealth, none ever questioned yourgenerosity. My Lord, my Lord, your look freezes me. If I have offended, do not visit my offence on him, --on Leonard!"

"And so, " said Harley, still controlling his rage, "so this boy--whom, as you say, I saved from that pitiless world which has engulfed manya nobler genius--so, in return for all, he has sought to rob me of thelast affection, poor and lukewarm though it was, that remained to mein life? He presume to lift his eyes to my affianced bride! He! And foraught I know, steal from me her living heart, and leave to me her icyhand!"

"Oh, my Lord, your affianced bride! I never dreamed of this. I imploreyour pardon. The very thought is so terrible, so unnatural! the son towoo the father's! Oh, what sin have I fallen into! The sin was mine, --Iurged and persuaded him to it. He was ignorant as myself. Forgive him, forgive him!"

"Mr. Dale, " said Harley, rising, and extending his hand, which thepoor parson felt himself--unworthy to take, --"Mr. Dale, you are a goodman, --if, indeed, this universe of liars contains some man who does notcheat our judgment when we deem him honest. Allow me only to ask why youconsider Leonard Fairfield to be my son. "

"Was not your youthful admiration for poor Nora evident to me? RememberI was a frequent guest at Lansmere Park; and it was so natural that you, with all your brilliant gifts, should captivate her refined fancy, heraffectionate heart. "

"Natural--you think so, --go on. "

"Your mother, as became her, separated you. It was not unknown to methat you still cherished a passion which your rank forbade to be lawful. Poor girl! she left the roof of her protectress, Lady Jane. Nothingwas known of her till she came to her father's house to give birth to achild, and die. And the same day that dawned on her corpse, you hurriedfrom the place. Ah, no doubt your conscience smote you; you have neverreturned to Lansmere since. "

Harley's breast heaved, he waved his hand; the parson resumed, "Whom could I suspect but you? I made inquiries: they confirmed mysuspicions. "

"Perhaps you inquired of my friend, Mr. Egerton? He was with mewhen--when--as you say, I hurried from the place. "

"I did, my Lord. "

"And he?"

"Denied your guilt; but still, a man of honour so nice, of heart sofeeling, could not feign readily. His denial did not deceive me. "

"Honest man!" said Harley; and his hand griped at the breast over whichstill rustled, as if with a ghostly sigh, the records of the dead. "Heknew she had left a son, too?"

"He did, my Lord; of course, I told him that. "

"The son whom I found starving in the streets of London! Mr. Dale, as you see, your words move me very much. I cannot deny that he whowronged, it may be with no common treachery, that young mother--for NoraAvenel was not one to be lightly seduced into error--"

"Indeed, no!"

"And who then thought no more of the offspring of her anguish andhis own crime--I cannot deny that that man deserves somechastisement, --should render some atonement. Am I not right here? Answerwith the plain speech which becomes your sacred calling. "

"I cannot say otherwise, my Lord, " replied the parson, pitying whatappeared to him such remorse. "But if he repent--"

"Enough, " interrupted Harley. "I now invite you to visit me at Lansmere;give me your address, and I will apprise you of the day on which I willrequest your presence. Leonard Fairfield shall find a father--I wasabout to say, worthy of himself. For the rest--stay; reseat yourself. For the rest"--and again the sinister smile broke from Harley's eye andlip--"I will not yet say whether I can, or ought to, resign to a youngerand fairer suitor the lady who has accepted my own hand. I haveno reason yet to believe that she prefers him. But what think you, meanwhile, of this proposal? Mr. Avenel wishes his nephew to contestthe borough of Lansmere, has urged me to obtain the young man's consent. True, that he may thus endanger the seat of Mr. Audley Egerton. Whatthen? Mr. Audley Egerton is a great man, and may find another seat; thatshould not stand in the way. Let Leonard obey his uncle. If he win theelection, why, he 'll be a more equal match, in the world's eye, forMiss Digby, that is, should she prefer him to myself; and if she do not, still, in public life, there is a cure for all private sorrow. That isa maxim of Mr. Audley Egerton's; and he, you know, is a man not onlyof the nicest honour, but the deepest worldly wisdom. Do you like myproposition?"

"It seems to me most considerate, most generous. "

"Then you shall take to Leonard the lines I am about to write. "

 LORD L'ESTRANGE TO LEONARD FAIRFIELD. 

 I have read the memoir you intrusted to me. I will follow up all the clews that it gives me. Meanwhile I request you to suspend all questions; forbear all reference to a subject which, as you may well conjecture, is fraught with painful recollections to myself. At this moment, too, I am compelled to concentre my thoughts upon affairs of a public nature, and yet which may sensibly affect yourself. There are reasons why I urge you to comply with your uncle's wish, and stand for the borough of Lansmere at the approaching election. If the exquisite gratitude of your nature so overrates what I may have done for you that you think you owe me some obligations, you will richly repay them on the day in which I bear you hailed as member for Lansmere. Relying on that generous principle of self-sacrifice, which actuates all your conduct, I shall count upon your surrendering your preference to private life, and entering the arena of that noble ambition which has conferred such dignity on the name of my friend Audley Egerton. He, it is true, will be your opponent; but he is too generous not to pardon my zeal for the interests of a youth whose career I am vain enough to think that I have aided. And as Mr. Randal Leslie stands in coalition with Egerton, and Mr. Avenel believes that two candidates of the same party cannot both succeed, the result may be to the satisfaction of all the feelings which I entertain for Audley Egerton, and for you, who, I have reason to think, will emulate his titles to my esteem. 

 Yours, L'ESTRANGE. 

"There, Mr. Dale, " said Harley, sealing his letter, and giving it intothe parson's hands, --"there, you shall deliver this note to your friend. But no; upon second thoughts, since he does not yet know of your visitto me, it is best that he should be still in ignorance of it. For shouldMiss Digby resolve to abide by her present engagements, it were surelykind to save Leonard the pain of learning that you had communicatedto me that rivalry he himself had concealed. Let all that has passedbetween us be kept in strict confidence. "

"I will obey you, my Lord, " answered the parson, meekly, startled tofind that he who had come to arrogate authority was now submitting tocommands; and all at fault what judgment he could venture to pass uponthe man whom he had regarded as a criminal, who had not even denied thecrime imputed to him, yet who now impressed the accusing priest withsomething of that respect which Mr. Dale had never before conceded butto Virtue. Could he have then but looked into the dark and stormy heart, which he twice misread!

"It is well, --very well, " muttered Harley, when the door had closed uponthe parson. "The viper and the viper's brood! So it was this man's sonthat I led from the dire Slough of Despond; and the son unconsciouslyimitates the father's gratitude and honour--Ha, ha!" Suddenly the bitterlaugh was arrested; a flash of almost celestial joy darted through thewarring elements of storm and darkness. If Helen returned Leonard'saffection, Harley L'Estrange was free! And through that flash the faceof Violante shone upon him as an angel's. But the heavenly light andthe angel face vanished abruptly, swallowed up in the black abyss of therent and tortured soul. 

"Fool!" said the unhappy man, aloud, in his anguish--"fool! what then?Were I free, would it be to trust my fate again to falsehood? If, in allthe bloom and glory of my youth, I failed to win the heart of a villagegirl; if, once more deluding myself, it is in vain that I have tended, reared, cherished, some germ of woman's human affection in the orphanI saved from penury, --how look for love in the brilliant princess, whomall the sleek Lotharios of our gaudy world will surround with theirhomage when once she alights on their sphere! If perfidy be myfate--what hell of hells, in the thought!--that a wife might lay herhead in my bosom, and--oh, horror! horror! No! I would not accept herhand were it offered, nor believe in her love were it pledged to me. Stern soul of mine, wise at last, love never more, --never more believein truth!"

CHAPTER XVI. 

As Harley quitted the room, Helen's pale sweet face looked forth from adoor in the same corridor. She advanced towards him timidly. 

"May I speak with you?" she said, in almost inaudible accents; "I havebeen listening for your footstep. "

Harley looked at her steadfastly. Then, without a word, he followed herinto the room she had left, and closed the door. 

"I, too, " said he, "meant to seek an interview with yourself--but later. You would speak to me, Helen, --say on. Ah, child, what mean you? Whythis?"--for Helen was kneeling at his feet. 

"Let me kneel, " she said, resisting the hand that sought to raise her. "Let me kneel till I have explained all, and perhaps won your pardon. You said something the other evening. It has weighed on my heart and myconscience ever since. You said 'that I should have no secret from you;for that, in our relation to each other, would be deceit. ' I have hada secret; but oh, believe me! it was long ere it was clearly visible tomyself. You honoured me with a suit so far beyond my birth, my merits. You said that I might console and comfort you. At those words, whatanswer could I give, --I, who owe you so much more than a daughter'sduty? And I thought that my affections were free, --that they wouldobey that duty. But--but--but--" continued Helen, bowing her head stilllowlier, and in a voice far fainter--"I deceived myself. I again saw himwho had been all in the world to me, when the world was so terrible, andthen--and then--I trembled. I was terrified at my own memories, my ownthoughts. Still I struggled to banish the past, resolutely, firmly. Oh, you believe me, do you not? And I hoped to conquer. Yet ever since thosewords of yours, I felt that I ought to tell you even of the struggle. This is the first time we have met since you spoke them. And now--now--Ihave seen him again, and--and--though not by a word could she youhad deigned to woo as your bride encourage hope in another; thoughthere--there where you now stand--he bade me farewell, and we partedas if forever, --yet--yet O Lord L'Estrange! in return for yourrank, wealth, your still nobler gifts of nature, what should Ibring?--Something more than gratitude, esteem; reverence, --at least anundivided heart, filled with your image, and yours alone. And this Icannot give. Pardon me, --not for what I say now, but for not saying itbefore. Pardon me, O my benefactor, pardon me!"

"Rise, Helen, " said Harley, with relaxing brow, though still unwillingto yield to one softer and holier emotion. "Rise!" And he lifted her up, and drew her towards the light. "Let me look at your face. There seemsno guile here. These tears are surely honest. If I cannot be loved, it is my fate, and not your crime. Now, listen to me. If you grant menothing else, will you give me the obedience which the ward owes to theguardian, the child to the parent?"

"Yes, oh, yes!" murmured Helen. 

"Then while I release you from all troth to me, I claim the right torefuse, if I so please it, my assent to the suit of--of the person youprefer. I acquit you of deceit, but I reserve to myself the judgment Ishall pass on him. Until I myself sanction that suit, will you promisenot to recall in any way the rejection which, if I understand yourightly, you have given to it?"

"I promise. "

"And if I say to you, 'Helen, this man is not worthy of you '"

"No, no! do not say that, --I could not believe you. " Harley frowned, butresumed calmly, "If, then, I say, 'Ask me not wherefore, but I forbidyou to be the wife of Leonard Fairfield, I what would be your answer?'"

"Ah, my Lord, if you can but comfort him, do with me as you will! but donot command me to break his heart. "

"Oh, silly child, " cried Harley, laughing scornfully, "hearts are notfound in the race from which that man sprang. But I take your promise, with its credulous condition. Helen, I pity you. I have been as weak asyou, bearded man though I be. Some day or other, you and I may liveto laugh at the follies at which you weep now. I can give you no othercomfort, for I know of none. "

He moved to the door, and paused at the threshold: "I shall not see youagain for some days, Helen. Perhaps I may request my mother to join meat Lansmere; if so, I shall pray you to accompany her. For the present, let all believe that our position is unchanged. The time will soon comewhen I may--"

Helen looked up wistfully through her tears. 

"I may release you from all duties to me, " continued Harley, withgrave and severe coldness; "or I may claim your promise in spite of thecondition; for your lover's heart will not be broken. Adieu!"

CHAPTER XVII. 

As Harley entered London, he came suddenly upon Randal Leslie, who washurrying from Eaton Square, having not only accompanied Mr. Avenelin his walk, but gone home with him, and spent half the day in thatgentleman's society. He was now on his way to the House of Commons, atwhich some disclosure as to the day for the dissolution of parliamentwas expected. 

"Lord L'Estrange, " said Randal, "I must stop you. I have been toNorwood, and seen our noble friend. He has confided to me, of course, all that passed. How can I express my gratitude to you! By what raretalent, with what signal courage, you have saved the happiness--perhapseven the honour--of my plighted bride!"

"Your bride! The duke, then, still holds to the promise you werefortunate enough to obtain from Dr. Riccabocca?"

"He confirms that promise more solemnly than ever. You may well besurprised at his magnanimity. "

"No; he is a philosopher, --nothing in him can surprise me. But he seemedto think, when I saw him, that there were circumstances you might findit hard to explain. "

"Hard! Nothing so easy. Allow me to tender to you the same explanationswhich satisfied one whom philosophy itself has made as open to truth ashe is clear-sighted to imposture. "

"Another time, Mr. Leslie. If your bride's father be satisfied, whatright have I to doubt? By the way, you stand for Lansmere. Do me thefavour 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 forthose explanations which you honour me by offering; and, to make yourvisit still more agreeable, I may perhaps induce our friends at Norwoodto meet you. Good-day. " Harley walked on, leaving Randal motionless inamaze, but tormented with suspicion. What could such courtesies in LordL'Estrange portend? Surely no good. 

"I am about to hold the balance of justice, " said Harley to himself. "Iwill cast the light-weight of that knave into the scale. Violante nevercan be mine; but I did not save her from a Peschiera to leaveher to a Randal Leslie. Ha, ha! Audley Egerton has some humanfeeling, --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 sideI can reach at his heart, and prove him a fool like myself, where heesteemed 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 knowswhen I may see you again, and you have suffered me to assist in one goodaction. "

"Frank Hazeldean, I am pleased indeed to meet you. Why do you indulge inthat 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 ratherhipped, so I shall go abroad for a few weeks. "

In spite of himself, the sombre, brooding man felt interest and sympathyin the dejection that was evident in Frank's voice and countenance. "Another dupe to affection, " thought he, as if in apology tohimself, --"of course, a dupe; he is honest and artless--at present. " Hepressed kindly on the arm which he had involuntarily twined within hisown. "I conceive how you now grieve, my young friend, " said he; "but youwill congratulate yourself hereafter on what this day seems to you anaffliction. "

"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 foolishenough, but I am sure you will not laugh at me. You heard what Madame diNegra said to me last night. I have been trifled with and misled, but Icannot forget so soon how dear to me that woman was. I am not going tobore you with such nonsense; but from what I can understand, herbrother is likely to lose all his fortune; and, even if not, he is a sadscoundrel. I cannot bear the thought that she should be so dependenton him, that she may come to want. After all, there must be good inher, --good in her to refuse my hand if she did not love me. A mercenarywoman so circumstanced would not have done that. "

"You are quite right. But do not torment yourself with such generousfears. Madame di Negra shall not come to want, shall not be dependent onher infamous brother. The first act of the Duke of Serrano, on regaininghis estates, will be a suitable provision for his kinswoman. I willanswer for this. "

"You take a load off my mind. I did mean to ask you to intercede withRiccabocca, --that is, the duke (it is so hard to think he can be aduke!)--I, alas! have nothing in my power to bestow upon Madame diNegra. I may, indeed, sell my commission; but then I have a debt whichI long to pay off, and the sale of the commission would not suffice evenfor that; and perhaps my father might be still more angry if I do sellit. 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 willcall on you. Meanwhile, can you tell me the number of one Baron Levy? Helives in this street, I know. "

"Levy! Oh, have no dealings with him, I advise, I entreat you! He is themost plausible, dangerous rascal; and, for Heaven's sake! pray be warnedby me, and let nothing entangle you into--a POST-OBIT!"

"Be re-assured, I am more accustomed to lend money than borrow it;and as to a post-obit, I have a foolish prejudice against suchtransactions. "

"Don't call it foolish, L'Estrange; I honour you for it. How I wish Ihad known you earlier--so few men of the world are like you. Even RandalLeslie, who is so faultless in most things, and never gets into a scrapehimself, called my own scruples foolish. However--"

"Stay--Randal Leslie! What! He advised you to borrow on a post-obit, andprobably shared the loan with you?"

"Oh, no; not a shilling. "

"Tell me all about it, Frank. Perhaps, as I see that Levy is mixed up inthe affair, your information may be useful to myself, and put me on myguard in dealing with that popular gentleman. "

Frank, who somehow or other felt himself quite at home with Harley, and who, with all his respect for Randal Leslie's talents, had a vaguenotion that Lord L'Estrange was quite as clever, and, from his yearsand experience, likely to be a safer and more judicious counsellor, wasnoways loath to impart the confidence thus pressed for. 

He told Harley of his debts, his first dealings with Levy, the unhappypost-obit into which he had been hurried by the distress of Madame diNegra; his father's anger, his mother's letter, his own feelings ofmingled shame and pride, which made him fear that repentance would butseem self-interest, his desire to sell his commission, and let its saleredeem in part the post-obit; in short, he made what is called a cleanbreast of it. Randal Leslie was necessarily mixed up with this recital;and the subtle cross-questionings of Harley extracted far more as tothat young diplomatist's agency in all these melancholy concerns thanthe ingenuous narrator himself was aware of. 

"So then, " said Harley, "Mr. Leslie assured you of Madame di Negra'saffection, when you yourself doubted of it?"

"Yes; she took him in, even more than she did me. "

"Simple Mr. Leslie! And the same kind friend?--who is related to you, did you say?"

"His grandmother was a Hazeldean. "

"Humph. The same kind relation led you to believe that you could payoff this bond with the marchesa's portion, and that he could obtain theconsent of your parents to your marriage with that lady?"

"I ought to have known better; my father's prejudices against foreignersand Papists are so strong. "

"And now Mr. Leslie concurs with you, that it is best for you togo abroad, and trust to his intercession with your father. He hasevidently, then, gained a great influence over Mr. Hazeldean. "

"My father naturally compares me with him, --he so clever, so promising, so regular in his habits, and I such a reckless scapegrace. "

"And the bulk of your father's property is unentailed; Mr. Hazeldeanmight disinherit you?"

"I deserve it. I hope he will. "

"You have no brothers nor sisters, --no relation, perhaps, after yourparents, nearer to you than your excellent friend Mr. Randal Leslie?"

"No; that is the reason he is so kind to me, otherwise I am the lastperson to suit him. You have no idea how well-informed and clever heis, " added Frank, in a tone between admiration and awe. 

"My dear Hazeldean, you will take my advice, will you not?"

"Certainly. You are too good. "

"Let all your family, Mr. Leslie included, suppose you to be goneabroad; but stay quietly in England, and within a day's journey ofLansmere Park. I am obliged to go thither for the approaching election. I may ask you to come over. I think I see a way to serve you; and if so, you will soon hear from me. Now, Baron Levy's number?"

"That is the house with the cabriolet at the door. How such a fellow canhave such a horse!--'t is out of all keeping!"

"Not at all; horses are high-spirited, generous, unsuspicious animals. They never know if it is a rogue who drives them. I have your promise, then, and you will send me your address?"

"I will. Strange that I feel more confidence in you than I do even inRandal. Do take care of Levy. "

Lord L'Estrange and Frank here shook hands, and Frank, with an anxiousgroan, saw L'Estrange disappear within the portals of the sleekdestroyer. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Lord L'Estrange followed the spruce servant into Baron Levy's luxuriousstudy. 

The baron looked greatly amazed at his unexpected visitor; but he gotup, handed a chair to my Lord with a low bow. "This is an honour, " saidhe. 

"You have a charming abode here, " said Lord L'Estrange, looking round. "Very fine bronzes, --excellent taste. Your reception-rooms above are, doubtless, a model to all decorators?"

"Would your Lordship condescend to see them?" said Levy, wondering, butflattered. 

"With the greatest pleasure. "

"Lights!" cried Levy, to the servant who answered his bell. "Lights inthe drawing-rooms, --it is growing dark. " Lord L'Estrange followed theusurer upstairs; admired everything, --pictures, draperies, Sevres china, to the very shape of the downy fauteuils, to the very pattern of theTournay carpets. Reclining then on one of the voluptuous sofas, LordL'Estrange said smilingly, "You are a wise man: there is no advantage inbeing rich, unless one enjoys one's riches. "

"My own maxim, Lord L'Estrange. "

"And it is something, too, to have a taste for good society. Small pridewould you have, my dear baron, in these rooms, luxurious though theyare, if filled with guests of vulgar exterior and plebeian manners. It is only in the world in which we move that we find persons whoharmonize, as it were, with the porcelain of Sevres, and these sofasthat might have come from Versailles. "

"I own, " said Levy, "that I have what some may call a weakness in aparvenu like myself. I have a love for the beau monde. It is indeed apleasure to me when I receive men like your Lordship. "

"But why call yourself a parvenu? Though you are contented to honourthe name of Levy, we, in society, all know that you are the son of along-descended English peer. Child of love, it is true; but the Gracessmile on those over whose birth Venus presided. Pardon my old-fashionedmythological similes, --they go so well with these rooms--Louis Quinze. "

"Since you have touched on my birth, " said Levy, his colour ratherheightening, not with shame, but with pride, "I don't deny that it hashad some effect on my habits and tastes in life. In fact--"

"In fact, own that you would be a miserable man, in spite of all yourwealth, if the young dandies, who throng to your banquets, were to cutyou dead in the streets; if, when your high-stepping horse stopped atyour club, the porter shut the door in your face; if, when you loungedinto the opera-pit, handsome dog that you are, each spendthrift rakein 'Fop's Alley, ' who now waits but the scratch of your pen to endorsebillets doux with the charm that can chain to himself for a month somenymph of the Ballet, spinning round in a whirlwind of tulle, wouldshrink from the touch of your condescending forefinger with more dreadof its contact than a bailiff's tap in the thick of Pall Mallcould inspire; if, reduced to the company of city clerks, parasiteled-captains--"

"Oh, don't go on, my dear Lord, " cried Levy, laughing affectedly. "Impossible though the picture be, it is really appalling. Cut me offfrom May Fair and St. James's, and I should go into my strong closet andhang myself. "

"And yet, my dear baron, all this may happen if I have the whim just totry; all this will happen, unless, ere I leave your house, you concedethe conditions I come here to impose. "

"My Lord!" exclaimed Levy, starting up, and pulling down his waistcoatwith nervous passionate fingers, "if you were not under my own roof, Iwould--"

"Truce with mock heroics. Sit down, sir, sit down. I will briefly statemy threat, more briefly my conditions. You will be scarcely more prolixin your reply. Your fortune I cannot touch, your enjoyment of it Ican destroy. Refuse my conditions, make me your enemy, --and war to theknife! I will interrogate all the young dupes you have ruined. I willlearn the history of all the transactions by which you have gained thewealth that it pleases you to spend in courting the society and sharingthe vices of men who--go with these rooms, Louis Quinze. Not a rogueryof yours shall escape me, down even to your last notable connivance withan Italian reprobate for the criminal abduction of an heiress. Allthese particulars I will proclaim in the clubs to which you have gainedadmittance, in every club in London which you yet hope to creep into;all these I will impart to some such authority in the Press as Mr. HenryNorreys; all these I will, upon the voucher of my own name, have sopublished in some journals of repute, that you must either tacitlysubmit to the revelations that blast you, or bring before a court oflaw actions that will convert accusations into evidence. It is but bysufferance that you are now in society; you are excluded when one manlike me comes forth to denounce you. You try in vain to sneer at mymenace--your white lips show your terror. I have rarely in life drawnany advantage from my rank and position; but I am thankful that theygive me the power to make my voice respected and my exposure triumphant. Now, Baron Levy, will you go into your strong closet and hang yourself, or will you grant me my very moderate conditions? You are silent. I willrelieve you, and state those conditions. Until the general election, about to take place, is concluded, you will obey me to the letter inall that I enjoin, --no demur and no scruple. And the first proofof obedience I demand is, your candid disclosure of all Mr. AudleyEgerton's pecuniary affairs. "

"Has my client, Mr. Egerton, authorized you to request of me thatdisclosure?"

"On the contrary, all that passes between us you will conceal from yourclient. "

"You would save him from ruin? Your trusty friend, Mr. Egerton!" saidthe baron, with a livid sneer. 

"Wrong again, Baron Levy. If I would save him from ruin, you arescarcely the man I should ask to assist me. "

"Ah, I guess. You have learned how he--"

"Guess nothing, but obey in all things. Let us descend to your businessroom. "

Levy said not a word until he had reconducted his visitor into his denof destruction, all gleaming with spoliaria in rosewood. Then he saidthis: "If, Lord L'Estrange, you seek but revenge on Audley Egerton, youneed not have uttered those threats. I too--hate the man. "

Harley looked at him wistfully, and the nobleman felt a pang that hehad debased himself into a single feeling which the usurer couldshare. Nevertheless, the interview appeared to close with satisfactoryarrangements, and to produce amicable understanding. For as the baronceremoniously followed Lord L'Estrange through the hall, his noblevisitor said, with marked affability, "Then I shall see you at Lansmere with Mr. Egerton, to assist inconducting his election. It is a sacrifice of your time worthy of yourfriendship; not a step farther, I beg. Baron, I have the honour to wishyou good-evening. "

As the street door opened on Lord L'Estrange he again found himselfface to face with Randal Leslie, whose hand was already lifted to theknocker. 

"Ha, Mr. Leslie!--you too a client of Baron Levy's, --a very useful, accommodating man. "

Randal stared and stammered. "I come in haste from the House of Commonson Mr. Egerton's business. Don't you hear the newspaper vendors cryingout 'Great News, Dissolution of Parliament'?"

"We are prepared. Levy himself consents to give us the aid of histalents. Kindly, obliging, clever person!" Randal hurried into Levy'sstudy, to which the usurer had shrunk back, and was now wiping his browwith his scented handkerchief, looking heated and haggard, and veryindifferent to Randal Leslie. 

"How is this?" cried Randal. "I come to tell you first of Peschiera'sutter failure, the ridiculous coxcomb, and I meet at your door thelast man I thought to find there, --the man who foiled us all, LordL'Estrange. What brought him to you? Ah, perhaps his interest inEgerton's election?"

"Yes, " said Levy, sulkily. "I know all about Peschiera. I cannot talk toyou now; I must make arrangements for going to Lansmere. "

"But don't forget my purchase from Thornhill. I shall have the moneyshortly from a surer source than Peschiera. "

"The squire?"

"Or a rich father-in-law. "

In the mean while, as Lord L'Estrange entered Bond Street, his ears werestunned by vociferous cries from the Stentors employed by "Standard, ""Sun, " and "Globe, "

--"Great News! Dissolution of Parliament--Great News!" The gas-lampswere lighted; a brown fog was gathering over the streets, blendingitself with the falling shades of night. The forms of men loomed largethrough the mist. The lights from the shops looked red and lurid. Loungers usually careless as to politics were talking eagerly andanxiously of King, Lords, Commons, "Constitution at stake, " "Triumphof liberal opinions, "--according to their several biases. Hearing, andscorning--unsocial, isolated--walked on Harley L'Estrange. With hisdirer passions had been roused up all the native powers that madethem doubly dangerous. He became proudly conscious of his own greatfaculties, but exulted in them only so far as they could minister to thepurpose which had invoked them. 

"I have constituted myself a Fate, " he said inly; "let the gods be butneutral, while I weave the meshes. Then, as Fate itself when it hasfulfilled its mission, let me pass away into shadow, with the still andlonely stride that none may follow, --

 "'Oh, for a lodge in some vast wilderness. '

"How weary I am of this world of men!" And again the cry "GreatNews--National Crisis--Dissolution of Parliament--Great News!" rangthrough the jostling throng. Three men, arm-in-arm, brushed by Harley, and were stopped at the crossing by a file of carriages. The man inthe centre was Audley Egerton. His companions were an ex-minister likehimself, and one of those great proprietors who are proud of being aboveoffice, and vain of the power to make and unmake Governments. 

"You are the only man to lead us, Egerton, " said this last personage. "Do but secure your seat, and as soon as this popular fever has passedaway, you must be something more than the leader of Opposition, --youmust be the first man in England. "

"Not a doubt of that, " chimed in the fellow ex-minister, a worthy man, perfect red-tapist, but inaudible in the reporters' gallery. "And yourelection is quite safe, eh? All depends on that. You must not be thrownout at such a time, even for a month or two. I hear that you will havea contest--some townsmen of the borough, I think. But the Lansmereinterest must be all-powerful; and I suppose L'Estrange will come outand canvass for you. You are not the man to have lukewarm friends!"

"Don't be alarmed about my election. I am as sure of that as ofL'Estrange's friendship. "

Harley heard, with a grim smile, and passing his hand within his vest, laid it upon Nora's memoir. 

"What could we do in parliament without you?" said the great proprietor, almost piteously. 

"Rather what could I do without parliament? Public life is the onlyexistence I own. Parliament is all in all to me. But we may cross now. "

Harley's eye glittered cold as it followed the tall form of thestatesman, towering high above all other passers-by. "Ay, " he muttered, "ay, rest as sure of my friendship as I was of thine! And be Lansmereour field of Philippi! There where thy first step was made in the onlylife that thou own'st as existence, shall the ladder itself rot fromunder thy footing. There, where thy softer victim slunk to death fromthe deceit of thy love, shall deceit like thine own dig a grave for thyfrigid ambition. I borrow thy quiver of fraud; its still arrows shallstrike thee; and thou too shalt say, when the barb pierces home, 'Thiscomes from the hand of a friend. ' Ay, at Lansmere, at Lansmere, shallthe end crown the whole! Go, and dot on the canvas the lines for alengthened perspective, where my eyes note already the vanishing pointof the picture. "

Then through the dull fog and under the pale gas-lights HarleyL'Estrange pursued his noiseless way, soon distinguished no more amongstthe various, motley, quick-succeeding groups, with their infinitesub-divisions of thought, care, and passion; while, loud over all theirlow murmurs, or silent hearts, were heard the tramp of horses and din ofwheels, and the vociferous discordant cry that had ceased to attract andinterest in the ears it vexed, "Great News, Great News--Dissolution ofParliament--Great News!"

CHAPTER XIX. 

The scene is at Lansmere Park, --a spacious pile, commenced in the reignof Charles II. ; enlarged and altered in the reign of Anne. Brilliantinterval in the History of our National Manners, when even the courtierdreaded to be dull, and Sir Fopling raised himself on tiptoe to catchthe ear of a wit; when the names of Devonshire and Dorset, Halifax andCarteret, Oxford and Bolingbroke, unite themselves, brotherlike, withthose of Hobbes and of Dryden, of Prior and Bentley, of Arbuthnot, Gay, Pope, and Swift; and still, wherever we turn, to recognize some ideal ofgreat Lord or fine Gentleman, the Immortals of Literature stand by hisside. 

The walls of the rooms at Lansmere were covered with the portraits ofthose who illustrate that time which Europe calls the Age of Louis XIV. A L'Estrange, who had lived through the reigns of four English princes(and with no mean importance through all) had collected those likenessesof noble contemporaries. As you passed through the chambers--opening oneon the other in that pomp of parade introduced with Charles II. Fromthe palaces of France, and retaining its mode till Versailles and theTrianon passed, themselves, out of date--you felt you were in excellentcompany. What saloons of our day, demeaned to tailed coats and whitewaistcoats, have that charm of high breeding which speaks out fromthe canvas of Kneller and Jervis, Vivien and Rigaud? And withal, notwithstanding lace and brocade--the fripperies of artificialcostume--still those who give interest or charm to that day look fromtheir portraits like men, --raking or debonair, if you will, nevermincing nor feminine. Can we say as much of the portraits of Lawrence?Gaze there on fair Marlborough; what delicate perfection of features, yet how easy in boldness, how serene in the conviction of power! Sofair and so tranquil he might have looked through the cannon reek atRamillies and Blenheim, suggesting to Addison the image of an angelof war. Ah, there, Sir Charles Sedley, the Lovelace of wits! Notethat strong jaw and marked brow; do you not recognize the courtier whoscorned to ask one favour of the king with whom he lived as an equal, and who stretched forth the right hand of man to hurl from a throne theking who had made his daughter--a countess?

 [Sedley was so tenacious of his independence that when his affairs were most embarrassed, he refused all pecuniary aid from Charles II. His bitter sarcasm, in vindication of the part he took in the deposition of James II. , who had corrupted his daughter, and made her Countess of Dorchester, is well known. "As the king has made my daughter a countess, the least I can do, in common gratitude, is to assist in making his Majesty's daughter--a queen!"]

Perhaps, from his childhood thus surrounded by the haunting faces--thatspoke of their age as they looked from the walls--that age and thoseportraits were not without influence on the character of HarleyL'Estrange. The whim and the daring, the passion for letters andreverence for genius, the mixture of levity and strength, the polishedsauntering indolence, or the elastic readiness of energies once calledinto action, --all might have found their prototypes in the lives whichthose portraits rekindled. The deeper sentiment, the more earnestnature, which in Harley L'Estrange were commingled with the attributescommon to a former age, --these, indeed, were of his own. Our age solittle comprehended, while it colours us from its atmosphere! so full ofmysterious and profound emotions, which our ancestors never knew!--willthose emotions be understood by our descendants?

In this stately house were now assembled, as Harley's guests, many ofthe more important personages whom the slow length of this story hasmade familiar to the reader. The two candidates for the borough in theTrue Blue interest, --Audley Egerton and Randal Leslie; and Levy, --chiefamong the barons to whom modern society grants a seignorie of pillage, which, had a baron of old ever ventured to arrogate, burgess andcitizen, socman and bocman, villein and churl, would have burned himalive in his castle; the Duke di Serrano, still fondly clinging to histitle of Doctor and pet name of Riccabocca; Jemima, not yet with theairs of a duchess, but robed in very thick silks, as the chrysalis stateof a duchess; Violante, too, was there, sadly against her will, andshrinking as much as possible into the retirement of her own chamber. The Countess of Lansmere had deserted her lord, in order to receive theguests of her son; my lord himself, ever bent on being of use in somepart of his country, and striving hard to distract his interest fromhis plague of a borough, had gone down into Cornwall to inquire into thesocial condition of certain troglodytes who worked in some mines whichthe earl had lately had the misfortune to wring from the Court ofChancery, after a lawsuit commenced by his grandfather; and a Blue Book, issued in the past session by order of parliament, had especiallyquoted the troglodytes thus devolved on the earl as bipeds who werein considerable ignorance of the sun, and had never been known to washtheir feet since the day when they came into the world, --their worldunderground, chipped off from the Bottomless Pit!

With the countess came Helen Digby, of course; and Lady Lansmere, whohad hitherto been so civilly cold to the wife elect of her son, had, ever since her interview with Harley at Knightsbridge, clung to Helenwith almost a caressing fondness. The stern countess was tamed by fear;she felt that her own influence over Harley was gone; she trusted tothe influence of Helen--in case of what?--ay, what? It was becausethe danger was not clear to her that her bold spirit trembled:superstitions, like suspicions, are "as bats among birds, and fly bytwilight. " Harley had ridiculed the idea of challenge and strife betweenAudley and himself; but still Lady Lansmere dreaded the fiery emotionsof the last, and the high spirit and austere self-respect which wereproverbial to the first. Involuntarily she strengthened her intimacywith Helen. In case her alarm should appear justified, what mediatorcould be so persuasive in appeasing the angrier passions, as one whomcourtship and betrothal sanctified to the gentlest?

On arriving at Lansmere, the countess, however, felt somewhat relieved. Harley had received her, if with a manner less cordial and tenderthan had hitherto distinguished it, still with easy kindness and calmself-possession. His bearing towards Audley Egerton still more reassuredher: it was not marked by an exaggeration of familiarity or friendship, which would at once have excited her apprehensions of some sinisterdesign, --nor; on the other hand, did it betray, by covert sarcasms, anill-suppressed resentment. It was exactly what, under the circumstances, would have been natural to a man who had received an injury from anintimate friend, which, in generosity or discretion, he resolved tooverlook, but which those aware of it could just perceive had cooled oralienated the former affection. Indefatigably occupying himself withall the details of the election, Harley had fair pretext for absentinghimself from Audley, who, really looking very ill, and almost worn out, pleaded indisposition as an excuse for dispensing with the fatigues ofa personal canvass, and, passing much of his time in his own apartments, left all the preparations for contest to his more active friends. Itwas not till he had actually arrived at Lansmere that Audley becameacquainted with the name of his principal opponent. Richard Avenel! thebrother of Nora! rising up from obscurity, thus to stand front to frontagainst him in a contest on which all his fates were cast. Egertonquailed as before an appointed avenger. He would fain have retired fromthe field; he spoke to Harley. 

"How can you support all the painful remembrances which the very name ofmy antagonist must conjure up?"

"Did you not tell me, " answered Harley, "to strive against suchremembrances, --to look on them as sickly dreams? I am prepared to bravethem. Can you be more sensitive than I?"

Egerton durst not say more. He avoided all further reference to thesubject. The strife raged around him, and he shut himself out fromit, --shut himself up in solitude with his own heart. Strife enoughthere! Once, late at night, he stole forth and repaired to Nora's grave. He stood there, amidst the rank grass and under the frosty starlight, long, and in profound silence. His whole past life seemed to rise beforehim; and, when he regained his lonely room, and strove to survey thefuture, still he could behold only that past and that grave. 

In thus declining all active care for an election, to his prospects soimportant, Audley Egerton was considered to have excuse, not only inthe state of his health, but in his sense of dignity. A statesman soeminent, of opinions so well known, of public services so incontestable, might well be spared the personal trouble that falls upon obscurercandidates. And besides, according to current report, and the judgmentof the Blue Committee, the return of Mr. Egerton was secure. Butthough Audley himself was thus indulgently treated, Harley and the BlueCommittee took care to inflict double work upon Randal. That activeyoung spirit found ample materials for all its restless energies. RandalLeslie was kept on his legs from sunrise to starlight. There does notexist in the Three Kingdoms a constituency more fatiguing to a candidatethan that borough of Lansmere. As soon as you leave the High Street, wherein, according to immemorial usage, the Blue canvasser is firstled, in order to put him into spirits for the toils that await him(delectable, propitious, constitutional High Street, in which at leasttwo-thirds of the electors, opulent tradesmen employed at the Park, always vote for "my lord's man, " and hospitably prepare wine and cakesin their tidy back-parlours!)--as soon as you quit this strongholdof the party, labyrinths of lanes and defiles stretch away into thefarthest horizon; level ground is found nowhere; it is all up hill anddown hill, --now rough, craggy pavements that blister the feet, and atthe very first tread upon which all latent corns shook prophetically;now deep, muddy ruts, into which you sink ankle-deep, oozing slushcreeping into the pores, and moistening the way for catarrh, rheum, cough, sore throat, bronchitis, and phthisis; black sewers and drainsAcherontian, running before the thresholds, and so filling the homesbehind with effluvia, that, while one hand clasps the grimy paw ofthe voter, the other instinctively guards from typhus and cholera yourabhorrent nose. Not in those days had mankind ever heard of a sanitaryreform! and, to judge of the slow progress which that reform seemsto make, sewer and drain would have been much the same if they had. Scot-and-lot voters were the independent electors of Lansmere, with theadditional franchise of Freemen. Universal suffrage could scarcely moreefficiently swamp the franchises of men who care a straw what becomes ofGreat Britain! With all Randal Leslie's profound diplomacy, all hisart in talking over, deceiving, and (to borrow Dick Avenel's vernacularphrase) "humbugging" educated men, his eloquence fell flat upon mindsinvulnerable to appeals, whether to State or to Church, to Reform orto Freedom. To catch a Scot-and-lot voter by such frivolousarguments--Randal Leslie might as well have tried to bring down arhinoceros by a pop-gun charged with split peas! The young man who sofirmly believed that "knowledge was power" was greatly disgusted. It washere the ignorance that foiled him. When he got hold of a man with someknowledge, Randal was pretty sure to trick him out of a vote. 

Nevertheless, Randal Leslie walked and talked on, with most creditableperseverance. The Blue Committee allowed that he was an excellentcanvasser. They conceived a liking for him, mingled with pity. For, though sure of Egerton's return, they regarded Randal's as out of thequestion. He was merely there to keep split votes from going to theopposite side; to serve his patron, the ex-minister; shake the paws, andsmell the smells which the ex-minister was too great a man to shakeand to smell. But, in point of fact, none of that Blue Committee knewanything of the prospects of the election. Harley received all thereports of each canvass-day. Harley kept the canvass-book locked up fromall eyes but his own, or it might be Baron Levy's, as Audley Egerton'sconfidential, if not strictly professional adviser, Baron Levy, themillionaire, had long since retired from all acknowledged professions. Randal, however--close, observant, shrewd--perceived that he himselfwas much stronger than the Blue Committee believed; and, to his infinitesurprise, he owed that strength to Lord L'Estrange's exertions onhis behalf. For though Harley, after the first day, on which heostentatiously showed himself in the High Street, did not openly canvasswith Randal, yet when the reports were brought in to him, and he saw thenames of the voters who gave one vote to Audley, and withheld the otherfrom Randal, he would say to Randal, dead beat as that young gentlemanwas, "Slip out with me, the moment dinner is over, and before you go theround of the public-houses; there are some voters we must get for youto-night. " And sure enough a few kindly words from the popular heirof the Lansmere baronies usually gained over the electors, from whom, though Randal had proved that all England depended on their votes in hisfavour, Randal would never have extracted more than a "Wu'll, I shallwaute gin the Dauy coomes!" Nor was this all that Harley did for theyounger candidate. If it was quite clear that only one vote could be wonfor the Blues, and the other was pledged to the Yellows, Harley wouldsay, "Then put it down to Mr. Leslie, "--a request the more readilyconceded, since Audley Egerton was considered so safe by the Blues, andalone worth a fear by the Yellows. 

Thus Randal, who kept a snug little canvass-book of his own, becamemore and more convinced that he had a better chance than Egerton, evenwithout the furtive aid he expected from Avenel; and he could onlyaccount for Harley's peculiar exertions in his favour by supposing thatHarley, unpractised in elections, and deceived by the Blue Committee, believed Egerton to be perfectly safe, and sought, for the honour of thefamily interest, to secure both the seats. 

Randal's public cares thus deprived him of all opportunity of pressinghis courtship on Violante; and, indeed, if ever he did find a momentin which he could steal to her reluctant side, Harley was sure to seizethat very moment to send him off to canvass an hesitating freeman, orharangue in some public-house. 

Leslie was too acute not to detect some motive hostile to his wooing, however plausibly veiled in the guise of zeal for his election, in thisofficiousness of Harley's. But Lord L'Estrange's manner to Violante wasso little like that of a jealous lover, and he was so well aware of herengagement to Randal, that the latter abandoned the suspicion he hadbefore conceived, that Harley was his rival. And he was soon led tobelieve that Lord L'Estrange had another, more disinterested, andless formidable motive for thus stinting his opportunities to woo theheiress. 

"Mr. Leslie, " said Lord L'Estrange, one day, "the duke has confided tome his regret at his daughter's reluctance to ratify his own promise;and knowing the warm interest I take in her welfare, for his sake andher own; believing, also, that some services to herself, as well asto the father she so loves, give me a certain influence over herinexperienced judgment, he has even requested me to speak a word to herin your behalf!"

"Ah, if you would!" said Randal, surprised. 

"You must give me the power to do so. You were obliging enough tovolunteer to me the same explanations which you gave to the duke, hissatisfaction with which induced him to renew or confirm the promise ofhis daughter's hand. Should those explanations content me, as they didhim, I hold the duke bound to fulfil his engagement, and I am convincedthat his daughter would, in that case, not be inflexible to your suit. But, till such explanations be given, my friendship for the father, and my interest in the child, do not allow me to assist a cause which, however, at present suffers little by delay. "

"Pray, listen at once to those explanations. "

"Nay, Mr. Leslie, I can now only think of the election. As soon as thatis over, rely on it you shall have the amplest opportunity to dispel anydoubts which your intimacy with Count di Peschiera and Madame di Negramay have suggested. --a propos of the election, here is a list of votersyou must see at once in Fish Lane. Don't lose a moment. "

In the mean while, Richard Avenel and Leonard had taken up theirquarters in the hotel appropriated to the candidates for the Yellows;and the canvass on that side was prosecuted with all the vigour whichmight be expected from operations conducted by Richard Avenel, andbacked by the popular feeling. 

The rival parties met from time to time in the streets and lanes, inall the pomp of war, --banners streaming, fifes resounding (for bands andcolours were essential proofs of public spirit, and indispensableitems in a candidate's bills, in those good old days). When they thusencountered, very distant bows were exchanged between the respectivechiefs; but Randal, contriving ever to pass close to Avenel, had everthe satisfaction of perceiving that gentleman's countenance contractedinto a knowing wink, as much as to say, "All right, in spite of thistarnation humbug. "

But now that both parties were fairly in the field, to the private artsof canvassing were added the public arts of oratory. The candidates hadto speak, at the close of each day's canvass, out from wooden boxes, suspended from the windows of their respective hotels, and which lookedlike dens for the exhibition of wild beasts. They had to speak atmeetings of Committees, meetings of electors, go the nightly round ofenthusiastic public-houses, and appeal to the sense of an enlightenedpeople through wreaths of smoke and odours of beer. 

The alleged indisposition of Audley Egerton had spared him theexcitement of oratory, as well as the fatigue of canvassing. Thepractised debater had limited the display of his talents to a concise, but clear and masterly exposition of his own views on the leading publicquestions of the day, and the state of parties, which, on the day afterhis arrival at Lansmere, was delivered at a meeting of his generalCommittee, in the great room of their hotel, and which was then printedand circulated amongst the voters. 

Randal, though he expressed himself with more fluency andself-possession than are usually found in the first attempts of a publicspeaker, was not effective in addressing an unlettered crowd; for acrowd of this kind is all heart--and we know that Randal Leslie's heartwas as small as heart could be. If he attempted to speak at hisown intellectual level, he was so subtle and refining as to beincomprehensible; if he fell into the fatal error--not uncommon toinexperienced orators--of trying to lower himself to the intellectuallevel of his audience, he was only elaborately stupid. No man can speaktoo well for a crowd, --as no man can write too well for the stage; butin neither case should he be rhetorical, or case in periods the drybones of reasoning. It is to the emotions or to the humours that thespeaker of a crowd must address himself; his eye must brighten withgenerous sentiment, or his lip must expand in the play of animated fancyor genial wit. Randal's voice, too, though pliant and persuasive inprivate conversation, was thin and poor when strained to catch the earof a numerous assembly. The falsehood of his nature seemed to come outwhen he raised the tones which had been drilled into deceit. Men likeRandal Leslie may become sharp debaters, admirable special pleaders;they can no more become orators than they can become poets. Educatedaudiences are essential to them, and the smaller the audience (that is, the more the brain supersedes the action of the heart) the better theycan speak. 

Dick Avenel was generally very short and very pithy in his addresses. He had two or three favourite topics, which always told. He was afellow-townsman, --a man who had made his own way in life; he wanted tofree his native place from aristocratic usurpation; it was the battleof the electors, not his private cause, etc. He said little againstRandal, --"Pity a clever young man should pin his future to two yards ofworn-out red tape;" "He had better lay hold of the strong rope, whichthe People, in compassion to his youth, were willing yet to throw out tosave him from sinking, " etc. But as for Audley Egerton, "the gentlemanwho would not show, who was afraid to meet the electors, who could onlyfind his voice in a hole-and-corner meeting, accustomed all his venallife to dark and nefarious jobs"--Dick, upon that subject, deliveredphilippics truly Demosthenian. Leonard, on the contrary, never attackedHarley's friend, Mr. Egerton; but he was merciless against the youth whohad filched reputation from John Burley, and whom he knew that Harleydespised as heartily as himself. And Randal did not dare to retaliate(though boiling over with indignant rage), for fear of offendingLeonard's uncle. Leonard was unquestionably the popular speaker of thethree. Though his temperament was a writer's, not an orator's; thoughhe abhorred what he considered the theatrical exhibition of self, whichmakes what is called "delivery" more effective than ideas; though he hadlittle interest at any time in party politics; though at this timehis heart was far away from the Blues and Yellows of Lansmere, sad andforlorn, --yet, forced into action, the eloquence that was natural to hisconversation poured itself forth. He had warm blood in his veins;and his dislike to Randal gave poignancy to his wit, and barbed hisarguments with impassioned invective. In fact, Leonard could conceive noother motive for Lord L'Estrange's request to take part in the electionthan that nobleman's desire to defeat the man whom they both regardedas an impostor; and this notion was confirmed by some inadvertentexpressions which Avenel let fall, and which made Leonard suspect that, if he were not in the field, Avenel would have exerted all his interestto return Randal instead of Egerton. With Dick's dislike to thatstatesman Leonard found it impossible to reason; nor, on the other hand, could all Dick's scoldings or coaxings induce Leonard to divert hissiege on Randal to an assault upon the man who, Harley had often said, was dear to him as a brother. 

In the mean while, Dick kept the canvass-book of the Yellows as closelyas Harley kept that of the Blues; and in despite of many pouting fitsand gusts of displeasure, took precisely the same pains for Leonard asHarley took for Randal. There remained, however, apparently unshaken bythe efforts on either side, a compact body of about a Hundred and Fiftyvoters, chiefly freemen. Would they vote Yellow? Would they vote Blue?No one could venture to decide; but they declared that they would allvote the same way. Dick kept his secret "caucuses, " as he called them, constantly nibbling at this phalanx. A hundred and fifty voters!--theyhad the election in their hands! Never were hands so cordially shaken, so caressingly clung to, so fondly lingered upon! But the votesstill stuck as firm to the hands as if a part of the skin, or of thedirt, --which was much the same thing!

CHAPTER XX. 

Whenever Audley joined the other guests of an evening--while Harley wasperhaps closeted with Levy and committeemen, and Randal was going theround of the public-houses--the one with whom he chiefly conversed wasViolante. He had been struck at first, despite his gloom, less perhapsby her extraordinary beauty than by something in the expression ofher countenance which, despite differences in feature and complexion, reminded him of Nora; and when, by his praises of Harley, he drew herattention, and won into her liking, he discovered, perhaps, that thelikeness which had thus impressed him came from some similaritiesin character between the living and the lost one, --the same charmingcombination of lofty thought and childlike innocence, the sameenthusiasm, the same rich exuberance of imagination and feeling. Twosouls that resemble each other will give their likeness to the looksfrom which they beam. On the other hand, the person with whom Harleymost familiarly associated, in his rare intervals of leisure, was HelenDigby. One day, Audley Egerton, standing mournfully by the window ofthe sitting-room appropriated to his private use, saw the two, whom hebelieved still betrothed, take their way across the park, side by side. "Pray Heaven, that she may atone to him for all!" murmured Audley. "Butah, that it had been Violante! Then I might have felt assured that theFuture would efface the Past, --and found the courage to tell him all. And when last night I spoke of what Harley ought to be to England, howlike were Violante's eyes and smile to Nora's, when Nora listened indelighted sympathy to the hopes of my own young ambition. " With asigh he turned away, and resolutely sat down to read and reply to thevoluminous correspondence which covered the table of the busy publicman. For Audley's return to parliament being considered by his politicalparty as secure, to him were transmitted all the hopes and fears of thelarge and influential section of it whose members looked up to him astheir future chief, and who in that general election (unprecedented forthe number of eminent men it was fated to expel from parliament, and thenumber of new politicians it was fated to send into it) drew their onlyhopes of regaining their lost power from Audley's sanguine confidence inthe reaction of that Public Opinion which he had hitherto so profoundlycomprehended; and it was too clearly seen, that the seasonable adoptionof his counsels would have saved the existence and popularity of thelate Administration, whose most distinguished members could now scarcelyshow themselves on the hustings. 

Meanwhile Lord L'Estrange led his young companion towards a greenhill in the centre of the park, on which stood a circular temple; thatcommanded a view of the country round for miles. They had walked insilence till they gained the summit of the sloped and gradual ascent;and then, as they stood still, side by side, Harley thus spoke, "Helen, you know that Leonard is in the town, though I cannot receivehim at the Park, since he is standing in opposition to my guests, Egerton and Leslie. "

HELEN. --"But that seems to me so strange. How--how could Leonard doanything that seems hostile to you?"

HARLEY. --"Would his hostility to me lower him in your opinion? If heknow that I am his rival, does not rivalry include hate?"

HELEN. --"Oh, Lord L'Estrange, how can you speak thus; how so wrongyourself? Hate--hate to you! and from Leonard Fairfield!"

HARLEY. --"You evade my question. Would his hate or hostility to meaffect your sentiments towards him?"

HELEN (looking down). --"I could not force myself to believe in it. "

HARLEY. --"Why?"

HELEN. --"Because it would be so unworthy of him. "

HARLEY. --"Poor child! You have the delusion of your years. You deck acloud in the hues of the rainbow, and will not believe that its glory isborrowed from the sun of your own fancy. But here, at least, you are notdeceived. Leonard obeys but my wishes, and, I believe, against his ownwill. He has none of man's noblest attribute, Ambition. "

HELEN. --"No ambition!"

HARLEY. --"It is vanity that stirs the poet to toil, --if toil the waywardchase of his own chimeras can be called. Ambition is a more masculinepassion. "

Helen shook her head gently, but made no answer. 

HARLEY. --"If I utter a word that profanes one of your delusions, youshake your head and are incredulous. Pause: listen one moment to mycounsels, --perhaps the last I may ever obtrude upon you. Lift your eyes;look around. Far as your eye can reach, nay, far beyond the line whichthe horizon forms in the landscape, stretch the lands of my inheritance. Yonder you see the home in which my forefathers for many generationslived with honour, and died lamented. All these, in the course ofnature, might one day have been your own, had you not rejected myproposals. I offered you, it is true, not what is commonly called Love;I offered you sincere esteem, and affections the more durable for theircalm. You have not been reared by the world in the low idolatry of rankand wealth; but even romance cannot despise the power of serving others, which rank and wealth bestow. For myself, hitherto indolence, and latelydisdain, rob fortune of these nobler attributes. But she who will sharemy fortune may dispense it so as to atone for my sins of omission. On the other side, grant that there is no bar to your preference forLeonard Fairfield, what does your choice present to you? Those of hiskindred with whom you will associate are unrefined and mean. His soleincome is derived from precarious labours; the most vulgar of allanxieties--the fear of bread itself for the morrow--must mingle withall your romance, and soon steal from love all its poetry. You think hisaffection will console you for every sacrifice. Folly! the love of poetsis for a mist, a moonbeam, a denizen of air, a phantom that they callan Ideal. They suppose for a moment that they have found that Ideal inChloe or Phyllis, Helen or a milkmaid. Bah! the first time you come tothe poet with the baker's bill, where flies the Ideal? I knew one morebrilliant than Leonard, more exquisitely gifted by nature; that onewas a woman; she saw a man hard and cold as that stone at your feet, --afalse, hollow, sordid worldling; she made him her idol, beheld in himall that history would not recognize in a Caesar, that mythology wouldscarcely grant to an Apollo: to him she was the plaything of an hour;she died, and before the year was out he had married for money! I knewanother instance, --I speak of myself. I loved before I was your age. Hadan angel warned me then, I would have been incredulous as you. Howthat ended, no matter: but had it not been for that dream ofmaudlin delirium, I had lived and acted as others of my kind and mysphere, --married from reason and judgment, been now a useful and happyman. Pause, then. Will you still reject me for Leonard Fairfield? Forthe last time you have the option, --me and all the substance of wakinglife, Leonard Fairfield and the shadows of a fleeting dream. Speak! Youhesitate. Nay, take time to decide. "

HELEN. --"Ah, Lord L'Estrange, you who have felt what it is to love, how can you doubt my answer; how think that I could be so base, soungrateful as take from yourself what you call the substance of wakinglife, while my heart was far away, faithful to what you call a dream?"

HARLEY. --"But can you not dispel the dream?"

HELEN (her whole face one flush). --"It was wrong to call it dream! It isthe reality of life to me. All things else are as dreams. "

HARLEY (taking her hand and kissing it with respect). --"Helen, you havea noble heart, and I have tempted you in vain. I regret your choice, though I will no more oppose it. I regret it, though I shall neverwitness your disappointment. As the wife of that man, I shall see andknow you no more. "

HELEN. --"Oh, no! do not say that. Why? Wherefore?"

HARLEY (his brows meeting). --"He is the child of fraud and of shame. His father is my foe, and my hate descends to the son. He, too, the son, filches from me--But complaints are idle. When the next few days areover, think of me but as one who abandons all right over your actions, and is a stranger to your future fate. Pooh! dry your tears: so long asyou love Leonard or esteem me, rejoice that our paths do not cross. "

He walked on impatiently; but Helen, alarmed and wondering, followedclose, took his arm timidly, and sought to soothe him. She felt that hewronged Leonard, --that he knew not how Leonard had yielded all hope whenhe learned to whom she was affianced. For Leonard's sake she conqueredher bashfulness, and sought to explain. But at her first hesitating, faltered words, Harley, who with great effort suppressed the emotionswhich swelled within him, abruptly left her side, and plunged into therecesses of thick, farspreading groves, that soon wrapped him from hereye. 

While this conversation occurred between Lord L'Estrange and his ward, the soi-disant Riccabocca and Violante were walking slowly through thegardens. The philosopher, unchanged by his brightening prospects, --sofar as the outer man was concerned, --still characterized by the redumbrella and the accustomed pipe, --took the way mechanically towardsthe sunniest quarter of the grounds, now and then glancing tenderly atViolante's downcast, melancholy face, but not speaking; only, at eachglance, there came a brisker cloud from the pipe, as if obedient to afuller heave of the heart. 

At length, in a spot which lay open towards the south, and seemed tocollect all the gentlest beams of the November sun, screened from thepiercing east by dense evergreens, and flanked from the bleak north bylofty walls, Riccabocca paused and seated himself. Flowers still bloomedon the sward in front, over which still fluttered the wings of thoselater and more brilliant butterflies that, unseen in the genial daysof our English summer, come with autumnal skies, and sport round themournful steps of the coming winter, --types of those thoughts whichvisit and delight the contemplation of age, while the current yetglides free from the iron ice, and the leaves yet linger on the boughs;thoughts that associate the memories of the departed summer withmessages from suns that shall succeed the winter, and expand colours themost steeped in light and glory, just as the skies through which theygleam are darkening, and the flowers on which they hover fade from thesurface of the earth, dropping still seeds, that sink deep out of sightbelow. 

"Daughter, " said Riccabocca, drawing Violante to his side with caressingarm, --"Daughter! Mark how they who turn towards the south can still findthe sunny side of the land scape! In all the seasons of life, how muchof chill or of warmth depends on our choice of the aspect! Sit down: letus reason. "

Violante sat down passively, clasping her father's hand in both herown. Reason! harsh word to the ears of Feeling! "You shrink, " resumedRiccabocca, "from even the courtship, even the presence of the suitor inwhom my honour binds me to recognize your future bridegroom. "

Violante drew away her hands, and placed them before her eyesshudderingly. 

"But" continued Riccabocca, rather peevishly, "this is not listening toreason. I may object to Mr. Leslie, because he has not an adequate rankor fortune to pretend to a daughter of my house; that would be whatevery one would allow to be reasonable in a father; except, indeed, "added the poor sage, trying hard to be sprightly, and catching hold ofa proverb to help him--"except, indeed, those wise enough to recollectthat admonitory saying, 'Casa il figlio quando vuoi, e la figlia quandopuoi, '--[Marry your son when you will, your daughter when you can]. Seriously, if I overlook those objections to Mr. Leslie, it is notnatural for a young girl to enforce them. What is reason in you is quiteanother thing from reason in me. Mr. Leslie is young, not ill-looking, has the air of a gentleman, is passionately enamoured of you, andhas proved his affection by risking his life against that villanousPeschiera, --that is, he would have risked it had Peschiera not beenshipped out of the way. If, then, you will listen to reason, pray whatcan reason say against Mr. Leslie?"

"Father, I detest him!"

"Cospetto!" persisted Riccabocca, testily, "you have no reason to detesthim. If you had any reason, child, I am sure that I should be the lastperson to dispute it. How can you know your own mind in such a matter?It is not as if you had seen anyone else you could prefer. Not anotherman of your own years do you even know, --except, indeed, LeonardFairfield, whom, though I grant he is handsomer, and with moreimagination and genius than Mr. Leslie, you still must remember as theboy who worked in my garden. Ah, to be sure, there is Frank Hazeldean;fine lad, but his affections are pre-engaged. In short, " continuedthe sage, dogmatically, "there is no one else you can, by any possiblecaprice, prefer to Mr. Leslie; and for a girl who has no one else inher head to talk of detesting a well-looking, well-dressed, clever youngman, is--a nonsense--'Chi lascia il poco per haver l'assai ne l'uno, nel'altro avera mai'--which may be thus paraphrased, --The young lady whorefuses a mortal in the hope of obtaining an angel, loses the one, andwill never fall in with the other. So now, having thus shown that thedarker side of the question is contrary to reason, let us look to thebrighter. In the first place--"

"Oh, Father, Father!" cried Violante, passionately, "you to whom I oncecame for comfort in every childish sorrow do not talk to me with thiscutting levity. See, I lay my head upon your breast, I put my armsaround you; and now, can you reason me into misery?"

"Child, child, do not be so wayward. Strive, at least, against aprejudice that you cannot defend. My Violante, my darling, this is notrifle. Here I must cease to be the fond, foolish father, whom you cando what you will with. Here I am Alphonso, Duke di Serrano; for here myhonour as noble and my word as man are involved. I, then, but a helplessexile, no hope of fairer prospects before me, trembling like a cowardat the wiles of my unscrupulous kinsman, grasping at all chances to saveyou from his snares, --self offered your hand to Randal Leslie, --offered, promised, pledged it; and now that my fortunes seem assured, my rank inall likelihood restored, my foe crushed, my fears at rest, now, does itbecome me to retract what I myself have urged? It is not the noble, itis the parvenu, who has only to grow rich, in order to forget thosewhom in poverty he hailed as his friends. Is it for me to make the poorexcuse, never heard on the lips of an Italian prince, 'that I cannotcommand the obedience of my child;' subject myself to the gallinganswer, 'Duke of Serrano, you could once command that obedience, when, in exile, penury, and terror you offered me a bride without a dower'?Child, Violante, daughter of ancestors on whose honour never slander seta stain, I call on you to redeem your father's plighted word. "

"Father, must it be so? Is not even the convent open to me? Nay, looknot so coldly on me. If you could but read my heart! And oh! I feel soassured of your own repentance hereafter, --so assured that this manis not what you believe him. I so suspect that he has been playingthroughout some secret and perfidious part. "

"Ha!" interrupted Riccabocca, "Harley has perhaps infected you with thatnotion. "

"No, no! But is not Harley, is not Lord L'Estrange one whose opinion youhave cause to esteem? And if he distrusts Mr. Leslie--"

"Let him make good his distrust by such proof as will absolve my word, and I shall share your own joy. I have told him this. I have invitedhim to make good his suspicions, he puts me off. He cannot do so, " addedRiccabocca, in a dejected tone; "Randal has already so well explainedall that Harley deemed equivocal. Violante, my name and my honour restin your hands. Cast them away if you will; I cannot constrain you, andI cannot stoop to implore. Noblesse oblige! With your birth you tookits duties. Let them decide between your vain caprice and your father'ssolemn remonstrance. "

Assuming a sternness that he was far from feeling, and putting asidehis daughter's arms, the exile walked away. Violante paused a moment, shivered, looked round as if taking a last farewell of joy and peaceand hope on earth, and then approaching her father with a firm step, shesaid, "I never rebelled, Father; I did but entreat. What you say is mylaw now, as it has ever been; and come what may, never shall you hearcomplaint or murmur from me. Poor Father, you will suffer more than Ishall. Kiss me!"

About an hour afterwards, as the short day closed in, Harley, returning from his solitary wanderings, after he had parted from Helen, encountered on the terrace, before the house, Lady Lansmere and AudleyEgerton arm in arm. 

Harley had drawn his hat over his brows, and his eyes were fixed on theground, so that he did not see the group upon which he came unawares, until Audley's voice startled him from his revery. 

"My dear Harley, " said the ex-minister, with a faint smile, "you mustnot pass us by, now that you have a moment of leisure from the cares ofthe election. And, Harley, though we are under the same roof, I see youso little. " Lord L'Estrange darted a quick glance towards his mother, --aglance that seemed to say, "You leaning on Audley's arm! Have you keptyour promise?" And the eye that met his own reassured him. 

"It is true, " said Harley; "but you, who know that, once engaged inpublic affairs, one has no heart left for the ties of private life, willexcuse me. And this election is so important!"

"And you, Mr. Egerton, " said Lady Lansmere, "whom the election mostconcerns, seem privileged to be the only one who appears indifferent tosuccess. "

"Ay; but you are not indifferent?" said Lord L'Estrange, abruptly. 

"No. How can I be so, when my whole future career may depend on it?"

Harley drew Egerton aside. "There is one voter you ought at least tocall upon and thank. He cannot be made to comprehend that, for the sakeof any relation, even for the sake of his own son, he is to vote againstthe Blues, --against you; I mean, of course, Nora's father, John Avenel. His vote and his son-in-law's gained your majority at your firstelection. "

EGERTON. --"Call on John Avenel! Have you called?"

HARLEY (calmly). --"Yes. Poor old man, his mind has been affected eversince Nora's death. But your name as the candidate for the borough atthat time, --the successful candidate for whose triumph the joy-bellschimed with her funeral knell, --your name brings up her memory; and hetalks in a breath of her and of you. Come, let us walk together to hishouse; it is close by the Park Lodge. "

The drops stood on Audley's brow! He fixed his dark handsome eyes, inmournful amaze, upon Harley's tranquil face. 

"Harley, at last, then, you have forgotten the Past. "

"No; but the Present is more imperious. All my efforts are needed torequite your friendship. You stand against her brother, --yet her fathervotes for you. And her mother says to her son, 'Let the old man alone. Conscience is all that is well alive in him; and he thinks if he were tovote against the Blues, he would sin against honour. ' 'An electioneeringprejudice, ' some sceptics would say. But you must be touched by thistrait of human nature, --in her father, too, --you, Audley Egerton, whoare the soul of honour. What ails you?"

EGERTON. --"Nothing; a spasm at the heart; my old complaint. Well, I willcall on the poor man later, but not now, --not with you. Nay, nay, I willnot, --I cannot. Harley, just as you joined us, I was talking to yourmother. "

HARLEY. --"Ay, and what of?"

EGERTON. --"Yourself. I saw you from my windows walking with yourbetrothed. Afterwards I observed her coming home alone; and by theglimpse I caught of her gentle countenance, it seemed sad. Harley, doyou deceive us?"

HARLEY. --"Deceive! I! How?"

EGERTON. --"DO you really feel that your intended marriage will bestow onyou the happiness, which is my prayer, as it must be your mother's?"

HARLEY. --"Happiness, I hoped so. But perhaps--"

EGERTON. --"Perhaps what?"

HARLEY. --"Perhaps the marriage may not take place. Perhaps I have arival; not an open one, --a secret, stealthy wooer, in one, too, whomI have loved, served, trusted. Question me not now. Such instances oftreachery make one learn more how to prize a friendship honest, devoted, faithful as your own, Audley Egerton. But here comes your protege, released awhile from his canvass, and your confidential adviser, BaronLevy. He accompanied Randal through the town to-day. So anxious is he tosee that that young man does not play false, and regard his own interestbefore yours! Would that surprise you?"

EGERTON. --"You are too severe upon Randal Leslie. He is ambitious, worldly, has no surplus of affection at the command of his heart--"

HARLEY. --"Is it Randal Leslie you describe?"

EGERTON (with a languid smile). --"Yes, you see I do not flatter. But heis born and reared a gentleman; as such he would scarcely do anythingmean. And, after all, it is with me that he must rise or fall. Hisvery intellect must tell him that. But again I ask, do not strive toprepossess me against him. I am a man who could have loved a son. I havenone. Randal, such as he is, is a sort of son. He carries on my projectsand my interest in the world of men beyond the goal of the tomb. "

Audley turned kindly to Randal. 

"Well, Leslie, what report of the canvass?"

"Levy has the book, sir. I think we have gained ten fresh votes for you, and perhaps seven for me. "

"Let me rid you of your book, Baron Levy, " said Harley. Just at thistime Riccabocca and Violante approached the house, both silent. TheItalian caught sight of Randal, and made him a sign to join them. Theyoung lover glanced fearfully towards Harley, and then with alacritybounded forward, and was soon at Violante's side. But scarce had Harley, surprised by Leslie's sudden disappearance, remarked the cause, thanwith equal abruptness he abandoned the whispered conference he hadcommenced with Levy, and hastening to Randal, laid hand on the youngman's shoulder, exclaiming, "Ten thousand pardons to all three! But Icannot allow this waste of time, Mr. Leslie. You have yet an hour beforeit grows dark. There are three out-voters six miles off, influentialfarmers, whom you must canvass in person with my father's steward. Hasten to the stables; choose your own horse. To saddle, to saddle!Baron Levy, go and order my Lord's steward, Mr. Smart, to join Mr. Leslie at the stables; then come back to me, --quick. What! loiteringstill, Mr. Leslie! You will make me throw up your whole cause in disgustat your indolence and apathy. "

Alarmed at this threat, Randal lifted his accusing eyes to heaven andwithdrew. 

Meanwhile Audley had drawn close to Lady Lansmere, who was leaning, inthought, over the balustrade of the terrace. "Do you note, " said Audley, whispering, "how Harley sprang forward when the fair Italian came insight? Trust me, I was right. I know little of the young lady, but Ihave conversed with her. I have gazed on the changes in her face. IfHarley ever love again, and if ever love influence and exalt his mind, wish with me that his choice may yet fall where I believe that his heartinclines it. "

LADY LANSMERE. --"Ah, that it were so! Helen, I own, is charming;but--but--Violante is equal in birth! Are you not aware that she isengaged to your young friend Mr. Leslie?"

AUDLEY. --"Randal told me so; but I cannot believe it. In fact, I havetaken occasion to sound that fair creature's inclinations, and if I knowaught of women, her heart is not with Randal. I cannot believe her to beone whose affections are so weak as to be easily constrained; nor canI suppose that her father could desire to enforce a marriage that isalmost a misalliance. Randal must deceive himself; and from somethingHarley just let fall, in our painful but brief conversation, I suspectthat his engagement with Miss Digby is broken off. He promises to tellme more later. Yes, " continued Audley, mournfully, "observe Violante'scountenance, with its ever-varying play; listen to her voice, to whichfeeling seems to give the expressive music, and tell me whether youare not sometimes reminded of--of--In one word, there is one who, even without rank or fortune, would be worthy to replace the image ofLeonora, and be to Harley--what Leonora could not; for sure I am thatViolante loves him. "

Harley, meanwhile, had lingered with Riccabocca and Violante, speakingbut on indifferent subjects, obtaining short answers from the first, and none from the last, when the sage drew him a little aside, andwhispered, "She has consented to sacrifice herself to my sense ofhonour. But, O Harley! if she be unhappy, it will break my heart. Eitheryou must give me sufficient proof of Randal's unworthiness, to absolveme from my promise, or I must again entreat, you to try and conciliatethe poor child in his favour. All you say has weight with her; sherespects you as--a second father. "

Harley did not seem peculiarly flattered by that last assurance; buthe was relieved from an immediate answer by the appearance of a man whocame from the direction of the stables, and whose dress, covered withdust, and travel-stained, seemed like that of a foreign courier. Nosooner did Harley catch sight of this person, than he sprang forward, and accosted him briefly and rapidly. 

"You have been quick; I did not expect you so soon. You discovered thetrace? You gave my letter--"

"And have brought back the answer, my Lord, " replied the man, taking theletter from a leathern pouch at his side. Harley hastily broke openthe seal, and glanced over the contents, which were comprised in a fewlines. 

"Good. Say not whence you came. Do not wait here; return at once toLondon. "

Harley's face seemed so unusually cheerful as he rejoined the Italians, that the duke exclaimed, --

"A despatch from Vienna? My recall!"

"From Vienna, my dear friend! Not possible yet. I cannot calculateon hearing from the prince till a day or two before the close of thiselection. But you wish me to speak to Violante. Join my mother yonder. What can she be saying to Mr. Egerton? I will address a few words apartto your fair daughter, that may at least prove the interest in her fatetaken by--her second father. "

"Kindest of friends!" said the unsuspecting pupil of Machiavelli, andhe walked towards the terrace. Violante was about to follow. Harleydetained her. 

"Do not go till you have thanked me; for you are not the noble Violantefor whom I take you, unless you acknowledge gratitude to any one whodelivers you from the presence of an admirer in Mr. Randal Leslie. "

VIOLANTE. --"Ought I to hear this of one whom--whom--"

HARLEY. --"One whom your father obstinately persists in obtruding on yourrepugnance? Yet, O dear child, you who, when almost an infant, ere yetyou knew what snares and pitfalls, for all who trust to another, lieunder the sward at our feet, even when decked the fairest with theflowers of spring; you who put your small hands around my neck, andmurmured in your musical voice, 'Save us, --save my father, '--you atleast I will not forsake, in a peril worse than that which menaced youthen, --a peril which affrights you more than that which threatenedyou in the snares of Peschiera. Randal Leslie may thrive in his meanerobjects of ambition; those I fling to him in scorn: but you!the presuming varlet!" Harley paused a moment, half stifled withindignation. He then resumed, calmly, "Trust to me, and fear not. I willrescue this hand from the profanation of Randal Leslie's touch; and thenfarewell, for life, to every soft emotion. Before me expands thewelcome solitude. The innocent saved, the honest righted, the perfidiousstricken by a just retribution, --and then--what then? Why, at least Ishall have studied Machiavelli with more effect than your wise father;and I shall lay him aside, needing no philosophy to teach me never againto be deceived. " His brow darkened; he turned abruptly away, leavingViolante lost in amaze, fear, and a delight, vague, yet more vividlyfelt than all. 

CHAPTER XXI. 

That night, after the labours of the day, Randal had gained thesanctuary of his own room, and seated himself at his table, to preparethe heads of the critical speech he would have now very soon to deliveron the day of nomination, --critical speech when, in the presence of foesand friends, reporters from London, and amidst all the jarring intereststhat he sought to weave into the sole self-interest of Randal Leslie, he would be called upon to make the formal exposition of his politicalopinions. Randal Leslie, indeed, was not one of those speakers whomeither modesty, fastidiousness, or conscientious desire of truthpredisposes towards the labour of written composition. He had too muchcleverness to be in want of fluent period or ready commonplace, --theordinary materials of oratorical impromptu; too little taste for theBeautiful to study what graces of diction will best adorn a noblesentiment; too obtuse a conscience to care if the popular argumentwere purified from the dross which the careless flow of a speech whollyextemporaneous rarely fails to leave around it. But this was no ordinaryoccasion. Elaborate study here was requisite, not for the orator, but the hypocrite. Hard task, to please the Blues, and not offend theYellows; appear to side with Audley Egerton, yet insinuate sympathy withDick Avenel; confront, with polite smile, the younger opponent whosewords had lodged arrows in his vanity, which rankled the more gallinglybecause they had raised the skin of his conscience. 

He had dipped his pen into the ink and smoothed the paper before him, when a knock was heard at the door. 

"Come in, " said he, impatiently. Levy entered saunteringly. 

"I am come to talk over matters with you, mon cher, " said the baron, throwing himself on the sofa. "And, first, I wish you joy of yourprospects of success. "

Randal postponed his meditated composition with a quick sigh, drew hischair towards the sofa, and lowered his voice into a whisper. "You thinkwith me, that the chance of my success--is good?"

"Chance! Why, it is a rubber of whist, in which your partner gives youall the winnings, and in which the adversary is almost sure to revoke. Either Avenel or his nephew, it is true, must come in; but not both. Twoparvenus aspiring to make a family seat of an earl's borough! Bah! tooabsurd!"

"I hear from Riccabocca (or rather the Duke di Serrano) that this sameyoung Fairfield is greatly indebted to the kindness of Lord L'Estrange. Very odd that he should stand against the Lansmere interest. "

"Ambition, mon cher. You yourself are under some obligations to Mr. Egerton. Yet, in reality, he has more to apprehend from you than fromMr. Fairfield. "

"I disown obligations to Mr. Egerton. And if the electors prefer me tohim (whom, by-the-by, they once burned in effigy), it is no faultof mine: the fault, if any, will rest with his own dearest friend, L'Estrange. I do not understand how a man of such clear sense asL'Estrange undoubtedly possesses, should be risking Egerton's electionin his zeal for mine. Nor do his formal courtesies to myself deceive me. He has even implied that he suspects me of connivance with Peschiera'sschemes on Violante. But those suspicions he cannot support. For ofcourse, Levy, you would not betray me--"

"I! What possible interest could I serve in that?"

"None that I can discover, certainly, " said Randal, relaxing into asmile. "And when I get into parliament, aided by the social positionwhich my marriage will give me, I shall have so many ways to serve you. No, it is certainly your interest not to betray me; and I shall count onyou as a witness, if a witness can be required. "

"Count on me, certainly, my dear fellow, " said the baron. "And I supposethere will be no witness the other way. Done for eternally is my poordear friend Peschiera, whose cigars, by-the-by, were matchless;--Iwonder if there will be any for sale. And if he were not so done for, itis not you, it is L'Estrange, that he would be tempted to do for!"

"We may blot Peschiera out of the map of the future, " rejoined Randal. "Men from whom henceforth we have nothing to hope or to fear are to usas the races before the deluge. "

"Fine remark, " quoth the baron, admiringly. "Peschiera, though notwithout brains, was a complete failure. And when the failure of one Ihave tried to serve is complete, the rule I have adopted through life isto give him up altogether. "

"Of course, " said Randal. 

"Of course, " echoed the baron. "On the other hand, you know that I likepushing forward young men of mark and promise. You really are amazinglyclever; but how comes it you don't speak better? Do you know, I doubtwhether you will do in the House of Commons all that I expected fromyour address and readiness in private life. "

"Because I cannot talk trash vulgar enough for a mob? Pooh! I shallsucceed wherever knowledge is really power. Besides, you must allow formy infernal position. You know, after all, that Avenel, if he can onlyreturn himself or his nephew, still holds in his hands the choice ofthe candidate upon our side. I cannot attack him; I cannot attack hisinsolent nephew--"

"Insolent!--not that, but bitterly eloquent. He hits you hard. You areno match for him, Randal, before a popular audience; though, en petitcomite, the devil himself were hardly a match for you. But now to asomewhat more serious point. Your election you will win, your bride ispromised to you; but the old Leslie lands, in the present possession ofSquire Thornhill, you have not gained, --and your chance of gaining themis in great jeopardy. I did not like to tell you this morning, --it wouldhave spoiled your temper for canvassing; but I have received a letterfrom Thornhill himself. He has had an offer for the property, which isonly L1000 short of what he asks. A city alderman, called Jobson, is thebidder; a man, it seems, of large means and few words. The alderman hasfixed the date on which he must have a definite answer; and that datefalls on the --th, two days after that fixed for the poll at Lansmere. The brute declares he will close with another investment, if Thornhilldoes not then come in to his terms. Now, as Thornhill will accept theseterms unless I can positively promise him better, and as those funds onwhich you calculated (had the marriage of Peschiera with Violante, andFrank Hazeldean with Madame di Negra, taken place) fail you, I see nohope for your being in time with the money, --and the old lands of theLeslies must yield their rents to a Jobson. "

"I care for nothing on earth like those old lands of my forefathers, "said Randal, with unusual vehemence; "I reverence so little amongst theliving, and I do reverence the dead. And my marriage will take place sosoon; and the dower would so amply cover the paltry advance required. "

"Yes; but the mere prospect of a marriage to the daughter of a man whoselands are still sequestered would be no security to a money-lender. "

"Surely, " said Randal, "you, who once offered to assist me when myfortunes were more precarious, might now accommodate me with this loan, as a friend, and keep the title-deeds of the estate as--"

"As a money-lender, " added the baron, laughing pleasantly. "No, moncher, I will still lend you half the sum required in advance, butthe other half is more than I can afford as friend, or hazard asmoney-lender; and it would damage my character, --be out of allrule, --if, the estates falling by your default of payment into my ownhands, I should appear to be the real purchaser of the property of myown distressed client. But, now I think of it, did not Squire Hazeldeanpromise you his assistance in this matter?"

"He did so, " answered Randal, "as soon as the marriage between Frankand Madame di Negra was off his mind. I meant to cross over to Hazeldeanimmediately after the election. How can I leave the place till then?"

"If you do, your election is lost. But why not write to the squire?"

"It is against my maxim to write where I can speak. However, there isno option; I will write at once. Meanwhile, communicate with Thornhill;keep up his hopes; and be sure, at least, that he does not close withthis greedy alderman before the day fixed for decision. "

"I have done all that already, and my letter is gone. Now, do your part:and if you write as cleverly as you talk, you would coax the moneyout from a stonier heart than poor Mr. Hazeldean's. I leave you now;good-night. "

Levy took up his candlestick, nodded, yawned, and went. Randal stillsuspended the completion of his speech, and indited the followingepistle:--

 MY DEAR MR. HAZELDEAN, --I wrote to you a few hasty lines on leaving town, to inform you that the match you so dreaded was broken off, and proposing to defer particulars till I could visit your kind and hospitable roof, which I trusted to do for a few hours during my stay at Lansmere, since it is not a day's journey hence to Hazeldean. But I did not calculate on finding so sharp a contest. In no election throughout the kingdom do I believe that a more notable triumph, or a more stunning defeat, for the great landed interest can occur. For in this town--so dependent on agriculture-- we are opposed by a low and sordid manufacturer, of the most revolutionary notions, who has, moreover, the audacity to force his own nephew--that very boy whom I chastised for impertinence on your village green, son of a common carpenter--actually the audacity, I say, to attempt to force this peasant of a nephew, as well as himself, into the representation of Lansmere, against the earl's interest, against your distinguished brother, --of myself I say nothing. You should hear the language in which these two men indulge against all your family! If we are beaten by such persons in a borough supposed to be so loyal as Lansmere, every one with a stake in the country may tremble at such a prognostic of the ruin that must await not only our old English Constitution, but the existence of property itself. I need not say that on such an occasion I cannot spare myself. Mr. Egerton is ill too. All the fatigue of the canvass devolves on me. I feel, my dear and revered friend, that I am a genuine Hazeldean, fighting your battle; and that thought carries me through all. I cannot, therefore, come to you till the election is over; and meanwhile you, and my dear Mrs. Hazeldean, must be anxious to know more about the affair that so preyed on both your hearts than I have yet informed you, or can well trust to a letter. Be assured, however, that the worst is over; the lady has gone abroad. I earnestly entreated Frank (who showed me Mrs. Hazeldean's most pathetic letter to him) to hasten at once to the Hall and relieve your minds. Unfortunately he would not be ruled by me, but talked of going abroad too--not, I trust (nay, I feel assured), in pursuit of Madame di Negra; but still--In short, I should be so glad to see you, and talk over the whole. Could you not come hither--I pray do. And now, at the risk of your thinking that in this I am only consulting my own interest (but no--your noble English heart will never so misiudge me!), I will add with homely frankness, that if you could accommodate me immediately with the loan you not long since so generously offered, you would save those lands once in my family from passing away from us forever. A city alderman--one Jobson--is meanly taking advantage of Thornhill's necessities, and driving a hard bargain for those lands. He has fixed the --th inst. For Thornhill's answer, and Levy (who is here assisting Mr. Egerton's election) informs me that Thornhill will accept his offer, unless I am provided with L10, 000 beforehand; the other L10, 000, to complete the advance required, Levy will lend me. Do not be surprised at the usurer's liberality; he knows that I am about shortly to marry a very great heiress (you will be pleased when you learn whom, and will then be able to account for my indifference to Miss Sticktorights), and her dower will amply serve to repay his loan and your own, if I may trust to your generous affection for the grandson of a Hazeldean! I have the less scruple in this appeal to you, for I know bow it would grieve you that a Jobson, who perhaps never knew a grandmother, should foist your own kinsman from the lands of his fathers. Of one thing I am convinced, --we squires and sons of squires must make common cause against those great moneyed capitalists, or they will buy us all out in a few generations. The old race of country gentlemen is already much diminished by the grasping cupidity of such leviathans; and if the race be once extinct, what will become of the boast and strength of England?

 Yours, my dear Mr. Hazeldean, with most affectionate and grateful respect, RANDAL LESLIE. 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Nothing to Leonard could as yet be more distasteful or oppressive thanhis share in this memorable election. In the first place, it chafedthe secret sores of his heart to be compelled to resume the name ofFairfeld, which was a tacit disavowal of his birth. It had been suchdelight to him that the same letters which formed the name of Norashould weave also that name of Oran, to which he had given distinction, which he had associated with all his nobler toils, and all his hopes ofenduring fame, --a mystic link between his own career and his mother'sobscurer genius. It seemed to him as if it were rendering to herthe honours accorded to himself, --subtle and delicate fancy of theaffections, of which only poets would be capable, but which othersthan poets may perhaps comprehend! That earlier name of Fairfield wasconnected in his memory with all the ruder employments, the meanertrials of his boyhood; the name of Oran, with poetry and fame. It washis title in the ideal world, amongst all fair shapes and spirits. Inreceiving the old appellation, the practical world, with its bitternessand strife, returned to him as at the utterance of a spell. But incoming to Lansmere he had no choice. To say nothing of Dick, and Dick'sparents with whom his secret would not be safe, Randal Leslie knew thathe had gone by the name of Fairfield, --knew his supposed parentage, andwould be sure to proclaim them. How account for the latter name withoutsetting curiosity to decipher the anagram it involved, and perhapsguiding suspicion to his birth from Nora, to the injury of her memory, yet preserved from stain?

His feelings as connected with Nora--sharpened and deepened as they allhad been by his discovery of her painful narrative-were embittered stillmore by coming in contact with her parents. Old John was in the samehelpless state of mind and body as before, --neither worse nor better;but waking up at intervals with vivid gleams of interest in the electionat the wave of a blue banner, at the cry of "Blue forever!" It was theold broken-clown charger, who, dozing in the meadows, starts at the rollof the drum. No persuasions Dick could employ would induce his father topromise to vote even one Yellow. You might as well have expected theold Roman, with his monomaniac cry against Carthage, to have voted forchoosing Carthaginians for consuls. But poor John, nevertheless, wasnot only very civil, but very humble to Dick, --"very happy to oblige thegentleman. "

"Your own son!" bawled Dick; "and here is your own grandson. "

"Very happy to serve you both; but you see you are the wrong colour. "

Then as he gazed at Leonard, the old man approached him with tremblingknees, stroked his hair, looked into his face, piteously. "Be thee mygrandson?" he faltered. "Wife, wife, Nora had no son, had she? My memorybegins to fail me, sir; pray excuse it; but you have a look about theeyes that--" Old John began to weep, and his wife led him away. 

"Don't come again, " she said to Leonard, harshly, when she returned. "He'll not sleep all night now. " And then, observing that the tearsstood in Leonard's eyes, she added, in softened tones, "I am glad to seeyou well and thriving, and to hear that you have been of great serviceto my son Richard, who is a credit and an honour to the family, thoughpoor John cannot vote for him or for you against his conscience; and heshould not be asked, " she added, firing up; "and it is a sin to ask it, and he so old, and no one to defend him but me. But defend him I willwhile I have life!"

The poet recognized woman's brave, loving, wife-like heart here, andwould have embraced the stern grandmother, if she had not drawn backfrom him; and, as she turned towards the room to which she had led herhusband, she said over her shoulder, --

"I'm not so unkind as I seem, boy; but it is better for you, and forall, that you should not come to this house again, --better that you hadnot come into the town. "

"Fie, Mother!" said Dick, seeing that Leonard, bending his head, silently walked from the room. "You should be prouder of your grandsonthan you are of me. "

"Prouder of him who may shame us all yet?"

"What do you mean?"

But Mrs. Avenel shook her head and vanished. 

"Never mind her, poor old soul, " said Dick, as he joined Leonard at thethreshold; "she always had her tempers. And since there is no vote to begot in this house, and one can't set a caucus on one's own father, --atleast in this extraordinary rotten and prejudiced old country, which isquite in its dotage, --we'll not come here to be snubbed any more. Blesstheir old hearts, nevertheless!"

Leonard's acute sensibility in all that concerned his birth, deeplywounded by Mrs. Avenel's allusions, which he comprehended better thanhis uncle did, was also kept on the edge by the suspense to which hewas condemned by Harley's continued silence as to the papers confidedto that nobleman. It seemed to Leonard almost unaccountable that Harleyshould have read those papers, be in the same town with himself, andyet volunteer no communication. At length he wrote a few lines to LordL'Estrange, bringing the matter that concerned him so deeply beforeHarley's recollection, and suggesting his own earnest interest in anyinformation that could supply the gaps and omissions of the desultoryfragments. Harley, in replying to this note, said, with apparent reason, "that it would require a long personal interview to discuss the subjectreferred to, and that such an interview, in the thick of the contestbetween himself and a candidate opposed to the Lansmere party, wouldbe sure to get wind, be ascribed to political intrigues, be impossibleotherwise to explain, and embarrass all the interests confided to theirrespective charge. That for the rest, he had not been unmindful ofLeonard's anxiety, which must now mainly be to see justice done to thedead parent, and learn the name, station, and character of the parentyet surviving. And in this Harley trusted to assist him as soon as theclose of the poll would present a suitable occasion. " The letter wasunlike Harley's former cordial tone: it was hard and dry. Leonardrespected L'Estrange too much to own to himself that it was unfeeling. With all his rich generosity of nature, he sought excuses for what hedeclined to blame. Perhaps something in Helen's manner or words had ledHarley to suspect that she still cherished too tender an interest in thecompanion of her childhood; perhaps under this coldness of expressionthere lurked the burning anguish of jealousy. And, oh, Leonard so wellunderstood, and could so nobly compassionate even in his prosperousrival, that torture of the most agonizing of human passions, in whichall our reasonings follow the distorted writhings of our pain. 

And Leonard himself, amidst his other causes of disquiet, was at onceso gnawed and so humbled by his own jealousy. Helen, he knew, was stillunder the same roof as Harley. They, the betrothed, could see each otherdaily, hourly. He would soon hear of their marriage. She would be borneafar from the very sphere of his existence, --carried into a loftierregion, accessible only to his dreams. And yet to be jealous of one towhom both Helen and himself were under such obligations debased him inhis own esteem, --jealousy here was so like ingratitude. But for Harley, what could have become of Helen, left to his boyish charge, --he who hadhimself been compelled, in despair, to think of sending her from hisside, to be reared into smileless youth in his mother's humble cottage, while he faced famine alone, gazing on the terrible river, from thebridge by which he had once begged for very alms, --begged of that AudleyEgerton to whom he was now opposed as an equal; or flying from thefiend that glared at him under the lids of the haunting Chatterton? No, jealousy here was more than agony, --it was degradation, it was crime!But, all! if Helen were happy in these splendid nuptials! Was he sureeven of that consolation? Bitter was the thought either way, --that sheshould wholly forget him, in happiness from which he stood excluded as athing of sin; or sinfully herself remember, and be wretched!

With that healthful strength of will which is more often proportioned tothe susceptibility of feeling than the world suppose, the young man atlast wrenched himself for awhile from the iron that had entered into hissoul, and forced his thoughts to seek relief in the very objects fromwhich they otherwise would have the most loathingly recoiled. He arousedhis imagination to befriend his reason; he strove to divine some motivenot explained by Harley, not to be referred to the mere defeat, bycounter-scheme, of the scheming Randal, nor even to be solved byany service to Audley Egerton, which Harley might evolve from thecomplicated meshes of the election, --some motive that could moreinterest his own heart in the contest, and connect itself with Harley'spromised aid in clearing up the mystery of his parentage. Nora's memoirhad clearly hinted that his father was of rank and station far beyondher own. She had thrown the glow of her glorious fancies over theambition and the destined career of the lover in whom she had merged herambition as poetess, and her career as woman. Possibly the father mightbe more disposed to own and to welcome the son, if the son could achievean opening, and give promise of worth, in that grand world of publiclife in which alone reputation takes precedence of rank. Possibly, too, if the son thus succeeded, and became one whom a proud father could withpride acknowledge, possibly he might not only secure a father's welcome, but vindicate a mother's name. This marriage, which Nora darkly hintedshe had been led to believe was fraudulent, might, after all, havebeen legal, --the ceremony concealed, even till now, by worldly shame atdisparity of rank. But if the son could make good his own footing--therewhere rank itself owned its chiefs in talent--that shame might vanish. These suppositions were not improbable; nor were they uncongenial toLeonard's experience of Harley's delicate benignity of purpose. Here, too, the image of Helen allied itself with those of his parents, tosupport his courage and influence his new ambition. True, that she waslost to him forever. No worldly success, no political honours, could nowrestore her to his side. But she might hear him named with respect inthose circles in which alone she would hereafter move, and in whichparliamentary reputation ranks higher than literary fame. And perhaps infuture years, when love, retaining its tenderness, was purified from itspassion, they might thus meet as friends. He might without a pang takeher children on his knees, and say, perhaps in their old age, when hehad climbed to a social equality even with her high-born lord, "Itwas the hope to regain the privilege bestowed on our childhood, thatstrengthened me to seek distinction when you and happiness forsook myyouth. " Thus regarded, the election, which had before seemed to him sopoor and vulgar an exhibition of vehement passions for petty objects, with its trumpery of banners and its discord of trumpets, suddenly grewinto vivid interest, and assumed dignity and importance. It is ever thuswith all mortal strife. In proportion as it possesses, or is void of, the diviner something that quickens the pulse of the heart, and elevatesthe wing of the imagination, it presents a mockery to the philosopher, or an inspiration to the bard. Feel that something, and no contest ismean! Feel it not, and, like Byron, you may class with the slaughter ofCannae that field which, at Waterloo, restored the landmarks of nations;or may jeer with Juvenal at the dust of Hannibal, because he sought todeliver Carthage from ruin, and free a world from Rome. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Once then, grappling manfully with the task he had undertaken, andconstraining himself to look on what Riccabocca would have called "thesouthern side of things, " whatever there was really great in principleor honourable to human nature, deep below the sordid details and pitifulinterests apparent on the face of the agitated current, came clear tohis vision. The ardour of those around him began to be contagious:the generous devotion to some cause apart from self, which pervades anelection, and to which the poorest voter will often render sacrificesthat may be called sublime; the warm personal affection which communityof zeal creates for the defender of beloved opinions, --all concurred todispel that indifference to party politics, and counteract that disgustof their baser leaven, which the young poet had first conceived. Heeven began to look with complacency, for itself, on a career of toil andhonours strange to his habitual labours and intellectual ambition. Hethrew the poetry of idea within him (as poets ever do) into the prose ofaction to which he was hurried forward. He no longer opposed Dick Avenelwhen that gentleman represented how detrimental it would be to hisbusiness at Screwstown if he devoted to his country the time and theacumen required by his mill and its steamengine; and how desirable itwould be, on all accounts, that Leonard Fairfield should become theparliamentary representative of the Avenels. "If, therefore, " saidDick, "two of us cannot come in, and one must retire, leave it to meto arrange with the Committee that you shall be the one to persist. Oh, never fear but what all scruples of honour shall be satisfied. Iwould not for the sake of the Avenels have a word said against theirrepresentative. "

"But, " answered Leonard, "if I grant this, I fear that you have someintention of suffering the votes that your resignation would release tofavour Leslie at the expense of Egerton. "

"What the deuce is Egerton to you?"

"Nothing, except through my gratitude to his friend Lord L'Estrange. "

"Pooh! I will tell you a secret. Levy informs me privately thatL'Estrange will be well satisfied if the choice of Lansmere fall uponLeslie instead of Egerton; and I think I convinced my Lord--for I sawhim in London--that Egerton would have no chance, though Leslie might. "

"I must think that Lord L'Estrange would resist to the utmost anyattempt to prefer Leslie--whom he despises--to Egerton, whom he honours. And, so thinking, I too would resist it, as you may judge by thespeeches which have so provoked your displeasure. "

"Let us cut short a yarn of talk which, when it comes to likings anddislikings, might last to almighty crack: I'll ask you to do nothingthat Lord L'Estrange does not sanction. Will that satisfy you?"

"Certainly, provided I am assured of the sanction. "

And now, the important day preceding the poll, the day in which thecandidates were to be formally nominated, and meet each other in all theceremony of declared rivalship, dawned at last. The town-hall was theplace selected for the occasion; and before sunrise, all the streetswere resonant with music, and gay with banners. 

Audley Egerton felt that he could not--without incurring somejust sarcasm on his dread to face the constituency he had formerlyrepresented, and by the malcontents of which he had been burned ineffigy--absent himself from the townhall, as he had done from balconyand hostel. Painful as it was to confront Nora's brother, and wrestlein public against all the secret memories that knit the strife of thepresent contest with the anguish that recalled the first, --still thething must be done; and it was the English habit of his life to facewith courage whatever he had to do. 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

The chiefs of the Blue party went in state from Lansmere Park; thetwo candidates in open carriages, each attended with his proposer andseconder. Other carriages were devoted to Harley and Levy, and theprincipal members of the Committee. Riccabocca was seized with a fit ofmelancholy or cynicism, and declined to join the procession. But justbefore they started, as all were assembling without the front door, thepostman arrived with his welcome bag. There were letters for Harley, some for Levy, many for Egerton, one for Randal Leslie. 

Levy, soon hurrying over his own correspondence, looked, in the familiarfreedom wherewith he usually treated his particular friends, overRandal's shoulder. 

"From the squire?" said he. "Ah, he has written at last! What made himdelay so long? Hope he relieves your mind?"

"Yes, " cried Randal, giving way to a joy that rarely lighted uphis close and secret countenance, --"yes, he does not write fromHazeldean, --not there when my letter arrived, in London, could not restat the Hall, --the place reminded him too much of Frank;--went again totown, on the receipt of my first letter concerning the rupture of themarriage, to see after his son, and take up some money to pay off hispost-obit. Read what he says:--

 "'So, while I was about a mortgage--never did I guess that I should be the man to encumber the Hazeldean estate--I thought I might as well add L20, 000 as L10, 000 to the total. Why should you be indebted at all to that Baron Levy? Don't have dealings with money- lenders. Your grandmother was a Hazeldean; and from a Hazeldean you shall have the whole sum required in advance for those Rood lands, -- good light soil some of them. As to repayment, we'll talk of that later. If Frank and I come together again, as we did of old, why, my estates will be his some day, and he'll not grudge the mortgage, so fond as he always was of you; and if we don't come together, what do I care for hundreds or thousands, either more or less? So I shall be down at Lansmere the day after to-morrow, just in the thick of your polling. Beat the manufacturer, my boy, and stick up for the land. Tell Levy to have all ready. I shall bring the money down in good bank-notes, and a brace of pistols in my coat pocket to take care of them in ease robbers get scent of the notes and attack me on the road, as they did my grandfather sixty years ago, come next Michaelmas. A Lansmere election puts one in mind of pistols. I once fought a duel with an officer in his Majesty's service, R. N. , and had a ball lodged in my right shoulder, on account of an election at Lansmere; but I have forgiven Audley his share in that transaction. Remember me to him kindly. Don't get into a duel yourself; but I suppose manufacturers don't fight, --not that I blame them for that--far from it. '"

The letter then ran on to express surprise, and hazard conjecture, as tothe wealthy marriage which Randal had announced as a pleasing surpriseto the squire. 

"Well, " said Levy, returning the letter, "you must have written ascleverly as you talk, or the squire is a booby indeed. "

Randal smiled, pocketed his letter, and responding to the impatient callof his proposer, sprang lightly into the carriage. 

Harley, too, seemed pleased with the letters delivered to himself, andnow joined Levy, as the candidates drove slowly off. 

"Has not Mr. Leslie received from the squire an answer to that letter ofwhich you informed me?"

"Yes, my Lord, the squire will be here to-morrow. "

"To-morrow? Thank you for apprising me; his rooms shall be prepared. "

"I suppose he will only stay to see Leslie and myself, and pay themoney. "

"Aha! Pay the money. Is it so, then?"

"Twice the sum, and, it seems, as a gift, which Leslie only asked as aloan. Really, my Lord, Mr. Leslie is a very clever man; and though I amat your commands, I should not like to injure him. With such matrimonialprospects, he could be a very powerful enemy; and if he succeed inparliament, still more so. "

"Baron, these gentlemen are waiting for you. I will follow by myself. "

CHAPTER XXV. 

In the centre of the raised platform in the town-hall sat the mayor. On either hand of that dignitary now appeared the candidates of therespective parties, --to his right, Audley Egerton and Leslie; to hisleft, Dick Avenel and Leonard. 

The place was as full as it could hold. Rows of grimy faces peeped in, even from the upper windows outside the building. The contest was onethat created intense interest, not only from public principles, butlocal passions. Dick Avenel, the son of a small tradesman, standingagainst the Right Honourable Audley Egerton, the choice of the powerfulLansmere aristocratic party, --standing, too, with his nephew by hisside; taking, as he himself was wont to say, "the tarnation Blue Bullby both its oligarchical horns!"--there was a pluck and gallantry in thevery impudence of the attempt to convert the important borough--for onemember of which a great earl had hitherto striven, "with labour dire andweary woe" into two family seats for the House of Avenel and the triumphof the Capelocracy. 

This alone would have excited all the spare passions of a countryborough; but, besides this, there was the curiosity that attached tothe long-deferred public appearance of a candidate so renowned as theex-minister, --a man whose career had commenced with his success atLansmere, and who now, amidst the popular tempest that scattered hiscolleagues, sought to refit his vessel in the same harbour from whichit had first put forth. New generations had grown up since the name ofAudley Egerton had first fluttered the dovecotes in that Corioli. Thequestions that had then seemed so important were, for the most part, settled and at rest. But those present who remembered Egerton in theformer day, were struck to see how the same characteristics of bearingand aspect which had distinguished his early youth revived theirinterest in the mature and celebrated man. As he stood up for a fewmoments, before he took his seat beside the mayor, glancing over theassembly, with its uproar of cheers and hisses, there was thesame stately erectness of form and steadfastness of look, the sameindefinable and mysterious dignity of externals, that imposed respect, confirmed esteem, or stilled dislike. The hisses involuntarily ceased. 

The preliminary proceedings over, the proposers and seconders commencedtheir office. 

Audley was proposed, of course, by the crack man of the party, --agentleman who lived on his means in a white house in the High Street, had received a University education, and was a cadet of a "CountyFamily. " This gentleman spoke much about the Constitution, somethingabout Greece and Rome; compared Egerton with William Pitt, also withAristides; and sat down, after an oration esteemed classical by thefew, and pronounced prosy by the many. Audley's seconder, a burly andimportant maltster, struck a bolder key. He dwelt largely upon thenecessity of being represented by gentlemen of wealth and rank, andnot by "upstarts and adventurers. " (Cheers and groans. ) "Looking at thecandidates on the other side, it was an insult to the respectabilityof Lansmere to suppose its constituents could elect a man who had nopretensions whatever to their notice, except that he had once been alittle boy in the town, in which his father kept a shop, --and a verynoisy, turbulent, dirty little boy he was!" Dick smoothed his spotlessshirt-front, and looked daggers, while the Blues laughed heartily, andthe Yellows cried "Shame!" "As for the other candidate on the same side, he [the maltster] had nothing to say against him. --He was, no doubt, seduced into presumption by his uncle and his own inexperience. It wassaid that that candidate, Mr. Fairfield, was an author and a poet; ifso, he was unknown to fame, for no bookseller in the town had ever evenheard of Mr. Fairfield's works. Then it was replied Mr. Fairfield hadwritten under another name. What would that prove? Either that he wasashamed of his name, or that the works did him no credit. For hispart, he [the maltster] was an Englishman; he did not like anonymousscribblers; there was something not right in whatever was concealed. Aman should never be afraid to put his name to what he wrote. But grantthat Mr. Fairfield was a great author and a great poet, what the boroughof Lansinere wanted was, not a member who would pass his time inwriting sonnets to Peggy or Moggy, but a practical man of business, --astatesman, --such a man as Mr. Audley Egerton, a gentleman of ancientbirth, high standing, and princely fortune. The member for such a placeas Lansmere should have a proper degree of wealth. " ("Hear, hear!" fromthe Hundred and Fifty Hesitators, who all stood in a row at thebottom of the hall; and "Gammon!" "Stuff!" from some revolutionary butincorruptible Yellows. ) Still the allusion to Egerton's private fortunehad considerable effect with the bulk of the audience, and the maltsterwas much cheered on concluding. Mr. Avenel's proposer and seconder--theone a large grocer, the other the proprietor of a new shop for ticketedprints, shawls, blankets, and counterpanes, --a man, who, as he boasted, dealt with the People for ready money, and no mistake, at least nonethat he ever rectified--next followed. Both said much the samething. Mr. Avenel had made his fortune by honest industry, was afellow-townsman, must know the interests of the town better thanstrangers, upright public principles, never fawn on governments, wouldsee that the people had their rights, and cut down army, navy, and allother jobs of a corrupt aristocracy, etc. Randal Leslie's proposer, acaptain on half-pay, undertook a long defence of army and navy, from theunpatriotic aspersions of the preceding speakers, which defence divertedhim from the due praise of Randal, until cries of "Cut it short, "recalled him to that subject; and then the topics he selected foreulogium were "amiability of character, so conspicuous in the urbanemanners of his young friend;" "coincidence in the opinions of thatillustrious statesman with whom he was conjoined;" "early tuition in thebest principles; only fault, youth, --and that was a fault which woulddiminish every day. " Randal's seconder was a bluff yeoman, an outvoterof weight with the agricultural electors. He was too straightforwardby half, --adverted to Audley Egerton's early desertion of questionsespoused by landed interest, hoped he had had enough of the large towns;and he (the yeoman) was ready to forgive and forget, but trusted thatthere would be no chance of burning their member again in effigy. As tothe young gentleman, whose nomination he had the pleasure to second, did not know much about him; but the Leslies were an old family in theneighbouring county, and Mr. Leslie said he was nearly related to SquireHazeldean, --as good a man as ever stood upon shoe leather. He (theyeoman) liked a good breed in sheep and bullocks; and a good breedin men he supposed was the same thing. He (the yeoman) was not forabuses, --he was for King and Constitution. He should have no objection, for instance, to have tithes lowered, and the malt-tax repealed, --notthe least objection. Mr. Leslie seemed to him a likely young chap, anduncommon well-spoken; and, on the whole, for aught he (the yeoman)could see, would do quite as well in parliament as nine-tenths of thegentlemen sent there. The yeoman sat down, little cheered by the Blues, much by the Yellows, and with a dim consciousness that somehow or otherhe had rather damaged than not the cause of the party he had been chosento advocate. Leonard was not particularly fortunate in his proposer, a youngish gentleman, who, having tried various callings, with signalunsuccess, had come into a small independence, and set up for a literarycharacter. This gentleman undertook the defence of poets, as thehalf-pay captain had undertaken that of the army and navy; and aftera dozen sentences spoken through the nose, about the "moonlight ofexistence, " and "the oasis in the desert, " suddenly broke down, to thesatisfaction of his impatient listeners. This failure was, however, redeemed by Leonard's seconder, a master tailor, a practised speaker andan earnest, thinking man, sincerely liking and warmly admiring LeonardFairfield. His opinions were delivered with brief simplicity, andaccompanied by expressions of trust in Leonard's talents and honesty, that were effective, because expressed with feeling. 

These preparatory orations over, a dead silence succeeded, and AudleyEgerton arose. 

At the first few sentences, all felt they were in the presence of oneaccustomed to command attention, and to give to opinions the weightof recognized authority. The slowness of the measured accents, thecomposure of the manly aspect, the decorum of the simple gestures, --allbespoke and all became the minister of a great empire, who had lessagitated assemblies by impassioned eloquence, than compelled theirsilent respect to the views of sagacity and experience. But what mighthave been formal and didactic in another was relieved in Egerton bythat air, tone, bearing of gentleman, which have a charm for the mostplebeian audience. He had eminently these attributes in private life;but they became far more conspicuous whenever he had to appear inpublic. The "senatorius decor" seemed a phrase coined for him. 

Audley commenced with notice of his adversaries in that language ofhigh courtesy which is so becoming to superior station, and whichaugurs better for victory than the most pointed diatribes of hostiledeclamation. Inclining his head towards Avenel, he expressed regret thathe should be opposed by a gentleman whose birth naturally endearedhim to the town, of which he was a distinguished native, and whosehonourable ambition was in itself a proof of the admirable natureof that Constitution, which admitted the lowliest to rise to itsdistinctions, while it compelled the loftiest to labour and compete forthose honours which were the most coveted, because they were derivedfrom the trust of their countrymen, and dignified by the duties whichthe sense of responsibility entailed. He paid a passing but generouscompliment to the reputed abilities of Leonard Fairfield; and alludingwith appropriate grace to the interest he had ever taken in the successof youth striving for place in the van of the new generation thatmarched on to replace the old, he implied that he did not considerLeonard as opposed to himself, but rather as an emulous competitor for aworthy prize with his "own young and valued friend, Mr. Randal Leslie. ""They are happy at their years!" said the statesman, with a certainpathos. "In the future they see nothing to fear, in the past they havenothing to defend. It is not so with me. " And then, passing on to thevague insinuations or bolder charges against himself and his policyproffered by the preceding speakers, Audley gathered himself up, andpaused; for his eye here rested on the Reporters seated round thetable just below him; and he recognized faces not unfamiliar to hisrecollection when metropolitan assemblies had hung on the words whichfell from lips then privileged to advise a king. And involuntarily itoccurred to the ex-minister to escape altogether from this contractedaudience, --this election, with all its associations of pain, --andaddress himself wholly to that vast and invisible Public, to which thoseReporters would transmit his ideas. At this thought his whole mannergradually changed. His eye became fixed on the farthest verge of thecrowd; his tones grew more solemn in their deep and sonorous swell. Hebegan to review and to vindicate his whole political life. He spoke ofthe measures he had aided to pass, of his part in the laws which nowruled the land. He touched lightly, but with pride, on the serviceshe had rendered to the opinions he had represented. He alluded to hisneglect of his own private fortunes; but in what detail, however minute, in the public business committed to his charge, could even an enemyaccuse him of neglect? The allusion was no doubt intended to prepare thepublic for the news that the wealth of Audley Egerton was gone. Finally, he came to the questions that then agitated the day; and made a generalbut masterly exposition of the policy which, under the changes heforesaw, he should recommend his party to adopt. 

Spoken to the motley assembly in that town-hall, Audley's speechextended to a circle of interest too wide for their sympathy. But thatassembly he heeded not, --he forgot it. The reporters understood him, astheir flying pens followed words which they presumed neither to correctnor to abridge. Audley's speech was addressed to the nation, --the speechof a man in whom the nation yet recognized a chief, desiring to clearall misrepresentation from his past career; calculating, if life werespared to him, on destinies higher than he had yet fulfilled; issuing amanifesto of principles to be carried later into power, and planting abanner round which the divided sections of a broken host might yet rallyfor battle and for conquest. Or perhaps, in the deeps of his heart (noteven comprehended by reporters, nor to be divined by the public), theuncertainty of life was more felt than the hope of ambition; and thestatesman desired to leave behind him one full vindication of thatpublic integrity and honour, on which, at least, his conscienceacknowledged not a stain. 

"For more than twenty years, " said Audley, in conclusion, "I have knownno day in which I have not lived for my country. I may at times haveopposed the wish of the People, --I may oppose it now; but, so far as Ican form a judgment, only because I prefer their welfare to their wish. And if--as I believe--there have been occasions on which, as one amongstmen more renowned, I have amended the laws of England, confirmed hersafety, extended her commerce, upheld her honour, I leave the rest tothe censure of my enemies, and [his voice trembled] to the charity of myfriends. "

Before the cheers that greeted the close of this speech were over, Richard Avenel arose. What is called "the more respectable part" ofan audience--namely, the better educated and better clad, even on theYellow side of the question--winced a little for the credit of theirnative borough, when they contemplated the candidate pitted against theGreat Commoner, whose lofty presence still filled the eye, and whosemajestic tones yet sounded in the ear. But the vast majority on bothsides, Blue and Yellow, hailed the rise of Dick Avenel as a reliefto what, while it had awed their attention, had rather strained theirfaculties. The Yellows cheered and the Blues groaned; there was atumultuous din of voices, and a reel to and fro of the whole excitedmass of unwashed faces and brawny shoulders. But Dick had as much pluckas Audley himself; and by degrees, his pluck and his handsome features, and the curiosity to hear what he had to say, obtained him a hearing;and that hearing Dick having once got, he contrived to keep. Hisself-confidence was backed by a grudge against Egerton, that attained tothe elevation of malignity. He had armed himself for this occasion withan arsenal of quotations from Audley's speeches, taken out of Hansard'sDebates; and, garbling these texts in the unfairest and most ingeniousmanner, he contrived to split consistency into such fragments ofinconsistency--to cut so many harmless sentences into such unpopular, arbitrary, tyrannical segments of doctrine--that he made a very prettycase against the enlightened and incorruptible Egerton, as shuffler andtrimmer, defender of jobs, and eulogist of Manchester massacres, etc. And all told the more because it seemed courted and provoked by theex-minister's elaborate vindication of himself. Having thus, as hedeclared, "triumphantly convicted the Right Honourable Gentleman out ofhis own mouth, " Dick considered himself at liberty to diverge into whathe termed "the just indignation of a freeborn Briton;" in other words, into every variety of abuse which bad taste could supply to acrimoniousfeeling. But he did it so roundly and dauntlessly, in such true hustingsstyle, that for the moment, at least, he carried the bulk of the crowdalong with him sufficiently to bear down all the resentful murmurs ofthe Blue Committee men, and the abashed shakes of the head with whichthe more aristocratic and well-bred among the Yellows signified to eachother that they were heartily ashamed of their candidate. Dick concludedwith an emphatic declaration that the Right Honourable Gentleman's daywas gone by; that the people had been pillaged and plundered enough bypompous red-tapists, who only thought of their salaries, and never wentto their offices except to waste the pen, ink, and paper which theydid not pay for; that the Right Honourable Gentleman had boasted he hadserved his country for twenty years. Served his country!--he should havesaid served her out! (Much laughter. ) Pretty mess his country was innow. In short, for twenty years the Right Honourable Gentleman had puthis hands into his country's pockets. "And I ask you, " bawled Dick, "whether any of you are a bit the better for all that he has taken outof them!" The Hundred and Fifty Hesitators shook their heads. "Noa, that we ben't!" cried the Hundred and Fifty, dolorously. "You hear THEPEOPLE!" said Dick, turning majestically to Egerton, who, with his armsfolded on his breast, and his upper lip slightly curved, sat like "Atlasunremoved, "--"you hear THE PEOPLE! They condemn you and the whole set ofyou. I repeat here what I once vowed on a less public occasion, 'Assure as my name is Richard Avenel, you shall smart for'--Dickhesitated--'smart for your contempt of the just rights, honestclaims, and enlightened aspirations of your indignant countrymen. Theschoolmaster is abroad, and the British Lion is aroused!'"

Dick sat down. The curve of contempt had passed from Egerton's lip; atthe name of Avenel, thus harshly spoken, he had suddenly shaded his facewith his hand. 

But Randal Leslie next arose, and Audley slowly raised his eyes, andlooked towards his protege with an expression of kindly interest. What better debut could there be for a young man warmly attached to aneminent patron who had been coarsely assailed, --for a political aspirantvindicating the principles which that patron represented? The Blues, palpitating with indignant excitement, all prepared to cheer everysentence that could embody their sense of outrage, even the meanestamongst the Yellows, now that Dick had concluded, dimly aware thattheir orator had laid himself terribly open, and richly deserved (moreespecially from the friend of Audley Egerton) whatever punishing retortcould vibrate from the heart of a man to the tongue of an orator. Abetter opportunity for an honest young debutant could not exist; a moredisagreeable, annoying, perplexing, unmanageable opportunity for RandalLeslie, the malice of the Fates could not have contrived. How couldhe attack Dick Avenel, --he who counted upon Dick Avenel to win hiselection? How could he exasperate the Yellows, when Dick's solemninjunction had been, "Say nothing to make the Yellows not vote for you"?How could he identify himself with Egerton's policy, when it was hisown policy to make his opponents believe him an unprejudiced, sensibleyouth, who would come all right and all Yellow one of these days?Demosthenes himself would have had a sore throat worse than when heswallowed the golden cup of Harpalus, had Demosthenes been placed inso cursed a fix. Therefore Randal Leslie may well be excused if hestammered and boggled, if he was appalled by a cheer when he said aword in vindication of Egerton, and looked cringing and pitiful whenhe sneaked out a counter civility to Dick. The Blues were sadlydisappointed, damped; the Yellows smirked and took heart. AudleyEgerton's brows darkened. Harley, who was on the platform, half seenbehind the front row, a quiet listener, bent over and whispered dryly toAudley, "You should have given a lesson beforehand to your clever youngfriend. His affection for you overpowers him!"

Audley made no rejoinder, but tore a leaf out of his pocketbook, andwrote, in pencil, these words, "Say that you may well feel embarrassedhow to reply to Mr. Avenel, because I had especially requested you notto be provoked to one angry expression against a gentleman whose fatherand brother-in-law gave the majority of two by which I gained my firstseat in parliament; then plunge at once into general politics. " Heplaced this paper in Randal's hand, just as that unhappy young man wason the point of a thorough breakdown. Randal paused, took breath, readthe words attentively, and amidst a general titter; his presence ofmind returned to him; he saw a way out of the scrape, collected himself, suddenly raised his head, and in tones unexpectedly firm and fluent, enlarged on the text afforded to him, --enlarged so well that he tookthe audience by surprise, pleased the Blues by an evidence of Audley'sgenerosity, and touched the Yellows by so affectionate a deference tothe family of their two candidates. Then the speaker was enabled to comeat once to the topics on which he had elaborately prepared himself, anddelivered a set harangue, very artfully put together, --temporizing itis true, and trimming, but full of what would have been called admirabletact and discretion in an old stager who did not want to commit himselfto anybody or to anything. On the whole, the display became creditable, at least as an evidence of thoughtful reserve, rare in a man so young;too refining and scholastic for oratory, but a very good essay, --uponboth sides of the question. Randal wiped his pale forehead and sat down, cheered, especially by the lawyers present, and self-contented. It wasnow Leonard's turn to speak. Keenly nervous, as men of the literarytemperament are, constitutionally shy, his voice trembled as he began. But he trusted, unconsciously, less to his intellect than his warm heartand noble temper; and the warm heart prompted his words, and thenoble temper gradually dignified his manner. He took advantage of thesentences which Audley had put into Randal's mouth, in order to effacethe impression made by his uncle's rude assault. "Would that the RightHonourable Gentleman had himself made that generous and affectingallusion to the services which he had deigned to remember, for, in thatcase, he [Leonard] was confident that Mr. Avenel would have lost all thebitterness which political contest was apt to engender in proportion tothe earnestness with which political opinions were entertained. Happyit was when some such milder sentiment as that which Mr. Egerton hadinstructed Mr. Leslie to convey, preceded the sharp encounter, andreminded antagonists, as Mr. Leslie had so emphatically done, that everyshield had two sides, and that it was possible to maintain the one sideto be golden, without denying the truth of the champion who assertedthe other side to be silver. " Then, without appearing to throw overhis uncle, the young speaker contrived to insinuate an apology on hisuncle's behalf, with such exquisite grace and good feeling, that he wasloudly cheered by both parties; and even Dick did not venture to utterthe dissent which struggled to his lips. 

But if Leonard dealt thus respectfully with Egerton, he had no suchinducement to spare Randal Leslie. With the intuitive penetration ofminds accustomed to analyze character and investigate human nature, he detected the varnished insincerity of Randal's artful address. Hiscolour rose, his voice swelled, his fancy began to play, and his witto sparkle, when he came to take to pieces his younger antagonist'srhetorical mosaic. He exposed the falsehood of its affected moderation;he tore into shreds the veil of words, with their motley woof of yellowand blue, and showed that not a single conviction could be discoveredbehind it. "Mr. Leslie's speech, " said he, "puts me in mind of aferry-boat; it seems made for no purpose but to go from one side to theother. " The simile hit the truth so exactly that it was received with aroar of laughter: even Egerton smiled. "For myself, " concluded Leonard, as he summed up his unsparing analysis, "I am new to party warfare; yetif I were not opposing Mr. Leslie as a candidate for your suffrages, if I were but an elector, --belonging, as I do, to the people by mycondition and my labours, --I should feel that he is one of thosepoliticians in whom the welfare, the honour, the moral elevation of thepeople, find no fitting representative. "

Leonard sat down amidst great applause, and after a speech that raisedthe Yellows in their own estimation, and materially damaged RandalLeslie in the eyes of the Blues. Randal felt this, with a writhing ofthe heart, though a sneer on the lips. He glanced furtively towards DickAvenel, on whom, after all, his election, in spite of the Blues, mightdepend. Dick answered the furtive glance by an encouraging wink. Randalturned to Egerton, and whispered to him, "How I wish I had had morepractice in speaking, so that I could have done you more justice!"

"Thank you, Leslie; Mr. Fairfield has supplied any omission of yours, so far as I am concerned. And you should excuse him for his attack onyourself, because it may serve to convince you where your fault as aspeaker lies. "

"Where?" asked Leslie, with jealous sullenness. 

"In not believing a single word that you say, " answered Egerton, verydryly; and then turning away, he said aloud to his proposer, and witha slight sigh, "Mr. Avenel maybe proud of his nephew! I wish that youngman were on our side; I could train him into a great debater. "

And now the proceedings were about to terminate with a show of hands, when a tall, brawny elector in the middle of the hall suddenly arose, and said he had some questions to put. A thrill ran through theassembly, for this elector was the demagogue of the Yellows, --a fellowwhom it was impossible to put down, a capital speaker, with lungs ofbrass. "I shall be very short, " said the demagogue. And therewith, underthe shape of questions to the two Blue candidates, he commenced a mostfurious onslaught on the Earl of Lansmere, and the earl's son, Lord L'Estrange, accusing the last of the grossest intimidation andcorruption, and citing instances thereof as exhibited towards variouselectors in Fish Lane and the Back Slums, who had been turned fromYellow promises by the base arts of Blue aristocracy, represented in theperson of the noble lord, whom he now dared to reply. The orator paused, and Harley suddenly passed into the front of the platform, in token thathe accepted the ungracious invitation. Great as had been the curiosityto hear Audley Egerton, yet greater, if possible, was the curiosity tohear Lord L'Estrange. Absent from the place for so many years, heir tosuch immense possessions, with a vague reputation for talents that hehad never proved, --strange, indeed, if Blue and Yellow had not strainedtheir ears and hushed their breaths to listen. 

It is said that the poet is born, and the orator made, --a saying onlypartially true. Some men have been made poets, and some men have beenborn orators. Most probably Harley L'Estrange had hitherto neverspoken in public; and he had not now spoken five minutes before all thepassions and humours of the assembly were as much under his command asthe keys of the instrument are under the hands of the musician. He hadtaken from nature a voice capable of infinite variety of modulation, acountenance of the most flexible play of expression; and he was keenlyalive (as profound humourists are) equally to the ludicrous and thegraver side of everything presented to his vigorous understanding. Leonard had the eloquence of a poet, Audley Egerton that of aparliamentary debater; but Harley had the rarer gift of eloquence initself, apart from the matter it conveys or adorns, --that gift whichDemosthenes meant by his triple requisite of an orator, which has beenimproperly translated "action, " but means in reality "the acting, " "thestage-play. " Both Leonard and Audley spoke well, from the good sensewhich their speeches contained; but Harley could have talked nonsense, and made it more effective than sense, --even as a Kemble or Macreadycould produce effects from the trash talked by "The Stranger, " whichyour merely accomplished performer would fail to extract from thebeauties of Hamlet. The art of oratory, indeed, is allied more closelyto that of the drama than to any other; and throughout Harley'swhole nature there ran, as the reader may have noted (though quiteunconsciously to Harley himself), a tendency towards that concentrationof thought, action, and circumstance on a single purpose, which makesthe world form itself into a stage, and gathers various and scatteredagencies into the symmetry and compactness of a drama. This tendency, though it often produces effects that appear artificially theatrical, is not uncommon with persons the most genuine and single-minded. It is, indeed, the natural inclination of quick energies springing from warmemotions. Hence the very history of nations in their fresh, vigorous, half-civilized youth always shapes itself into dramatic forms; while, asthe exercise of sober reason expands with civilization, to the injury ofthe livelier faculties and more intuitive impulses, people look to thedramatic form of expression, whether in thought or in action, as if itwere the antidote to truth, instead of being its abstract and essence. 

But to return from this long and somewhat metaphysical digression:whatever might be the cause why Harley L'Estrange spoke so wonderfullywell, there could be no doubt that wonderfully well he did speak. Heturned the demagogue and his attack into the most felicitous ridicule, and yet with the most genial good-humour; described that virtuousgentleman's adventures in search of corruption through the pure regionsof Fish Lane and the Back Slums; and then summed up the evidences onwhich the demagogue had founded his charge, with a humour so caustic andoriginal that the audience were convulsed with laughter. From laughterHarley hurried his audience almost to the pathos of tears, --for hespoke of the insinuations against his father so that every son and everyfather in the assembly felt moved as at the voice of Nature. 

A turn in a sentence, and a new emotion seized the assembly. Harley wasidentifying himself with the Lansmere electors. He spoke of his pride inbeing a Lansmere man, and all the Lansmere electors suddenly felt proudof him. He talked with familiar kindness of old friends remembered inhis schoolboy holidays, rejoicing to find so many alive and prospering. He had a felicitous word to each. 

"Dear old Lansmere!" said he, and the simple exclamation won him thehearts of all. In fine, when he paused, as if to retire, it was amidst astorm of acclamation. Audley grasped his hand, and whispered, "I amthe only one here not surprised, Harley. Now you have discovered yourpowers, never again let them slumber. What a life may be yours if you nolonger waste it!" Harley extricated his hand, and his eye glittered. Hemade a sign that he had more to say, and the applause was hushed. "MyRight Honourable friend chides me for the years that I have wasted. True; my years have been wasted, --no matter how nor wherefore! But his!how have they been spent? In such devotion to the public that thosewho know him not as I do, have said that he had not one feeling left tospare to the obscurer duties and more limited affections, by which menof ordinary talents and humble minds rivet the links of that socialorder which it is the august destiny of statesmen--like him who now sitsbeside me--to cherish and defend. But, for my part, I think that thereis no being so dangerous as the solemn hypocrite, who, because hedrills his cold nature into serving mechanically some conventionalabstraction, --whether he calls it 'the Constitution' or 'thePublic, '--holds himself dispensed from whatever, in the warm blood ofprivate life, wins attachment to goodness, and confidence to truth. Letothers, then, praise my Right Honourable friend as the incorruptiblepolitician. Pardon me if I draw his likeness as the loyal sincere man, who might say with the honest priest 'that he could not tell a lie togain heaven by it!'--and with so fine a sense of honour, that he wouldhold it a lie merely to conceal the truth. " Harley then drew a brilliantpicture of the type of chivalrous honesty, --of the ideal which theEnglish attach to the phrase of "a perfect gentleman, " applying eachsentence to his Right Honourable friend with an emphasis that seemedto burst from his heart. To all of the audience, save two, it was aneulogium which the fervent sincerity of the eulogist alone saved fromhyperbole. But Levy rubbed his hands, and chuckled inly; and Egertonhung his head, and moved restlessly on his seat. Every word that Harleyuttered lodged an arrow in Audley's breast. Amidst the cheers thatfollowed this admirable sketch of the "loyal man, " Harley recognizedLeonard's enthusiastic voice. He turned sharply towards the youngman: "Mr. Fairfield cheers this description of integrity, and itsapplication; let him imitate the model set before him, and he may liveto hear praise as genuine as mine from some friend who has tested hisworth as I have tested Mr. Egerton's. Mr. Fairfield is a poet: hisclaim to that title was disputed by one of the speakers who precededme!--unjustly disputed! Mr. Fairfield is every inch a poet. But, it hasbeen asked, 'Are poets fit for the business of senates? Will they notbe writing sonnets to Peggy and Moggy, when you want them to concentratetheir divine imagination on the details of a beer bill?' Do not letMr. Fairfield's friends be alarmed. At the risk of injury to the twocandidates whose cause I espouse, truth compels me to say, that poets, when they stoop to action, are not less prosaic than the dullest amongstus; they are swayed by the same selfish interests, they are moved bythe same petty passions. It is a mistake to suppose that any detail incommon life, whether in public or private, can be too mean to seducethe exquisite pliances of their fancy. Nay, in public life, we may trustthem better than other men; for vanity is a kind of second conscience, and, as a poet has himself said, --

 "'Who fears not to do ill, yet fears the name, And free from conscience, is a slave to shame. '

In private life alone we do well to be on our guard against thesechildren of fancy, for they so devote to the Muse all their treasuryof sentiment, that we can no more expect them to waste a thought on theplain duties of men, than we can expect the spendthrift, who dazzles thetown, 'to fritter away his money in paying his debts. ' But all the worldare agreed to be indulgent to the infirmities of those who are theirown deceivers and their own chastisers. Poets have more enthusiasm, moreaffection, more heart than others; but only for fictions of their owncreating. It is in vain for us to attach them to ourselves by vulgarmerit, by commonplace obligations, strive and sacrifice as we may. Theyare ungrateful to us, only because gratitude is so very unpoetical asubject. We lose them the moment we attempt to bind. Their love--

 "'Light as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads its light wings, and in a moment flies. '

"They follow their own caprices, adore their own delusions, and, deemingthe forms of humanity too material for their fantastic affections, conjure up a ghost, and are chilled to death by its embrace!"

Then, suddenly aware that he was passing beyond the comprehension of hisaudience, and touching upon the bounds of his bitter secret (for here hewas thinking, not of Leonard, but of Nora), Harley gave a new and morehomely direction to his terrible irony, --turned into telling ridiculethe most elevated sentiments Leonard's speech had conveyed, hastened onto a rapid view of political questions in general, defended Lesliewith the same apparent earnestness and latent satire with which he hadeulogized Audley, and concluded a speech which, for popular effect, had never been equalled in that hall, amidst a diapason of cheers thatthreatened to bring down the rafters. 

In a few minutes more the proceedings were closed, a show of handstaken. The show was declared by the Mayor, who was a thorough Blue, infavour of the Right Hon. Audley Egerton and Randal Leslie, Esquire. 

Cries of "No, " "Shame, " "Partial, " etc. , a poll demanded on behalf ofthe other two candidates, and the crowd began to pour out of the hall. 

Harley was the first who vanished, retreating by the private entrance. Egerton followed; Randal lingering, Avenel came up and shook hands withhim openly, but whispered privately, "Meet me to-night in Lansmere Park, in the oak copse, about three hundred yards from the turnstile, atthe town end of the park. We must see how to make all right. What aconfounded humbug this has been!"

CHAPTER XXVI. 

If the vigour of Harley's address had taken by surprise both friendand foe, not one in that assembly--not even the conscience-strickenEgerton--felt its effect so deeply as the assailed and startled Leonard. He was at first perfectly stunned by sarcasms which he so ill deserved;nor was it till after the assembly had broken up, that Leonard couldeven conjecture the cause which had provoked the taunt and barbedits dart. Evidently Harley had learned (but learned only in order tomisconceive and to wrong) Leonard's confession of love to Helen Digby. And now those implied accusations of disregard to the duties of commonlife not only galled the young man's heart, but outraged his honour. Hefelt the generous indignation of manhood. He must see Lord L'Estrangeat once, and vindicate himself, --vindicate Helen; for thus to accuse onewas tacitly to asperse the other. 

Extricating himself from his own enthusiastic partisans, Leonard wentstraight on foot towards Lansmere House. The Park palings touchedclose upon the town, with a shall turnstile for foot passengers. And asLeonard, availing himself of this entrance, had advanced some hundredyards or so through the park, suddenly, in the midst of that very copsein which Avenel had appointed to meet Leslie, he found himself face toface with Helen Digby herself. 

Helen started, with a faint cry. But Leonard, absorbed in his own desireto justify both, hailed the sight, and did not pause to account for hisappearance, nor to soothe her agitation. 

"Miss Digby!" he exclaimed, throwing into his voice and manner thatrespect which often so cruelly divides the past familiarity from thepresent alienation, "Miss Digby, I rejoice to see you, --rejoice to askyour permission to relieve myself from a charge that in truth woundseven you, while levelled but at me. Lord L'Estrange has just implied, inpublic, that I--I--who owe him so much, who have honoured him sotruly, that even the just resentment I now feel half seems to me theingratitude with which he charges me, has implied that--ah! Miss Digby, I can scarcely command words to say what it so humiliates me to haveheard. But you know how false is all accusation that either of us coulddeceive our common benefactor. Suffer me to repeat to your guardian whatI presumed to say to you when we last met, what you answered, and statehow I left your presence. "

"Oh, Leonard! yes; clear yourself in his eyes. Go! Unjust that he is, ungenerous Lord L'Estrange!"

"Helen Digby!" cried a voice, close at hand. "Of whom do you speakthus?"

At the sound of that voice Helen and Leonard both turned, and beheldViolante standing before them, her young beauty rendered almost sublimeby the noble anger that lit her eyes, glowed in her cheeks, animated herstately form. 

"Is it you who thus speak of Lord L'Estrange? You, Helen Digby, --you!"

From behind Violante now emerged Mr. Dale. "Softly, children, " he said;and placing one hand on Violante's shoulder, he extended the other toLeonard. "What is this? Come hither to me, Leonard, and explain. "

Leonard walked aside with the parson, and in a few sentences gave ventto his swelling heart. 

The parson shared in Leonard's resentment; and having soon drawnfrom him all that had passed in his memorable interview with Helen, exclaimed, --

"Enough! Do not yet seek Lord L'Estrange yourself; I am going to seehim, --I am here at his request. His summons, indeed, was for to-morrow;but the squire having written me a hurried line, requesting me to meethim at Lansmere tomorrow and proceed with him afterwards in search ofpoor Frank, I thought I might have little time for communications withLord L'Estrange, unless I forestalled his invitation and came to-day. Well that I did so! I only arrived an hour since, found he was goneto the town-hall, and joined the young ladies in the Park. Miss Digby, thinking it natural that I might wish to say something in private tomy old young friend Violante, walked a few paces in advance. Thus, fortunately, I chanced to be here, to receive your account, and I trustto remove misunderstanding. Lord L'Estrange must now be returned. I willgo back to the house. You, meanwhile, return to the town, I beseech you. I will come to you afterwards at your inn. Your very appearance in thesegrounds, even the brief words that have passed between Helen and you, might only widen the breach between yourself and your benefactor. Icannot bear to anticipate this. Go back, I entreat you. I will explainall, and Lord L'Estrange shall right you! That is, --that must be hisintention!"

"IS--must be his intention--when he has just so wronged me!"

"Yes, yes, " faltered the poor parson, mindful of his promise toL'Estrange not to reveal his own interview with that nobleman, and yetnot knowing otherwise how to explain or to soothe; but still believingLeonard to be Harley's son, and remembering all that Harley had sopointedly said of atonement, in apparent remorse for crime, Mr. Dalewas wholly at a loss himself to understand why Harley should have thusprefaced atonement by an insult. Anxious, however, to prevent a meetingbetween Harley and Leonard while both were under the influence of suchfeelings towards each other, he made an effort over himself, and sowell argued in favour of his own diplomacy, that Leonard reluctantlyconsented to wait for Mr. Dale's report. 

"As to reparation or excuse, " said he, proudly, "it must rest with LordL'Estrange. I ask it not. Tell him only this, --that if the instantI heard that she whom I loved and held sacred for so many years wasaffianced to him, I resigned even the very wish to call her mine--ifthat were desertion of man's duties, I am guilty. If to have prayednight and day that she who would have blessed my lonely and toilsomelife may give some charm to his, not bestowed by his wealth and hisgreatness--if that were ingratitude, I am ungrateful; let him stillcondemn me. I pass out of his sphere, --a thing that has crossed it amoment, and is gone. But Helen he must not blame, suspect; even by athought. One word more. In this election, this strife for objectswholly foreign to all my habits, unsuited to my poverty, at war withaspirations so long devoted to fairer goals, though by obscurer paths, I obeyed but his will or whim, --at a moment too when my whole soulsickened for repose and solitude. I had forced myself at last to takeinterest in what I had before loathed. But in every hope for the future, every stimulant to ambition, Lord L'Estrange's esteem still stood beforeme. Now, what do I here longer? All of his conduct, save his contemptfor myself, is an enigma. And sinless he repeat a wish, which I wouldfain still regard as a law, I retire from the contest he has embittered;I renounce the ambition he has poisoned; and, mindful of those humbleduties which he implies that I disdain, I return to my own home. "

The parson nodded assent to each of these sentences; and Leonard, passing by Violante and Helen, with a salutation equally distant toboth, retraced his steps towards the town. 

Meanwhile Violante and Helen had also been in close conference, and thatconference had suddenly endeared each to the other; for Helen, takenby surprise, agitated, overpowered, had revealed to Violante thatconfession of another attachment, which she had made to Lord L'Estrange, the rupture of her engagement with the latter. Violante saw that Harleywas free. Harley, too, had promised to free herself. By a suddenflash of conviction, recalling his words, looks, she felt that she wasbeloved, --deemed that honour alone (while either was yet shackled) hadforbidden him to own that love. Violante stood a being transformed, "blushing celestial rosy red, " heaven at her heart, joy in hereyes, --she loved so well, and she trusted so implicitly! Then fromout the overflow of her own hope and bliss she poured forth such sweetcomfort to Helen, that Helen's arm stole around her; cheek touchedcheek, --they were as sisters. 

At another moment, Mr. Dale might have felt some amazement at the suddenaffection which had sprung up between these young persons; for inhis previous conversation with Violante, he had, as he thought, veryartfully, and in a pleasant vein, sounded the young Italian as to heropinion of her fair friend's various good qualities, and Violantehad rather shrunk from the title of "friend;" and though she had themagnanimity to speak with great praise of Helen, the praise did notsound cordial. But the good man was at this moment occupied in preparinghis thoughts for his interview with Harley; he joined the two girlsin silence, and, linking an arm of each within his own, walked slowlytowards the house. As he approached the terrace he observed Riccaboccaand Randal pacing the gravel walk side by side. 

Violante, pressing his arm, whispered, "Let us go round the other way; Iwould speak with you a few minutes undisturbed. "

Mr. Dale, supposing that Violante wished to dispense with the presenceof Helen, said to the latter, "My dear young lady, perhaps you willexcuse me to Dr. Riccabocca, --who is beckoning to me, and no doubt verymuch surprised to see me here, --while I finish what I was saying toViolante when we were interrupted. "

Helen left them, and Violante led the parson round through theshrubbery, towards the side door in another wing of the house. 

"What have you to say to me?" asked Mr. Dale, surprised that sheremained silent. 

"You will see Lord L'Estrange. Be sure that you convince him ofLeonard's honour. A doubt of treachery so grieves his noble heart thatperhaps 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 onfirmly, and with serious earnestness: "Some words which he-that is, Lord L'Estrange--said to me very lately, make me so glad that you arehere, --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 grievouswrong, which had abruptly soured all his views of life. He spoke ofretirement, solitude, --he on whom his country has so many claims. I knownot what he can mean, unless it be that his--his marriage with HelenDigby is broken off. "

"Broken off! Is that so?"

"I have it from herself. You may well be astonished that she could eventhink of another after having known him!" The parson fixed his eyes verygravely on the young enthusiast. But though her cheek glowed, there wasin her expression of face so much artless, open innocence, that Mr. Dalecontented himself with a slight shake of the head, and a dry remark, --

"I think it quite natural that Helen Digby should prefer LeonardFairfield. A good girl, not misled by vanity and ambition, --temptationsof which it behoves us all to beware; nor least, perhaps, young ladiessuddenly brought in contact with wealth and rank. As to this nobleman'smerits, I know not yet whether to allow or to deny them; I reserve myjudgment till after our interview. This is all you have to say to me?"

Violante paused a moment. "I cannot think, " she said, half smiling, --"Icannot think that the change that has occurred in him, --for changed heis, --that his obscure hints as to injury received, and justice to bedone, are caused merely by his disappointment with regard to Helen. Butyou can learn that; learn if he be so very much disappointed. Nay, Ithink not!"

She slipped her slight hand from the parson's arm, and darted awaythrough the evergreens. Half concealed amidst the laurels, she turnedback, and Mr. Dale caught her eye, half arch, half melancholy; its lightcame 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, andfinding a servant, begged admittance to Lord L'Estrange. 

Harley at that moment was closeted with Levy, and his countenance wascomposed 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 thetreachery of his friends! good! By this time to-morrow the bailiffs willseize his person, --ruined, beggared, pauper, and captive, --all becausehe has trusted and been deceived! good! And if he blame you, prudentBaron 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. Askhim why you are so miserable a dupe. '"

"And might I now ask your Lordship for one word of explanation?"

"No, sir!--it is enough that I have spared you. But you were nevermy friend; I have no revenge against a man whose hand I never eventouched. "

The baron scowled, but there was a power about his tyrant that cowed himinto actual terror. He resumed, after a pause, "And though Mr. Leslieis to be member for Lansmere, --thanks to you, --you still desire that Ishould--"

"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. "

"Mr. Dale! he should have come to-morrow. Say that I did not expecthim to-day; that I am unfortunately engaged till dinner, which will beearlier than usual. Show him into his room; he will have but littletime to change his dress. By the way, Mr. Egerton dines in his ownapartment. "

CHAPTER XXVII. 

The leading members of the Blue Committee were invited to dine at thePark, and the hour for the entertainment was indeed early, as theremight be much need yet of active exertion on the eve of a poll in acontest expected to be so close, and in which the inflexible Hundredand Fifty "Waiters upon Providence" still reserved their very valuablevotes. 

The party was gay and animated, despite the absence of Audley Egerton, who, on the plea of increased indisposition, had shut himself up in hisrooms the instant that he had returned from the town-hall, and sent wordto Harley that he was too unwell to join the party at dinner. 

Randal was really in high spirits, despite the very equivocal successof his speech. What did it signify if a speech failed, provided theelection was secure? He was longing for the appointment with Dick Avenelwhich was to make "all right!" The squire was to bring the money for thepurchase of the coveted lands the next morning. Riccabocca had assuredhim, again and again, of Violante's hand. If ever Randal Leslie could becalled a happy man, it was as he sat at that dinner taking wine with Mr. Mayor and Mr. Alderman, and looking, across the gleaming silver plateau, down the long vista into wealth and power. 

The dinner was scarcely over, when Lord L'Estrauge, in a brief speech, reminded his guests of the work still before them; and after a toast tothe health of the future members for Lansmere, dismissed the Committeeto their labours. 

Levy made a sign to Randal, who followed the baron to his own room. 

"Leslie, your election is in some jeopardy. I find, from theconversation of those near me at dinner, that Egerton has made such wayamongst the Blues by his speech, and they are so afraid of losing a manwho does them so much credit, that the Committee men not only talk ofwithholding from you their second votes and of plumping Egerton, but ofsubscribing privately amongst themselves to win over that coy body of aHundred and Fifty, upon whom I know that Avenel counts in whatever voteshe may be able to transfer to you. "

"It would be very unhandsome in the Committee, which pretends to act forboth of us, to plump Egerton, " said Randal, with consistent anger; "butI don't think they can get those Hundred and Fifty without the most openand exortant bribery, --an expense which Egerton will not pay, and whichit would be very discreditable to Lord L'Estrange or his father tocountenance. "

"I told them flatly, " returned Levy, "that, as Mr. Egerton's agent, Iwould allow no proceedings that might vitiate the election, but that Iwould undertake the management of these men myself; and I am going intothe town in order to do so. I have also persuaded the leading Committeemen to reconsider their determination to plump Egerton; they havedecided to do as L'Estrange directs, and I know what he will say. You may rely on me, " continued the baron, who spoke with a doggedseriousness, unusual to his cynical temper, "to obtain for you thepreference over Audley, if it be in my power to do so. Meanwhile, youshould really see Avenel this very night. "

"I have an appointment with him at ten o'clock; and judging by hisspeech against Egerton, I cannot doubt on his aid to me, if convincedby his poll-books that he is not able to return both himself and hisimpertinent nephew. My speech, however sarcastically treated by Mr. Fairfield, must at least have disposed the Yellow party to vote ratherfor me than for a determined opponent like Egerton. "

"I hope so; for your speech and Fairfield's answer have damaged youterribly with the Blues. However, your main hope rests on my powerto keep those Hundred and Fifty rascals from splitting their voteson Egerton, and to induce them, by all means short of bringing myselfbefore a Committee of the House of Commons for positive bribery, --whichwould hurt most seriously my present social position, --to give one voteto you. I shall tell them, as I have told the Committee, that Egerton issafe, and will pay nothing; but that you want the votes, and thatI--in short, if they can be bought upon tick, I will buy them. Avenel, however, can serve you best here; for as they are all Yellows at heart, they make no scruple of hinting that they want twice as much for votingBlue as they will take for voting Yellow. And Avenel being a townsman, and knowing their ways, could contrive to gain them, and yet not bribe. "

RANDAL (shaking his head incredulously). --"Not bribe!"

LEVY. --"Pooh! Not bribe so as to be found out. " There was a knock at thedoor. A servant entered and presented Mr. Egerton's compliments to BaronLevy, with a request that the baron would immediately come to his roomsfor a few minutes. 

"Well, " said Levy, when the servant had withdrawn, "I must go toEgerton, and the instant I leave him I shall repair to the town. PerhapsI may pass the night there. " So saying, he left Randal, and took his wayto Audley's apartment. 

"Levy, " said the statesman, abruptly, upon the entrance of the baron, "have you betrayed my secret--my first marriage--to Lord L'Estrange?"

"No, Egerton; on my honour, I have not betrayed it. "

"You heard his speech! Did you not detect a fearful irony under hispraises, or is it but--but-my conscience?" added the proud man, throughhis set teeth. 

"Really, " said Levy, "Lord L'Estrange seemed to me to select for hispraise precisely those points in your character which any other of yourfriends would select for panegyric. "

"Ay, any other of my friends!--What friends?" muttered Egerton, gloomily. Then, rousing himself, he added, in a voice that had noneof its accustomed clear firmness of tone, "Your presence here in thishouse, Levy, surprised me, as I told you at the first; I could notconceive its necessity. Harley urged you to come, --he with whom you areno favourite! You and he both said that your acquaintance withRichard Avenel would enable you to conciliate his opposition. I cannotcongratulate you on your success. "

"My success remains to be proved. The vehemence of his attack may be buta feint to cover his alliance to-morrow. "

Audley went on without notice of the interruption. "There is a changein Harley, --to me and to all; a change, perhaps, not perceptible toothers--but I have known him from a boy. "

"He is occupied for the first time with the practical business of life. That would account for a much greater change than you remark. "

"Do you see him familiarly, converse with him often?"

"No, and only on matters connected with the election. Occasionally, indeed, he consults me as to Randal Leslie, in whom, as your specialprotege, he takes considerable interest. "

"That, too, surprises me. Well, I am weary of perplexing myself. Thisplace is hateful; after to-morrow I shall leave it, and breathe inpeace. You have seen the reports of the canvass; I have had no heart toinspect them. Is the election as safe as they say?"

"If Avenel withdraws his nephew, and the votes thus released split offto you, you are secure. "

"And you think his nephew will be withdrawn? Poor young man! defeat athis age, and with such talents, is hard to bear. " Audley sighed. 

"I must leave you now, if you have nothing important to say, " said thebaron, rising. "I have much to do, as the election is yet to be won, and--to you the loss of it would be--"

"Ruin, I know. Well, Levy, it is, on the whole, to your advantage thatI should not lose. There may be more to get from me yet. And, judging bythe letters I received this morning, my position is rendered so safe bythe absolute necessity of my party to keep me up, that the news of mypecuniary difficulties will not affect me so much as I once feared. Never was my career so free from obstacle, so clear towards the highestsummit of ambition; never, in my day of ostentatious magnificence, asit is now, when I am prepared to shrink into a lodging, with a singleservant. "

"I am glad to hear it; and I am the more anxious to secure yourelection, upon which this career must depend, because--nay, I hardlylike to tell you--"

"Speak on. "

"I have been obliged, by a sudden rush on all my resources, to consignsome of your bills and promissory notes to another, who, if your personshould not be protected from arrest by parliamentary privilege, might beharsh and--"

"Traitor!" interrupted Egerton, fiercely, all the composed contempt withwhich he usually treated the usurer giving way, "say no more. How couldI ever expect otherwise! You have foreseen my defeat, and have plannedmy destruction. Presume no reply! Sir, begone from my presence!"

"You will find that you have worse friends than myself, " said the baron, moving to the door; "and if you are defeated, if your prospects forlife are destroyed, I am the last man you will think of blaming. ButI forgive your anger, and trust that to-morrow you will receive thoseexplanations of my conduct which you are now in no temper to bear. I goto take care of the election. "

Left alone, Audley's sudden passion seemed to forsake him. 

He gathered together, in that prompt and logical precision which thehabit of transacting public business bestows, all his thoughts, andsounded all his fears; and most vivid of every thought, and mostintolerable of every fear, was the belief that the baron had betrayedhim to L'Estrange. 

"I cannot bear this suspense, " he cried aloud and abruptly. "I will seeHarley myself. Open as he is, the very sound of his voice will tell meat once if I am a bankrupt even of human friendship. If that friendshipbe secure, if Harley yet clasp my hand with the same cordial warmth, allother loss shall not wring from my fortitude one complaint. "

He rang the bell; his valet, who was waiting in the anteroom, appeared. 

"Go and see if Lord L'Estrange is engaged. I would speak with him. "

The servant came back in less than two minutes. 

"I find that my Lord is now particularly engaged, since he has givenstrict orders that he is not to be disturbed. "

"Engaged! on what, whom with?"

"He is in his own room, sir, with a clergyman, who arrived, and dinedhere, to-day. I am told that he was formerly curate of Lansmere. "

"Lansmere! curate! His name, his name! Not Dale?"

"Yes, sir, that is the name, --the Reverend Mr. Dale. "

"Leave me, " said Audley, in a faint voice. "Dale! the man who suspectedHarley, who called on me in London, spoke of a child, --my child, --andsent me to find but another grave! He closeted with Harley, --he!"

Audley sank back on his chair, and literally gasped for breath. Fewmen in the world had a more established reputation for the courage thatdignifies manhood, whether the physical courage or the moral. But atthat moment it was not grief, not remorse, that paralyzed Audley, --itwas fear. The brave man saw before him, as a thing visible and menacing, the aspect of his own treachery, --that crime of a coward; and intocowardice he was stricken. What had he to dread? Nothing save theaccusing face of an injured friend, --nothing but that. And what moreterrible? The only being, amidst all his pomp of partisans, who survivedto love him, the only being for whom the cold statesman felt the happy, living, human tenderness of private affection, lost to him forever!He covered his face with both hands, and sat in suspense of somethingawful, as a child sits in the dark, the drops on his brow, and his frametrembling. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

Meanwhile Harley had listened to Mr. Dale's vindication of Leonard withcold attention. 

"Enough, " said he, at the close. "Mr. Fairfield (for so we will yet callhim) shall see me to-night; and if apology be due to him, I will makeit. At the same time, it shall be decided whether he continue thiscontest or retire. And now, Mr. Dale, it was not to hear how this youngman wooed, or shrunk from wooing, my affianced bride, that I availedmyself of your promise to visit me at this house. We agreed that theseducer of Nora Avenel deserved chastisement, and I promised thatNora Avenel's son should find a father. Both these assurances shall befulfilled to-morrow. And you, sir, " continued Harley, rising, his wholeform gradually enlarged by the dignity of passion, "who wear the garbappropriated to the holiest office of Christian charity; you who havepresumed to think that, before the beard had darkened my cheek, I couldfirst betray the girl who had been reared under this roof, then abandonher, --sneak like a dastard from the place in which my victim came todie, leave my own son, by the woman thus wronged, without thought orcare, through the perilous years of tempted youth, till I found him, bychance, an outcast in a desert more dread than Hagar's, --you, sir, whohave for long years thus judged of me, shall have the occasion to directyour holy anger towards the rightful head; and in me, you who havecondemned the culprit shall respect the judge. "

Mr. Dale was at first startled, and almost awed, by this unexpectedburst. But, accustomed to deal with the sternest and the darkestpassions, his calm sense and his habit of authority over those whosesouls were bared to him, nobly recovered from their surprise. "My Lord, "said he, "first, with humility I bow to your rebuke, and entreat yourpardon for my erring, and, as you say, my uncharitable opinions. We dwellers in a village and obscure pastors of a humble flock, we, mercifully removed from temptation, are too apt, perhaps, to exaggerateits power over those whose lots are cast in that great world which hasso many gates ever open to evil. This is my sole excuse if I was misledby what appeared to me strong circumstantial evidence. But forgive meagain if I warn you not to fall into an error perhaps little lighterthan my own. Your passion, when you cleared yourself from reproach, became you. But ah, my Lord, when with that stern brow and thoseflashing eyes, you launched your menace upon another over whom you wouldconstitute yourself the judge, forgetful of the divine precept, 'Judge not, ' I felt that I was listening no longer to honestself-vindication, --I felt that I was listening to fierce revenge!"

"Call it revenge, or what you will, " said Harley, with sullen firmness;"but I have been stung too deeply not to sting. Frank with all, till thelast few days, I have ever been. Frank to you, at least, even now, this much I tell you: I pretend to no virtue in what I still hold to bejustice; but no declamations nor homilies tending to prove that justiceis sinful will move my resolves. As man I have been outraged, and asman I will retaliate. The way and the mode, the true criminal and hisfitting sentence, you will soon learn, sir. I have much to do to-night;forgive me if I adjourn for the present all further conference. "

"No, no; do not dismiss me. There is something, in spite of your presentlanguage, which so commands my interest; I see that there has been somuch suffering where there is now so much wrath, --that I would save youfrom the suffering worse than all, --remorse. Oh, pause, my dear Lord, pause and answer me but two questions; then I will leave your aftercourse to yourself. "

"Say on, sir, " said Lord L'Estrange, touched, and with respect. 

"First; then, analyze your own feelings. Is this anger merely to punishan offender and to right the living, --for who can pretend to right thedead? Or is there not some private hate that stirs and animates andconfuses all?"

Harley remained silent. Mr. Dale renewed, "You loved this poor girl. Your language even now reveals it. You speakof treachery: perhaps you had a rival who deceived you; I know not, guess not, whom. But if you would strike the rival, must you not woundthe innocent son? And, in presenting Nora's child to his father, asyou pledge yourself to do, can you mean some cruel mockery that, underseeming kindness, implies some unnatural vengeance?"

"You read well the heart of man, " said Harley; "and I have owned to youthat I am but man. Pass on; you have another question. "

"And one more solemn and important. In my world of a village, revenge isa common passion; it is the sin of the uninstructed. The savage deemsit noble! but Christ's religion, which is the sublime Civilizer, emphatically condemns it. Why? Because religion ever seeks to ennoblea man; and nothing so debases him as revenge. Look into your own heart, and tell me whether, since you have cherished this passion, you have notfelt all sense of right and wrong confused, --have not felt that whateverwould before have seemed to you mean and base, appears now but justmeans to your heated end. Revenge is ever a hypocrite: rage, at least, strikes with the naked sword; but revenge, stealthy and patient, conceals the weapon of the assassin. My Lord, your colour changes. Whatis your answer to my question?"

"Oh, " exclaimed Harley, with a voice thrilling in its mournful anguish, "it is not since I have cherished the revenge that I am changed, thatright and wrong grow dark to me, that hypocrisy seems the atmosphere fitfor earth. No; it is since the discovery that demands the vengeance. Itis useless, sir, " he continued impetuously, --"useless to argue with me. Were I to sit down, patient and impotent, under the sense of the wrongwhich I have received, I should feel, indeed, that debasement which youascribe to the gratification of what you term revenge. I should neverregain the self-esteem which the sentiment of power now restores to me;I should feel as if the whole world could perceive and jeer at my meekhumiliation. I know not why I have said so much, --why I have betrayedto you so much of my secret mind, and stooped to vindicate my purpose. Inever meant it. Again I say, we must close this conference. " Harley herewalked to the door, and opened it significantly. 

"One word more, Lord L'Estrange, --but one. You will not hear me. I am acomparative stranger, but you have a friend, a friend dear and intimate, now under the same roof. Will you consent, at least, to take counselof Mr. Audley Egerton? None can doubt his friendship for you; nonecan doubt that whatever he advise will be that which best becomes yourhonour. What, my Lord, you hesitate, --you feel ashamed to confide toyour dearest friend a purpose which his mind would condemn? Then Iwill seek him, I will implore him to save you from what can but entailrepentance. "

"Mr. Dale, I must forbid you to see Mr. Egerton. What has passed betweenus ought to be as sacred to you as a priest of Rome holds confession. This much, however, I will say to content you: I promise that I willdo nothing that shall render me unworthy of Mr. Audley Egerton'sfriendship, or which his fine sense of honour shall justify him inblaming. Let that satisfy you. "

"Ah, my Lord, " cried Mr. Dale, pausing irresolute at the doorway, andseizing Harley's hand, "I should indeed be satisfied if you would submityourself to higher counsel than mine, --than Mr. Egerton's, than man's. Have you never felt the efficacy of prayer?"

"My life has been wasted, " replied Harley, "and I dare not, therefore, boast that I have found prayer efficacious. But, so far back as I canremember, it has at least been my habit to pray to Heaven, night andmorning, until at least--until--" The natural and obstinate candour ofthe man forced out the last words, which implied reservation. He stoppedshort. 

"Until you have cherished revenge? You have not dared to pray since?Oh, reflect what evil there is within us, when we dare not come beforeHeaven, --dare not pray for what we wish. You are moved. I leave you toyour own thoughts. " Harley inclined his head, and the parson passed himby, and left him alone, --startled indeed; but was he softened? As Mr. Dale hurried along the corridor, much agitated, Violante stole from arecess formed by a large bay window, and linking her arm in his, saidanxiously, but timidly: "I have been waiting for you, dear Mr. Dale; andso long! You have been with Lord L'Estrange?"

"Well!"

"Why do you not speak? You have left him comforted, happier?"

"Happier! No. "

"What!" said Violante, with a look of surprise, and a sadness notunmixed with petulance in her quick tone. "What! does he then so grievethat Helen prefers another?"

Despite the grave emotions that disturbed his mind, Mr. Dale was struckby Violante's question, and the voice in which it was said. He lovedher tenderly. "Child, child, " said he, "I am glad that Helen has escapedLord L'Estrange. Beware, oh, beware how he excite any gentler interestin yourself. He is a dangerous man, --more dangerous for glimpses of afine original nature. He may well move the heart of the innocent andinexperienced, for he has strangely crept into mine. But his heart isswollen with pride and ire and malice. "

"You mistake; it is false!" cried Violante, impetuously. "I cannotbelieve one word that would asperse him who has saved my father from aprison, or from death. You have not treated him gently. He fancies hehas been wronged by Leonard, received ingratitude from Helen. He hasfelt the sting in proportion to his own susceptible and generous heart, and you have chided where you should have soothed. Poor Lord L'Estrange!And you have left him still indignant and unhappy?"

"Foolish girl! I have left him meditating sin; I have left him afraid topray; I have left him on the brink of some design--I know not what--butwhich involves more than Leonard in projects of revenge; I have left himso, that if his heart be really susceptible and generous, he will wakefrom wrath to be the victim of long and unavailing remorse. If yourfather has influence over him, tell Dr. Riccabocca what I say, and bidhim seek, and in his turn save, the man who saved himself. He has notlistened to religion, --he maybe more docile to philosophy. I cannot stayhere longer, --I must go to Leonard. "

Mr. Dale broke from Violante and hurried down the corridor; Violantestood on the same spot, stunned and breathless. Harley on the brink ofsome strange sin! Harley to wake, the victim of remorse! Harley to besaved, as he had saved her father! Her breast heaved, her colour wentand came, her eyes were raised, her lips murmured. She advanced withsoft footsteps up the corridor; she saw the lights gleaming fromHarley's room, and suddenly they were darkened, as the inmate of theroom shut to the door, with angry and impatient hand. 

An outward act often betrays the inward mind. As Harley had thus closedthe door, so had he sought to shut his heart from the intrusion ofsofter and holier thoughts. He had turned to his hearthstone, andstood on it, resolved and hardened. The man who had loved with suchpertinacious fidelity far so many years could not at once part withhate. A passion once admitted to his breast, clung to it with suchrooted force! But woe, woe to thee, Harley L'Estrange, if tomorrowat this hour thou stand at the hearthstone, thy designs accomplished, knowing that, in the fulfilment of thy blind will, thou hast metfalsehood with falsehood, and deception with deceit! What though thosedesigns now seem so consummate, so just, so appropriate, so exquisite arevenge, --seem to thee the sole revenge wit can plan and civilized lifeallow: wilt thou ever wash from thy memory the stain that will sullythine honour? Thou, too, professing friendship still, and maskingperfidy under smiles! Grant that the wrong be great as thou deem it, --beten times greater: the sense of thy meanness, O gentleman and soldier, will bring the blush to thy cheek in the depth of thy solitude. Thou, who now thinkest others unworthy a trustful love, wilt feel thyselfforever unworthy theirs. Thy seclusion will know not repose. The dignityof man will forsake thee. Thy proud eye will quail from the gaze. Thystep will no longer spurn the earth that it treads on. He who hasonce done a base thing is never again wholly reconciled to honour. Andwoe--thrice woe, if thou learn too late that thou hast exaggerated thyfancied wrong: that there is excuse, where thou seest none; that thyfriend may have erred, but that his error is venial compared to thyfancied retribution!

Thus, however, in the superb elation of conscious power, though lavishedon a miserable object, --a terrible example of what changes one evil andhateful thought, cherished to the exclusion of all others, can makein the noblest nature, stood, on the hearth of his fathers, and on theabyss of a sorrow and a shame from which there could be no recall, thedetermined and scornful man. 

A hand is on the door, --he does not hear it; a form passes thethreshold, -he does not see it; a light step pauses, a soft eye gazes. Deaf and blind still to both. 

Violante came on, gathering courage, and stood at the hearth by hisside. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

"LORD L'ESTRANGE, noble friend!"

"You!--and here--Violante? Is it I whom you seek? For what? Goodheavens! what has happened? Why are you so pale; why tremble?"

"Have you forgiven Helen?" asked Violante, beginning with evasivequestion, and her cheek was pale no more. "Helen, the poor child! I havenothing in her to forgive, much to thank her for. She has been frank andhonest. "

"And Leonard--whom I remember in my childhood--you have forgiven him?"

"Fair mediator, " said Harley, smiling, though coldly, "happy is the manwho deceives another; all plead for him. And if the man deceived cannotforgive, no one will sympathize or excuse. "

"But Leonard did not deceive you?"

"Yes, from the first. It is a long tale, and not to be told to you; butI cannot forgive him. "

"Adieu! my Lord. Helen must, then, still be very dear to you!" Violanteturned away. Her emotion was so artless, her very anger so charming, that the love, against which, in the prevalence of his later and darkerpassions, he had so sternly struggled, rushed back upon Harley's breast;but it came only in storm. 

"Stay, but talk not of Helen!" he exclaimed. "Ah, if Leonard's soleoffence had been what you appear to deem it, do you think I could feelresentment? No; I should have gratefully hailed the hand that severed arash and ungenial tie. I would have given my ward to her lover with sucha dower as it suits my wealth to bestow. But his offence dates fromhis very birth. To bless and to enrich the son of a man who--Violante, listen to me. We may soon part, and forever. Others may misconstrue myactions; you, at least, shall know from what just principle they spring. There was a man whom I singled out of the world as more than a brother. In the romance of my boyhood I saw one who dazzled my fancy, captivatedmy heart. It was a dream of Beauty breathed into waking life. Iloved, --I believed myself beloved. I confided all my heart to thisfriend, --this more than brother; he undertook to befriend and to aidmy suit. On that very pretext he first saw this ill-fated girl, saw, betrayed, destroyed her; left me ignorant that her love, which I hadthought mine, had been lavished so wildly on another; left me to believethat my own suit she had fled, but in generous self-sacrifice, --forshe was poor and humbly born; that--oh, vain idiot that I was!--theself-sacrifice had been too strong for a young human heart, which hadbroken in the struggle; left me to corrode my spring of life in remorse;clasped my hand in mocking comfort, smiled at my tears of agony--not onetear himself for his own poor victim! And suddenly, not long since, Ilearned all this. And in the father of Leonard Fairfield, you beholdthe man who has poisoned all the well-spring of joy to me. You weep!Oh, Violante! the Past he has blighted and embittered, --that I couldforgive; but the Future is blasted too. For just ere this treasonwas revealed to me, I had begun to awake from the torpor of my drearypenance, to look with fortitude towards the duties I had slighted, toown that the pilgrimage before me was not barren. And then, oh then, Ifelt that all love was not buried in a grave. I felt that you, hadfate so granted, might have been all to my manhood which youth onlysaw through the delusion of its golden mists. True, I was then boundto Helen; true, that honour to her might forbid me all hope. But still, even to know that my heart was not all ashes, that I could love again, that that glorious power and privilege of our being was still mine, seemed to me so heavenly sweet. But then this revelation of falsehoodburst on me, and all truth seemed blotted from the universe. I am freedfrom Helen; ah, freed, forsooth, --because not even rank and wealth, andbenefits and confiding tenderness, could bind to me one human heart!Free from her; but between me and your fresh nature stands Suspicion asan Upas tree. Not a hope that would pass through the tainted air and flyto you, but falls dead under the dismal boughs. I love!

"Ha, ha! I--I, whom the past has taught the impossibility to be lovedagain. No: if those soft lips murmured 'Yes' to the burning prayer that, had I been free but two short weeks ago, would have rushed fromthe frank deeps of my heart, I should but imagine that you deceivedyourself, --a girl's first fleeting delusive fancy, --nothing more! Wereyou my bride, Violante, I should but debase your bright nature by my owncurse of distrust. At each word of tenderness, my heart would say, 'Howlong will this last; when will the deception come?' Your beauty, yourgifts, would bring me but jealous terror, eternally I should fly fromthe Present to the Future, and say. 'These hairs will be gray, whileflattering youth will surround her in the zenith of her charms. ' Whythen do I hate and curse my foe? Why do I resolve upon revenge? Icomprehend it now. I knew that there was something more imperious thanthe ghost of the Past that urged me on. Gazing on you, I feel that itwas the dim sense of a mighty and priceless loss; it is not the deadNora, --it is the living Violante. Look not at me with those reproachfuleyes: they cannot reverse my purpose; they cannot banish suspicion frommy sickened soul; they cannot create a sunshine in the midst of thisghastly twilight. Go, go; leave me to the sole joy that bequeaths nodisappointment, the sole feeling that unites me to social man; leave meto my revenge. "

"Revenge! Oh, cruel!" exclaimed Violante, laying her hand on his arm. "And in revenge, it is your own life that you will risk!"

"My life, simple child! This is no contest of life against life. Could Ibare to all the world my wrongs for their ribald laughter, I should onlygive to my foe the triumph to pity my frenzy, to shun the contest; orgrant it, if I could find a second--and then fire in the air. And allthe world would say, 'Generous Egerton! soul of honour!'"

"Egerton, Mr. Egerton! He cannot be this foe? It is not on him you candesign revenge, --you who spend all your hours in serving his cause, youto whom he trusts so fondly, you who leaned yesterday on his shoulder, and smiled so cheeringly in his face?"

"Did I? Hypocrisy against hypocrisy, snare against snare: that is myrevenge. "

"Harley, Harley! Cease, cease!"

The storm of passion rushed on unheeding. 

"I seem to promote his ambition but to crush it into the mire. I havedelivered him from the gentler gripe of an usurer, so that he shall holdat my option alms or a prison--"

"Friend, friend! Hush, hush!"

"I have made the youth he has reared and fostered into treachery likehis own (your father's precious choice, Randal Leslie) mine instrumentin the galling lesson how ingratitude can sting. His very son shallavenge the mother, and be led to his father's breast as victor, withRandal Leslie, in the contest that deprives sire and benefactor of allthat makes life dear to ambitious egotism. And if, in the breast ofAudley Egerton, there can yet lurk one memory of what I was to himand to truth, not his least punishment will be the sense that his ownperfidy has so changed the man whose very scorn of falsehood has taughthim to find in fraud itself the power of retribution. "

"If this be not a terrible dream, " murmured Violante, recoiling, "it isnot your foe alone that you will deprive of all that makes life dear. Act thus--and what, in the future, is left to me?"

"To you? Oh, never fear. I may give Randal Leslie a triumph over hispatron, but in the same hour I will unmask his villany, and sweephim forever from your path. What in the future is left to you?--yourbirthright and your native land; hope, joy, love, felicity. Could it bepossible that in the soft but sunny fancy which plays round the heartof maiden youth, but still sends no warmth into its deeps, --could it bepossible that you had Honoured me with a gentler thought, it will passaway, and you will be the pride and delight of one of your own years, towhom the vista of Time is haunted by no chilling spectres, one who canlook upon that lovely face, and not turn away to mutter, 'Too fair, toofair for me!'"

"Oh, agony!" exclaimed Violante, with sudden passion. "In my turn hearme. If, as you promise, I am released from the dreadful thought that he, at whose touch I shudder, can claim this hand, my choice is irrevocablymade. The altars which await me will not be those of a human love. Butoh, I implore you--by all the memories of your own life, hitherto, ifsorrowful, unsullied, by the generous interest you yet profess forme, whom you will have twice saved from a danger to which death weremercy--leave, oh, leave to me the right to regard your image as I havedone from the first dawn of childhood. Leave me the right to honour andrevere it. Let not an act accompanied with a meanness--oh that I shouldsay the word!--a meanness and a cruelty that give the lie to your wholelife--make even a grateful remembrance of you an unworthy sin. When Ikneel within the walls that divide me from the world, oh, let me thinkthat I can pray for you as the noblest being that the world contains!Hear me! hear me!"

"Violante!" murmured Harley, his whole frame heaving with emotion, "bearwith me. Do not ask of me the sacrifice of what seems to me the causeof manhood itself, --to sit down, meek and patient, under a wrong thatdebases me, with the consciousness that all my life I have been themiserable dupe to affections I deemed so honest, to regrets that Ibelieved so holy. Ah, I should feel more mean in my pardon than you canthink me in revenge! Were it an acknowledged enemy, I could open my armsto him at your bidding; but the perfidious friend!--ask it not. Mycheek burns at the thought, as at the stain of a blow. Give me butto-morrow--one day--I demand no more--wholly to myself and to the past, and mould me for the future as you will. Pardon, pardon the ungenerousthoughts that extended distrust to you. I retract them; they aregone, --dispelled before those touching words, those ingenuous eyes. Atyour feet, Violante, I repent and I implore! Your father himself shallbanish your sordid suitor. Before this hour to-morrow you will be free. Oh, then, then! will you not give me this hand to guide me again intothe paradise of my youth? Violante, it is in vain to wrestle withmyself, to doubt, to reason, to be wisely fearful! I love, I love you! Itrust again in virtue and faith. I place my fate in your keeping. " Ifat times Violante may appear to have ventured beyond the limit of strictmaiden bashfulness, much may be ascribed to her habitual candour, hersolitary rearing, and remoteness from the world, the very innocence ofher soul, and the warmth of heart which Italy gives its daughters. Butnow that sublimity of thought and purpose which pervaded her nature, and required only circumstances to develop, made her superior to all thepromptings of love itself. Dreams realized which she had scarcely daredto own; Harley free, Harley at her feet; all the woman struggling at herheart, mantling in her blushes, still stronger than love, stronger thanthe joy of being loved again, was the heroic will, --will to save him, who in all else ruled her existence, from the eternal degradation towhich passion had blinded his own confused and warring spirit. 

Leaving one hand in his impassioned clasp, as he still knelt before her, she raised on high the other. "Ah, " she said, scarce audibly, --"ah, ifheaven vouchsafe me the proud and blissful privilege to be allied toyour fate, to minister to your happiness, never should I know one fearof your distrust. No time, no change, no sorrow--not even the loss ofyour affection--could make me forfeit the right to remember that you hadonce confided to me a heart so noble. But"--here her voice rose in itstone, and the glow fled from her cheek--"but, O Thou the Ever Present, hear and receive the solemn vow. If to me he refuse to sacrifice the sinthat would debase him, that sin be the barrier between us evermore;and may my life, devoted to Thy service, atone for the hour in whichhe belied the nature he received from Thee! Harley, release me! I havespoken: firm as yourself, I leave the choice to you. "

"You judge me harshly, " said Harley, rising, with sullen anger; "but atleast I have not the meanness to sell what I hold as justice, though thebribe may include my last hope of happiness. "

"Meanness! Oh, unhappy, beloved Harley!" exclaimed Violante, with sucha gush of exquisite reproachful tenderness, that it thrilled him asthe voice of the parting guardian angel. "Meanness! But it is that fromwhich I implore you to save yourself. You cannot judge, you cannot see. You are dark, dark. Lost Christian that you are, what worse thanheathen darkness to feign the friendship the better to betray; to punishfalsehood by becoming yourself so false; to accept the confidence evenof your bitterest foe, and then to sink below his own level in deceit?And oh, worse than all--to threaten that a son--son of the woman youprofessed to love--should swell your vengeance against a father! No! itwas not you that said this, --it was the Fiend!"

"Enough!" exclaimed Harley, startled, conscience-stricken, and rushinginto resentment, in order to escape the sense of shame. "Enough! youinsult the man you professed to honour. "

"I honoured the prototype of gentleness and valour. I honoured one whoseemed to me to clothe with life every grand and generous image that isborn from the souls of poets. Destroy that ideal, and you destroy theHarley whom I honoured. He is dead to me forever. I will mourn for himas his widow, faithful to his memory, weeping over the thought of whathe was. " Sobs choked her voice; but as Harley, once more melted, sprangforward to regain her side, she escaped with a yet quicker movement, gained the door, and darting down the corridor, vanished from his sight. 

Harley stood still one moment, thoroughly irresolute, nay, almostsubdued. Then sternness, though less rigid than before, gradually cameto his brow. The demon had still its hold in the stubborn and marvellouspertinacity with which the man clung to all that once struck root at hisheart. With a sudden impulse that still withheld decision, yet spokeof sore-shaken purpose, he strode to his desk, drew from it Nora'smanuscript, and passed from his room. 

Harley had meant never to have revealed to Audley the secret hehad gained until the moment when revenge was consummated. He hadcontemplated no vain reproach. His wrath would have spoken forth indeeds, and then a word would have sufficed as the key to all. Willing, perhaps, to hail some extenuation of perfidy, though the possibilityof such extenuation he had never before admitted, he determined onthe interview which he had hitherto so obstinately shunned, and wentstraight to the room in which Audley Egerton still sat, solitary andfearful. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

Egerton heard the well-known step advancing near and nearer up thecorridor, heard the door open and reclose; and he felt, by one of thosestrange and unaccountable instincts which we call forebodings, that thehour he had dreaded for so many secret years had come at last. He nervedhis courage, withdrew his hands from his face, and rose in silence. 

No less silent, Harley stood before him. The two men gazed on eachother; you might have heard their breathing. 

"You have seen Mr. Dale?" said Egerton, at length. "You know--"

"All!" said Harley, completing the arrested sentence. Audley drew a longsigh. "Be it so; but no, Harley, you deceive yourself; you cannot knowall, from any one living, save myself. "

"My knowledge comes from the dead, " answered Harley, and the fatalmemoir dropped from his hand upon the table. The leaves fell with adull, low sound, mournful and faint as might be the tread of a ghost, ifthe tread gave sound. They fell, those still confessions of an obscure, uncomprehended life, amidst letters and documents eloquent of the strifethat was then agitating millions, --the fleeting, turbulent fears andhopes that torture parties and perplex a nation; the stormy businessof practical public life, so remote from individual love and individualsorrow. 

Egerton's eye saw them fall. The room was but partially lighted. Atthe distance where he stood, he did not recognize the characters; butinvoluntarily he shivered, and involuntarily drew near. 

"Hold yet awhile, " said Harley. "I produce my charge, and then I leaveyou to dispute the only witness that I bring. Audley Egerton, you tookfrom me the gravest trust one man can confide to another. You knew howI loved Leonora Avenel. I was forbidden to see and urge my suit; you hadthe access to her presence which was denied to myself. I prayed youto remove scruples that I deemed too generous, and to woo her not todishonour, but to be my wife. Was it so? Answer. "

"It is true, " said Audley, his hand clenched at his heart. "You saw herwhom I thus loved, --her thus confided to your honour. You wooed her foryourself. Is it so?"

"Harley, I deny it not. Cease here. I accept the penalty; I resign yourfriendship; I quit your roof; I submit to your contempt; I dare notimplore your pardon. Cease; let me go hence, and soon!"

The strong man gasped for breath. Harley looked at him steadfastly, thenturned away his eyes, and went on. "Nay, " said he, "is that ALL? Youwooed her for yourself, --you won her. Account to me for that life whichyou wrenched from mine. You are silent. I will take on myself your task;you took that life and destroyed it. "

"Spare me, spare me!"

"What was the fate of her who seemed so fresh from heaven when theseeyes beheld her last? A broken heart, a dishonoured name, an early doom, a forgotten gravestone!"

"No, no--forgotten, --no!"

"Not forgotten! Scarce a year passed, and you were married to another. I aided you to form those nuptials which secured your fortunes. Youhave had rank and power and fame. Peers call you the type of Englishgentlemen; priests hold you as a model of Christian honour. Strip themask, Audley Egerton; let the world know you for what you are!"

Egerton raised his head, and folded his arms calmly; but he said, with amelancholy humility, "I bear all from you; it is just. Say on. "

"You took from me the heart of Nora Avenel. You abandoned her, youdestroyed. And her memory cast no shadow over your daily sunshine; whileover my thoughts, over my life--oh, Egerton--Audley, Audley--how couldyou have deceived me thus!" Here the inherent tenderness under all thishate, the fount imbedded under the hardening stone, broke out. Harleywas ashamed of his weakness, and hurried on, "Deceived, --not for an hour, a day, but through blighted youth, throughlistless manhood, --you suffered me to nurse the remorse that should havebeen your own; her life slain, mine wasted, --and shall neither of ushave revenge?"

"Revenge! Ah, Harley, you have had it!"

"No, but I await it! Not in vain from the charnel have come to me therecords I produce. And whom did fate select to discover the wrongs ofthe mother, whom appoint as her avenger? Your son, --your own son; yourabandoned, nameless son!"

"Son! son!"

"Whom I delivered from famine, or from worse; and who, in return, hasgiven into my hands the evidence which proclaims in you the perjuredfriend of Harley L'Estrange, and the fraudulent seducer, under mockmarriage forms--worse than all franker sin--of Leonora Avenel. "

"It is false! false!" exclaimed Egerton, all his stateliness and all hisenergy restored to him. "I forbid you to speak thus to me. I forbid youby one word to sully the memory of my lawful wife!"

"Ah!" said Harley, startled. "Ah! false? prove that, and revenge isover! Thank Heaven!"

"Prove it! What so easy? And wherefore have I delayed the proof;wherefore concealed, but from tenderness to you, --dread, too--a selfishbut human dread--to lose in you the sole esteem that I covet; the onlymourner who would have shed one tear over the stone inscribed with somelying epitaph, in which it will suit a party purpose to proclaim thegratitude of a nation. Vain hope. I resign it! But you spoke of a son. Alas, alas! you are again deceived. I heard that I had a son, --years, long years ago. I sought him, and found a grave. But bless you, Harley, if you succoured one whom you even erringly suspect to be Leonora'schild!" He stretched forth his hands as he spoke. 

"Of your son we will speak later, " said Harley, strangely softened. "Butbefore I say more of him, let me ask you to explain; let me hope thatyou can extenuate what--"

"You are right, " interrupted Egerton, with eager quickness. "You wouldknow from my own lips at last the plain tale of my own offence againstyou. It is due to both. Patiently hear me out. "

Then Egerton told all, --his own love for Nora, his struggles againstwhat he felt as treason to his friend, his sudden discovery of Nora'slove for him; on that discovery, the overthrow of all his resolutions;their secret marriage, their separation; Nora's flight, to which Audleystill assigned but her groundless vague suspicion that their nuptialshad not been legal, and her impatience of his own delay in acknowledgingthe rite. 

His listener interrupted him here with a few questions, the clearand prompt replies to which enabled Harley to detect Levy's plausibleperversion of the facts; and he vaguely guessed the cause of theusurer's falsehood, in the criminal passion which the ill-fated bridehad inspired. 

"Egerton, " said Harley, stifling with an effort his own wrath againstthe vile deceiver both of wife and husband, "if, on reading thosepapers, you find that Leonora had more excuse for her suspicions andflight than you now deem, and discover perfidy in one to whom youtrusted your secret, leave his punishment to Heaven. All that you sayconvinces me more and more that we cannot even see through the cloud, much less guide the thunderbolt. But proceed. "

Audley looked surprised and startled, and his eye turned wistfullytowards the papers; but after a short pause he continued his recital. Hecame to Nora's unexpected return to her father's house, her death, hisconquest of his own grief, that he might spare Harley the abruptshock of learning her decease. He had torn himself from the dead, inremorseful sympathy with the living. He spoke of Harley's illness, sonearly fatal, repeated Harley's jealous words, "that he would rathermourn Nora's death, than take comfort from the thought that she hadloved another. " He spoke of his journey to the village where Mr. Dalehad told him Nora's child was placed--"and, hearing that child andmother were alike gone, whom now could I right by acknowledging a bondthat I feared would so wring your heart?" Audley again paused a moment, and resumed in short, nervous, impressive sentences. This cold, austereman of the world for the first time bared his heart, --unconscious, perhaps, that he did so; unconscious that he revealed how deeply, amidst State cares and public distinctions, he had felt the absence ofaffections; how mechanical was that outer circle in the folds of lifewhich is called a "career;" how valueless wealth had grown--none toinherit it. Of his gnawing and progressive disease alone he did notspeak; he was too proud and too masculine to appeal to pity for physicalills. He reminded Harley how often, how eagerly, year after year, monthafter month, he had urged his friend to rouse himself from mournfuldreams, devote his native powers to his country, or seek the surerfelicity of domestic ties. "Selfish in these attempts I might be, " saidEgerton; "it was only if I saw you restored to happiness that I couldbelieve you could calmly hear my explanation of the past, and on thefloor of some happy home grant me your forgiveness. I longed to confess, and I dared not. Often have the words rushed to my lips, --as oftensome chance sentence from you repelled me. In a word, with you were soentwined all the thoughts and affections of my youth--even thosethat haunted the grave of Nora--that I could not bear to resign yourfriendship, and, surrounded by the esteem and honour of a world I carednot for, to meet the contempt of your reproachful eye. "

Amidst all that Audley said, amidst all that admitted of no excuse, two predominant sentiments stood clear, in unmistakable and touchingpathos, --remorseful regret for the lost Nora, and self-accusing, earnest, almost feminine tenderness for the friend he had deceived. Thus, as he continued to speak, Harley more and more forgot even theremembrance of his own guilty and terrible interval of hate; the gulfthat had so darkly yawned between the two closed up, leaving them stillstanding side by side, as in their schoolboy days. But he remainedsilent, listening, shading his face from Audley, and as if under somesoft but enthralling spell, till Egerton thus closed, "And now, Harley, all is told. You spoke of revenge?"

"Revenge!" muttered Harley, starting. 

"And believe me, " continued Egerton, "were revenge in your power, Ishould rejoice at it as an atonement. To receive an injury in returnfor that which, first from youthful passion, and afterwards from theinfirmity of purpose that concealed the wrong, I have inflictedupon you--why, that would soothe my conscience, and raise my lostself-esteem. The sole revenge you can bestow takes the form which mosthumiliates me, --to revenge is to pardon. "

Harley groaned; and still hiding his face with one hand, stretched forththe other, but rather with the air of one who entreats than who accordsforgiveness. Audley took and pressed the hand thus extended. 

"And NOW, Harley, farewell. With the dawn I leave this house. Icannot now accept your aid in this election. Levy shall announce myresignation. Randal Leslie, if you so please it, may be returned inmy stead. He has abilities which, under safe guidance, may serve hiscountry; and I have no right to reject from vain pride whatever willpromote the career of one whom I undertook, and have failed, to serve. "

"Ay, ay, " muttered Harley; "think not of Randal Leslie; think but ofyour son. "

"My son! But are you sure that he still lives? You smile; you--you--oh, Harley, I took from you the mother, --give to me the son; break my heartwith gratitude. Your revenge is found!"

Lord L'Estrange rose with a sudden start, gazed on Audley for amoment, --irresolute, not from resentment, but from shame. At that momenthe was the man humbled; he was the man who feared reproach, and whoneeded pardon. Audley, not divining what was thus passing in Harley'sbreast, turned away. 

"You think that I ask too much; and yet all that I can give to the childof my love and the heir of my name is the worthless blessing of a ruinedman. Harley, I say no more. I dare not add, 'You too loved his mother!and with a deeper and a nobler love than mine. '" He stopped short, andHarley flung himself on his breast. 

"Me--me--pardon me, Audley! Your offence has been slight to mine. Youhave told me your offence; never can I name to you my own. Rejoice thatwe have both to exchange forgiveness, and in that exchange we are equalstill, Audley, brothers still. Look up! look up! think that we are boysnow as we were once, --boys who have had their wild quarrel, and who, themoment it is over, feel dearer to each other than before. "

"Oh, Harley, this is revenge! It strikes home, " murmured Egerton, andtears gushed fast from eyes that could have gazed unwinking on the rack. The clock struck; Harley sprang forward. 

"I have time yet, " he cried. "Much to do and to undo. You are saved fromthe grasp of Levy; your election will be won; your fortunes in much maybe restored; you have before you honours not yet achieved; your careeras yet is scarce begun; your son will embrace you to-morrow. Let mego--your hand again! Ah, Audley, we shall be so happy yet!"

CHAPTER XXXI. 

"There is a hitch, " said Dick, pithily, when Randal joined him in theoak copse at ten o'clock. "Life is full of hitches. "

RANDAL. --"The art of life is to smooth them away. What hitch is this, mydear Avenel?"

DICK. --"Leonard has taken huff at certain expressions of LordL'Estrange's at the nomination to-day, and talks of retiring from thecontest. "

RANDAL (with secret glee). --"But his resignation would smooth ahitch, --not create one. The votes promised to him would thus be freed, and go to--"

DICK. --"The Right Honourable Red-Tapist!"

RANDAL. --"Are you serious?"

DICK. --"As an undertaker! The fact is, there are two parties among theYellows as there are in the Church, --High Yellow and Low Yellow. Leonardhas made great way with the High Yellows, and has more influence withthem than I; and the High Yellows infinitely preferred Egerton toyourself. They say, 'Politics apart, he would be an honour to theborough. ' Leonard is of the same opinion; and if he retires, I don'tthink I could coax either him or the Highflyers to make you any thebetter by his resignation. "

RANDAL. --"But surely your nephew's sense of gratitude to you wouldinduce him not to go against your wishes?"

DICK. --"Unluckily, the gratitude is all the other way. It is I who amunder obligations to him, --not he to me. As for Lord L'Estrange, Ican't make head or tail of his real intentions; and why he should haveattacked Leonard in that way puzzles me more than all, for he wishedLeonard to stand; and Levy has privately informed me that, in spiteof my Lord's friendship for the Right Honourable, you are the man hedesires to secure. "

RANDAL. --"He has certainly shown that desire throughout the wholecanvass. "

DICK. --"I suspect that the borough-mongers have got a seat for Egertonelsewhere; or, perhaps, should his party come in again, he is to bepitchforked into the Upper House. "

RANDAL (smiling). --"Ah, Avenel, you are so shrewd; you see througheverything. I will also add that Egerton wants some short respite frompublic life, in order to nurse his health and attend to his affairs, otherwise I could not even contemplate the chance of the electorspreferring me to him, without a pang. "

DICK. --"Pang! stuff--considerable. The oak-trees don't hear us! You wantto come into parliament, and no mistake. If I am the man to retire, --asI always proposed, and had got Leonard to agree to, before thisconfounded speech of L'Estrange's, --come into parliament you will, forthe Low Yellows I can twist round my finger, provided the High Yellowswill not interfere; in short, I could transfer to you votes promised tome, but I can't answer for those promised to Leonard. Levy tells me youare to marry a rich girl, and will have lots of money; so, of course, you will pay my expenses if you come in through my votes. "

RANDAL. --"My dear Avenel, certainly I will. "

DICK. --"And I have two private bills I want to smuggle throughparliament. "

RANDAL. --"They shall be smuggled, rely on it. Mr. Fairfield being onone side of the House, and I on the other, we two could prevent allunpleasant opposition. Private bills are easily managed, --with that tactwhich I flatter myself I possess. "

DICK. --"And when the bills are through the House, and you have had timeto look about you, I dare say you will see that no man can go againstPublic Opinion, unless he wants to knock his own head against a stonewall; and that Public Opinion is decidedly Yellow. "

RANDAL (with candour). --"I cannot deny that Public Opinion is Yellow;and at my age, it is natural that I should not commit myself to thepolicy of a former generation. Blue is fast wearing out. But, to returnto Mr. Fairfield: you do not speak as if you had no hope of keeping himstraight to what I understand to be his agreement with yourself. Surelyhis honour is engaged to it?"

DICK. --"I don't know as to honour; but he has now taken a fancy topublic life, --at least so he said no later than this morning before wewent into the hall; and I trust that matters will come right. Indeed, I left him with Parson Dale, who promised me that he would use all hisbest exertions to reconcile Leonard and my Lord, and that Leonard shoulddo nothing hastily. "

RANDAL. --"But why should Mr. Fairfield retire because Lord L'Estrangewounds his feelings? I am sure Mr. Fairfield has wounded mine, but thatdoes not make me think of retiring. "

DICK. --"Oh, Leonard is a poet, and poets are quite as crotchety asL'Estrange said they were. And Leonard is under obligations to LordL'Estrange, and thought that Lord L'Estrange was pleased by hisstanding; whereas, now--In short, it is all Greek to me, except thatLeonard has mounted his high horse, and if that throws him, I am afraidit will throw you. But still I have great confidence in Parson Dale, --agood fellow who has much influence with Leonard. And though I thought itright to be above-board, and let you know where the danger lies, yet onething I can promise, --if I resign, you shall come in; so shake hands onit. "

RANDAL. --"My dear Avenel! And your wish is to resign?"

DICK. --"Certainly. I should do so a little time after noon, contrivingto be below Leonard on the poll. You know Emanuel Trout, the captain ofthe Hundred and Fifty 'Waiters on Providence, ' as they are called?"

RANDAL. --"To be sure I do. "

DICK. --"When Emanuel Trout comes into the booth, you will know how theelection turns. As he votes, all the Hundred and Fifty will vote. Now Imust go back. Good-night. 

"You'll not forget that my expenses are to be paid. Point of honour. Still, if they are not paid, the election can be upset, --petition forbribery and corruption; and if they are paid, why, Lansmere may be yourseat for life. "

RANDAL. --"Your expenses shall be paid the moment my marriage gives methe means to pay them, --and that must be very soon. "

DICK. --"So Levy says. And my little jobs--the private bills?"

RANDAL. --"Consider the bills passed and the jobs done. "

DICK. --"And one must not forget one's country. One must do the best onecan for one's principles. Egerton is infernally Blue. You allow PublicOpinion--is--"

RANDAL. --"Yellow. Not a doubt of it. "

DICK. --"Good-night. Ha, ha! humbug, eh?"

RANDAL. --"Humbug! Between men like us, --oh, no. Good-night, my dearfriend, I rely on you. "

DICK. --"Yes; but mind, I promise nothing if Leonard Fairfield does notstand. "

RANDAL. --"He must stand; keep him to it. Your affairs, your business, your mill--"

DICK. --"Very true. He must stand. I have great faith in Parson Dale. "

Randal glided back through the park. When he came on the terrace, hesuddenly encountered Lord L'Estrange. "I have just been privately intothe town, my dear Lord, and heard a strange rumour, that Mr. Fairfieldwas so annoyed by some remarks in your Lordship's admirable speech, thathe talks of retiring from the contest. That would give a new featureto the election, and perplex all our calculations; and I fear, in thatcase, there might be some secret coalition between Avenel's friendsand our Committee, whom, I am told, I displeased by the moderate speechwhich your Lordship so eloquently defended, --a coalition by which Avenelwould come in with Mr. Egerton, whereas, if we all four stand, Mr. Egerton, I presume, will be quite safe, --and I certainly think I have anexcellent chance. "

LORD L'ESTRANGE. --"SO Mr. Fairfield would retire in consequence of myremarks! I am going into the town, and I intend to apologize for thoseremarks, and retract them. "

RANDAL (joyously). --"Noble!"

Lord L'Estrange looked at Leslie's face, upon which the stars gleamedpalely. "Mr. Egerton has thought more of your success than of his own, "said he, gravely, and hurried on. 

Randal continued on the terrace. Perhaps Harley's last words gave hima twinge of compunction. His head sunk musingly on his breast, and hepaced to and fro the long gravel-walk, summoning up all his intellect toresist every temptation to what could injure his self-interest. 

"Skulking knave!" muttered Harley. "At least there will be nothing torepent, if I can do justice on him. That is not revenge. Come, that mustbe a fair retribution. Besides, how else can I deliver Violante?"

He laughed gayly, his heart was so light; and his foot bounded on asfleet as the deer that he startled amongst the fern. 

A few yards from the turnstile he overtook Richard Avenel, disguised ina rough great-coat and spectacles. Nevertheless, Harley's eye detectedthe Yellow candidate at the first glance. He caught Dick familiarly bythe arm. "Well met! I was going to you. We have the election to settle. "

"On the terms I mentioned to your Lordship?" said Dick, startled. "Iwill agree to return one of your candidates; but it must not be AudleyEgerton. " Harley whispered close in Avenel's ear. 

Avenel uttered an exclamation of amazement. The two gentlemen walked onrapidly, and conversing with great eagerness. 

"Certainly, " said Avenel, at length, stopping short, "one would do agreat deal to serve a family connection, --and a connection that doesa man so much credit; and how can one go against one's ownbrother-in-law, --a gentleman of such high standing, pull up the wholefamily! How pleased Mrs. Richard Avenel will be! Why the devil did notI know it before? And poor--dear--dear Nora. Ah, that she were living!"Dick's voice trembled. 

"Her name will be righted; and I will explain why it was my fault thatEgerton did not before acknowledge his marriage, and claim you as abrother. Come, then, it is all fixed and settled. "

"No, my Lord; I am pledged the other way. I don't see how I can getoff my word--to Randal Leslie. I'm not over nice, nor what is calledQuixotic; but still my word is given that if I retire from the election, I will do my best to return Leslie instead of Egerton. "

"I know that through Baron Levy. But if your nephew retires?"

"Oh, that would solve all difficulties. But the poor boy has now a wishto come into parliament; and he has done me a service in the hour ofneed. "

"Leave it to me. And as to Randal Leslie, he shall have an occasionhimself to acquit you and redeem himself; and happy, indeed, will itbe for him if he has yet one spark of gratitude, or one particle ofhonour!"

The two continued to converse for a few moments, Dick seeming to forgetthe election itself, and ask questions of more interest to his heart, which Harley answered so, that Dick wrung L'Estrange's hand with greatemotion, and muttered, "My poor mother! I understand now why she wouldnever talk to me of Nora. When may I tell her the truth?"

"To-morrow evening, after the election, Egerton shall embrace you all. "

Dick started, and saying, "See Leonard as soon as you can, --there isno time to lose, " plunged into a lane that led towards the obscurerrecesses of the town. Harley continued his way with the same lightelastic tread which (lost during his abnegation of his own nature) wasnow restored to the foot, that seemed loath to leave a print upon themire. 

At the commencement of the High Street he encountered Mr. Dale andFairfield, walking slowly, arm-in-arm. 

HARLEY. --"Leonard, I was coming to you. Give me your hand. Forget forthe present the words that justly stung and offended you. I will do morethan apologize, --I will repair the wrong. Excuse me, Mr. Dale, I haveone word to say in private to Leonard. " He drew Fairfield aside. 

"Avenel tells me that if you were to retire from this contest, it wouldbe a sacrifice of inclination. Is it so?"

"My Lord, I have sorrows that I would fain forget; and though I at firstshrunk from the strife in which I have been since engaged, yet now aliterary career seems to me to have lost its old charm; and I find that, in public life, there is a distraction to the thoughts which embittersolitude, that books fail to bestow. Therefore, if you still wish me tocontinue this contest, though I know not your motive, it will not beas it was to begin it, --a reluctant and a painful obedience to yourrequest. "

"I understand. It was a sacrifice of inclination to begin the contest;it would be now a sacrifice of inclination to withdraw?"

"Honestly, yes, my Lord. "

"I rejoice to hear it, for I ask that sacrifice, --a sacrifice which youwill recall hereafter with delight and pride; a sacrifice sweeter, ifI read your nature aright--oh, sweeter far, than all which commonplaceambition could bestow! And when you learn why I make this demand, youwill say, 'This, indeed, is reparation for the words that wounded myaffections, and wronged my heart. '"

"My Lord, my Lord!" exclaimed Leonard, "the injury is repaired already. You give me back your esteem, when you so well anticipate my answer. Your esteem!--life smiles again. I can return to my more legitimatecareer without a sigh. I have no need of distraction from thoughtnow. You will believe that, whatever my past presumption, I can praysincerely for your happiness. "

"Poet, you adorn your career; you fulfil your mission, even at thismoment; you beautify the world; you give to the harsh form of Dutythe cestus of the Graces, " said Harley, trying to force a smile to hisquivering lips. "But we must hasten back to the prose of existence. Iaccept your sacrifice. As for the time and mode I must select in orderto insure its result, I will ask you to abide by such instructions as Ishall have occasion to convey through your uncle. Till then, no wordof your intentions, --not even to Mr. Dale. Forgive me if I would rathersecure Mr. Egerton's election than yours. Let that explanation sufficefor the present. What think you, by the way, of Audley Egerton?"

"I thought when I heard him speak and when he closed with those touchingwords, --implying that he left all of his life not devoted to his country'to the charity of his friends, '--how proudly, even as his opponent, Icould have clasped his hand; and if he had wronged me in private life, I should have thought it ingratitude to the country he had so served toremember the offence. "

Harley turned away abruptly, and joined Mr. Dale. 

"Leave Leonard to go home by himself; you see that I have healedwhatever wounds I inflicted on him. "

PARSON. --"And, your better nature thus awakened, I trust, my dear Lord, that you have altogether abandoned the idea of--"

HARLEY. --"Revenge?--no. And if you do not approve that revengeto-morrow, I will never rest till I have seen you--a bishop!"

MR. DALE (much shocked). --"My Lord, for shame!"

HARLEY (seriously). --"My levity is but lip-deep, my dear Mr. Dale. Butsometimes the froth on the wave shows the change in the tide. "

The parson looked at him earnestly, and then seized him by both handswith holy gladness and affection. 

"Return to the Park now, " said Harley, smiling; "and tell Violante, if it be not too late to see her, that she was even more eloquent thanyou. "

Lord L'Estrange bounded forward. 

Mr. Dale walked back through the park to Lansmere House. On the terracehe found Randal, who was still pacing to and fro, sometimes in thestarlight, sometimes in the shadow. 

Leslie looked up, and seeing Mr. Dale, the close astuteness of hisaspect returned; and stepping out of the starlight deep into the shadow, he said, "I was sorry to learn that Mr. Fairfield had been so hurt by LordL'Estrange's severe allusions. Pity that political differences shouldinterfere with private friendships; but I hear that you have been toMr. Fairfield, --and, doubtless, as the peacemaker. Perhaps you metLord L'Estrange by the way? He promised me that he would apologize andretract. "

"Good young man!" said the unsuspecting parson, "he has done so. "

"And Mr. Leonard Fairfield will, therefore, I presume, continue thecontest?"

"Contest--ah, this election! I suppose so, of course. But I grieve thathe should stand against you, who seem to be disposed towards him sokindly. "

"Oh, " said Randal, with a benevolent smile, "we have fought before, youknow, and I beat him then. I may do so again!"

And he walked into the house, arm-in-arm with the parson. Mr. Dalesought Violante; Leslie retired to his own room, and felt his electionwas secured. 

Lord L'Estrange had gained the thick of the streets--passing groups ofroaring enthusiasts--Blue and Yellow--now met with a cheer, now followedby a groan. Just by a public-house that formed the angle of a lane withthe High Street, and which was all ablaze with light and all alive withclamour, he beheld the graceful baron leaning against the threshold, smoking his cigar, too refined to associate its divine vapour with thewreaths of shag within, and chatting agreeably with a knot of females, who were either attracted by the general excitement, or waiting to seehusband, brother, father, or son, who were now joining in the chorusof "Blue forever!" that rang from tap-room to attic of the illuminedhostelry. Levy, seeing Lord L'Estrange, withdrew his cigar from hislips, and hastened to join him. "All the Hundred and Fifty are inthere, " said the baron, with a backward significant jerk of his thumbtowards the inn. "I have seen them all privately, in tens at a time;and I have been telling the ladies without that it will be best for theinterest of their families to go home, and let us lock up the Hundredand Fifty safe from the Yellows, till we bring them to the poll. But Iam afraid, " continued Levy, "that the rascals are not to be relied uponunless I actually pay them beforehand; and that would be disreputable, immoral, --and, what is more, it would upset the election. Besides, ifthey are paid beforehand, query, is it quite sure how they will voteafterwards?"

"Mr. Avenel, I dare say, can manage them, " said Harley. "Pray do nothingimmoral, and nothing that will upset the election. I think you might aswell go home. "

"Home! No, pardon me, my Lord; there must be some head to direct theCommittee, and keep our captains at their posts upon the doubtfulelectors. A great deal of mischief may be done between this and themorrow; and I would sit up all night--ay, six nights a week for the nextthree months--to prevent any awkward mistake by which Audley Egerton canbe returned. "

"His return would really grieve you so much?" said Harley. 

"You may judge of that by the zeal with which I enter into all yourdesigns. "

Here there was a sudden and wondrously loud shout from another inn, --aYellow inn, far down the lane, not so luminous as the Blue hostelry; onthe contrary, looking rather dark and sinister, more like a place forconspirators or felons than honest, independent electors, --"Avenelforever! Avenel and the Yellows!"

"Excuse me, my Lord, I must go back and watch over my black sheep, ifI would have them blue!" said Levy; and he retreated towards thethreshold. But at that shout of "Avenel forever!" as if at a signal, various electors of the redoubted Hundred and Fifty rushed from the Bluehostelry, sweeping past Levy, and hurrying down the lane to the darklittle Yellow inn, followed by the female stragglers, as small birdsfollow an owl. It was not, however, very easy to get into that Yellowinn; Yellow Reformers, eminent for their zeal on behalf of purity ofelection, were stationed outside the door, and only strained in onecandidate for admittance at a time. "After all, " thought the baron, ashe passed into the principal room of the Blue tavern, and proposed thenational song of "Rule Britannia, "--"after all, Avenel hates Egerton asmuch as I do, and both sides work to the same end. " And thrumming on thetable, he joined with a fine lass in the famous line, "For Britons never will be slaves!"

In the interim, Harley had disappeared within the Lansmere Arms, whichwas the headquarters of the Blue Committee. Not, however, mounting tothe room in which a few of the more indefatigable were continuing theirlabours, receiving reports from scouts, giving orders, laying wagers, and very muzzy with British principles and spirits, Harley called asidethe landlord, and inquired if the stranger, for whom rooms had beenprepared, was yet arrived. An affirmative answer was given, and Harleyfollowed the host up a private stair, to a part of the house remote fromthe rooms devoted to the purposes of the election. He remained with thisstranger about half an hour, and then walked into the Committee-room, got rid of the more excited, conferred with the more sober, issued a fewbrief directions to such of the leaders as he felt he could most relyupon, and returned home as rapidly as he had quitted it. 

Dawn was gray in the skies when Harley sought his own chamber. Togain it, he passed by the door of Violante's. His heart suffused withgrateful ineffable tenderness, he paused and kissed the threshold. Whenhe stood within his room (the same that he had occupied in his earlyyouth), he felt as if the load of years were lifted from his bosom. Thejoyous, divine elasticity of spirit, that in the morning of life springstowards the Future as a bird soars into heaven, pervaded his whole senseof being. A Greek poet implies that the height of bliss is the suddenrelief of pain: there is a nobler bliss still, --the rapture of theconscience at the sudden release from a guilty thought. By the bedsideat which he had knelt in boyhood, Harley paused to kneel once more. Theluxury of prayer, interrupted since he had nourished schemes of whichhis passions had blinded him to the sin, but which, nevertheless, hedared not confess to the All-Merciful, was restored to him. And yet, as he bowed his knee, the elation of spirits he had before felt forsookhim. The sense of the danger his soul had escaped, the full knowledge ofthe guilt to which the fiend had tempted, came dread before his clearingvision; he shuddered in horror of himself. And he who but a few hoursbefore had deemed it so impossible to pardon his fellow-man, now feltas if years of useful and beneficent deeds could alone purify his ownrepentant soul from the memory of one hateful passion. 

CHAPTER XXXII

But while Harley had thus occupied the hours of night with cares for theliving, Audley Egerton had been in commune with the dead. He had takenfrom the pile of papers amidst which it had fallen, the record of Nora'ssilenced heart. With a sad wonder he saw how he had once been loved. What had all which successful ambition had bestowed on the lonelystatesman to compensate for the glorious empire he had lost, --suchrealms of lovely fancy; such worlds of exquisite emotion; that infinitewhich lies within the divine sphere that unites spiritual genius withhuman love? His own positive and earthly nature attained, for thefirst time, and as if for its own punishment, the comprehension of thatloftier and more ethereal visitant from the heavens, who had once lookedwith a seraph's smile through the prison-bars of his iron life; thatcelestial refinement of affection, that exuberance of feeling whichwarms into such varieties of beautiful idea, under the breath of theearth-beautifier, Imagination, --all from which, when it was all his own, he had turned half weary and impatient, and termed the exaggerationsof a visionary romance, now that the world had lost them evermore, heinterpreted aright as truths. Truths they were, although illusions. Evenas the philosopher tells us that the splendour of colours which deck theuniverse is not on the surface whereon we think to behold it, but in ourown vision; yet, take the colours from the universe, and what philosophycan assure us that the universe has sustained no loss?

But when Audley came to that passage in the fragment which, though butimperfectly, explained the true cause of Nora's flight; when he saw howLevy, for what purpose he was unable to conjecture, had suggested to hisbride the doubts that had offended him, --asserted the marriage to be afraud, drawn from Audley's own brief resentful letters to Nora proof ofthe assertion, misled so naturally the young wife's scanty experience ofactual life, and maddened one so sensitively pure into the conviction ofdishonour, --his brow darkened, and his hand clenched. He rose and wentat once to Levy's room. He found it deserted, inquired, learned thatLevy was gone forth, and had left word he might not be at home for thenight. Fortunate, perhaps, for Audley, fortunate for the baron, thatthey did not then meet. Revenge, in spite of his friend's admonition, might at that hour have been as potent an influence on Egerton as it hadbeen on Harley, and not, as with the latter, to be turned aside. 

Audley came back to his room and finished the tragic record. He tracedthe tremor of that beloved hand through the last tortures of doubt anddespair; he saw where the hot tears had fallen; he saw where the handhad paused, the very sentence not concluded; mentally he accompaniedhis--fated bride in the dismal journey to her maiden home, and beheldher before him as he had last seen, more beautiful even in death thanthe face of living woman had ever since appeared to him; and as he bentover the last words, the blank that they left on the leaf, stretchingpale beyond the quiver of the characters and the blister of thetears, --pale and blank as the void which departed love leaves behindit, --he felt his Heart suddenly stand still, its course arrested as therecord closed. It beat again, but feebly, --so feebly! His breath becamelabour and pain, his sight grew dizzy; but the constitutional firmnessand fortitude of the man clung to him in the stubborn mechanism ofhabit, his will yet fought against his disease, life rallied as thelight flickers up in the waning taper. 

The next morning, when Harley came into his friend's room, Egerton wasasleep. But the sleep seemed much disturbed; the breathing was hardand difficult; the bed-clothes were partially thrown off, as if in thetossing of disturbed dreams; the sinewy strong arm, the broad athleticbreast, were partly bare. Strange that so deadly a disease within shouldleave the frame such apparent power that, to the ordinary eye, thesleeping sufferer seemed a model of healthful vigour. One hand wasthrust with uneasy straining over the pillows, --it had its hold onthe fatal papers; a portion of the leaves was visible; and where thecharacters had been blurred by Nora's tears, were the traces, yet moist, of tears perhaps more bitter. 

Harley felt deeply affected; and while he still stood by the bed, Egerton sighed heavily and woke. He stared round him, as if perplexedand confused, till his eyes resting on Harley, he smiled and said, "So early! Ah, I remember, it is the day for our great boat-race. Weshall have the current against us; but you and I together--when did weever lose?"

Audley's mind was wandering; it had gone back to the old Eton days. ButHarley thought that he spoke in metaphorical allusion to the presentmore important contest. 

"True, my Audley, --you and I together--when did we ever lose? But willyou rise? I wish you would be at the polling-place to shake hands withyour voters as they come up. By four o'clock you will be released, andthe election won. "

"The election! How! what!" said Egerton, recovering himself. "Irecollect now. Yes, --I accept this last kindness from you. I always saidI would die in harness. Public life--I have no other. Ah, I dream again!Oh, Harley my son, my son!"

"You shall see him after four o'clock. You will be proud of each other. But make haste and dress. Shall I ring the bell for your servant?"

"Do, " said Egerton, briefly, and sinking back. Harley quitted the room, and joined Randal and some of the more important members of the BlueCommittee, who were already hurrying over their breakfast. 

All were anxious and nervous except Harley, who dipped his dry toastinto his coffee, according to his ordinary abstemious Italian habit, with serene composure. Randal in vain tried for an equal tranquillity. But though sure of his election, there would necessarily follow a scenetrying to the nerve of his hypocrisy. He would have to affect profoundchagrin in the midst of vile joy; have to act the part of decoroushigh-minded sorrow, that by some untoward chance, some unaccountablecross-splitting, Randal Leslie's gain should be Audley Egerton's loss. Besides, he was flurried in the expectation of seeing the squire, andof appropriating the money which was to secure the dearest object of hisambition. Breakfast was soon despatched. The Committee-men, bustling fortheir hats, and looking at their watches, gave the signal for departure;yet no Squire Hazeldean had made his appearance. Harley, stepping fromthe window upon the terrace, beckoned to Randal, who took his hat andfollowed. 

"Mr. Leslie, " said Harley, leaning against the balustrade, andcarelessly patting Nero's rough, honest head, "you remember thatyou were good enough to volunteer to me the explanation of certaincircumstances in connection with the Count di Peschiera, which you gaveto the Duke di Serrano; and I replied that my thoughts were at presentengaged on the election, but as soon as that was over, I should be verywilling to listen to any communications affecting yourself and my oldfriend the duke, with which you might be pleased to favour me. "

This address took Randal by surprise, and did not tend to calm hisnerves. However, he replied readily, "Upon that, as upon any other matter that may influence the judgment youform of me, I shall be but too eager to remove a single doubt that, inyour eyes, can rest upon my honour. "

"You speak exceedingly well, Mr. Leslie; no man can express himself morehandsomely; and I will claim your promise with the less scruple becausethe duke is powerfully affected by the reluctance of his daughterto ratify the engagement that binds his honour, in case your own isindisputably cleared. I may boast of some influence over the young lady, since I assisted to save her from the infamous plot of Peschiera; andthe duke urges me to receive your explanation, in the belief that, ifit satisfy me, as it has satisfied him, I may conciliate his child infavour of the addresses of a suitor who would have hazarded his verylife against so redoubted a duellist as Peschiera. "

"Lord L'Estrange, " replied Randal, bowing, "I shall indeed owe you muchif you can remove that reluctance on the part of my betrothed bride, which alone clouds my happiness, and which would at once put an end tomy suit, did I not ascribe it to an imperfect knowledge of myself, whichI shall devote my life to improve into confidence and affection. "

"No man can speak more handsomely, " reiterated Harley, as if withprofound admiration; and indeed he did eye Randal as we eye some rarecuriosity. "I am happy to inform you, too, " continued L'Estrange, "thatif your marriage with the Duke of Serrano's daughter take place--"

"If!" echoed Randal. 

"I beg pardon for making an hypothesis of what you claim the right toesteem a certainty, --I correct my expression: when your marriage withthat young lady takes place, you will at least escape the rock on whichmany young men of ardent affections have split at the onset of the grandvoyage. You will form no imprudent connection. In a word, I receivedyesterday a despatch from Vienna, which contains the full pardon andformal restoration of Alphonso, Duke di Serrano. And I may add, that theAustrian government (sometimes misunderstood in this country) is boundby the laws it administers, and can in no way dictate to the duke, oncerestored, as to the choice of his son-in-law, or as to the heritage thatmay devolve on his child. "

"And does the duke yet know of his recall?" exclaimed Randal, his cheeksflushed and his eyes sparkling. 

"No. I reserve that good news, with other matters, till after theelection is over. But Egerton keeps us waiting sadly. Ah, here comes hisvalet. "

Audley's servant approached. "Mr. Egerton feels himself rather morepoorly than usual, my Lord; he begs you will excuse his going withyou into the town at present. He will come later if his presence isabsolutely necessary. "

"No. Pray tell him to rest and nurse himself. I should have liked him towitness his own triumph, --that is all. Say I will represent him at thepolling-place. Gentlemen, are you ready? We will go on. "

The polling booth was erected in the centre of the marketplace. Thevoting had already commenced; and Mr. Avenel and Leonard were already attheir posts, in order to salute and thank the voters in their cause whopassed before them. Randal and L'Estrange entered the booth amidst loudhurrahs, and to the national air of "See the Conquering Hero comes. " Thevoters defiled in quick succession. Those who voted entirely accordingto principle or colour--which came to much the same thing--and weretherefore above what is termed "management, " flocked in first, votingstraightforwardly for both Blues or both Yellows. At the end of thefirst half-hour the Yellows were About ten ahead of the Blues. Thensundry split votes began to perplex conjecture as to the result; andRandal, at the end of the first hour, had fifteen majority over AudleyEgerton, two over Dick Avenel, Leonard Fairfield heading the poll byfive. Randal owed his place in the lists to the voters that Harley'spersonal efforts had procured for him; and he was well pleased to seethat Lord L'Estrange had not withdrawn from him a single promise soobtained. This augured well for Harley's ready belief in his appointed"explanations. " In short, the whole election seemed going just as hehad calculated. But by twelve o'clock there were some changes in therelative position of the candidates. Dick Avenel had gradually gainedground, --passing Randal, passing even Leonard. He stood at the headof the poll by a majority of ten. Randal came next. Audley was twentybehind Randal, and Leonard four behind Audley. More than half theconstituency had polled, but none of the Committee on either side, norone of the redoubted corps of a Hundred and Fifty. 

The poll now slackened sensibly. Randal, looking round, and longing foran opportunity to ask Dick whether he really meant to return himselfinstead of his nephew, saw that Harley had disappeared; and presently anote was brought to him requesting his presence in the Committee-room. Thither he hastened. 

As he forced his way through the bystanders in the lobby, towards thethreshold of the room, Levy caught hold of him and whispered, "Theybegin to fear for Egerton. They want a compromise in order to securehim. They will propose to you to resign, if Avenel will withdrawLeonard. Don't be entrapped. L'Estrange may put the question to you;but--a word in your ear--he would be glad enough to throw over Egerton. Rely upon this, and stand firm. "

Randal made no answer, but, the crowd giving way for him, entered theroom. Levy followed. The doors were instantly closed. All the BlueCommittee were assembled. They looked heated, anxious, eager. LordL'Estrange, alone calm and cool, stood at the head of the long table. Despite his composure, Harley's brow was thoughtful. "Yes, " said heto himself, "I will give this young man the fair occasion to provegratitude to his benefactor; and if he here acquit himself, I will sparehim, at least, public exposure of his deceit to others. So young, hemust have some good in him, --at least towards the man to whom he owesall. "

"Mr. Leslie, " said L'Estrange, aloud, "you see the state of the poll. Our Committee believe that, if you continue to stand, Egerton must bebeaten. They fear that, Leonard Fairfield having little chance, theYellows will not waste their second votes on him, but will transfer themto you, in order to keep out Egerton. If you retire, Egerton will besafe. There is reason to suppose that Leonard would, in that case, alsobe withdrawn. "

"You can hope and fear nothing more from Egerton, " whispered Levy. "Heis utterly ruined; and, if he lose, will sleep in a prison. The bailiffsare waiting for him. "

Randal was still silent, and at that silence an indignant murmur ranthrough the more influential members of the Committee. For, thoughAudley was not personally very popular, still a candidate so eminent wasnecessarily their first object, and they would seem very small tothe Yellows, if their great man was defeated by the very candidateintroduced to aid him, --a youth unknown. Vanity and patriotismboth swelled that murmur. "You see, young sir, " cried a rich, bluntmaster-butcher, "that it was an honourable understanding that Mr. Egerton was to be safe. You had no claim on us, except as fightingsecond to him. And we are all astonished that you don't say at once, 'Save Egerton, of course. ' Excuse my freedom, sir. No time for palaver. "

"Lord L'Estrange, " said Randal, turning mildly from the butcher, "doyou, as the first here in rank and influence, and as Mr. Egerton'sespecial friend, call upon me to sacrifice my election, and what appearto be the inclinations of the majority of the constituents, in order toobtain what is, after all, a doubtful chance of returning Mr. Egerton inmy room?

"I do not call upon you, Mr. Leslie. It is a matter of feeling or ofhonour, which a gentleman can very well decide for himself. "

"Was any such compact made between your Lordship and myself, when youfirst gave me your interest and canvassed for me in person?"

"Certainly not. Gentlemen, be silent. No such compact was mentioned byme. "

"Neither was it by Mr. Egerton. Whatever might be the understandingspoken of by the respected elector who addressed me, I was no party toit. I am persuaded that Mr. Egerton is the last person who would wishto owe his election to a trick upon the electors in the midst ofthe polling, and to what the world would consider a very unhandsometreatment of myself, upon whom all the toil of the canvass hasdevolved. "

Again the murmur rose; but Randal had an air so determined, that itquelled resentment, and obtained a continued, though most chilling andhalf-contemptuous hearing. 

"Nevertheless, " resumed Randal, "I would at once retire were I not underthe firm persuasion that I shall convince all present, who now seem tocondemn me, that I act precisely according to Mr. Egerton's own privateinclinations. That gentleman, in fact, has never been amongst you, hasnot canvassed in person, has taken no trouble, beyond a speech, thatwas evidently meant to be but a general defence of his past politicalcareer. What does this mean? Simply that his standing has been merely aform, to comply with the wish of his party, against his own desire. "

The Committee-men looked at each other amazed and doubtful. Randal sawhe had gained an advantage; he pursued it with a tact and ability whichshowed that, in spite of his mere oratorical deficiencies, he had inhim the elements of a dexterous debater. "I will be plain with you, gentlemen. My character, my desire to stand well with you all, oblige meto be so. Mr. Egerton does not wish to come into parliament at present. His health is much broken; his private affairs need all his time andattention. I am, I may say, as a son to him. He is most anxious formy success; Lord L'Estrange told me but last night, very truly, 'moreanxious for my success than his own. ' Nothing could please him morethan to think I were serving in parliament, however humbly, those greatinterests which neither health nor leisure will, in this momentouscrisis, allow himself to defend with his wonted energy. Later, indeed, no doubt, he will seek to return to an arena in which he isso distinguished; and when the popular excitement, which produces thepopular injustice of the day, is over, what constituency will not beproud to return such a man? In support and proof of what I have thussaid, I now appeal to Mr. Egerton's own agent, --a gentleman who, in spite of his vast fortune and the rank he holds in society, hasconsented to act gratuitously on behalf of that great statesman. I askyou, then, respectfully, Baron Levy, Is not Mr. Egerton's health muchbroken, and in need of rest?"

"It is, " said Levy. 

"And do not his affairs necessitate his serious and undividedattention?"

"They do indeed, " quoth the baron. "Gentlemen, I have nothing to urgein behalf of my distinguished friend as against the statement of hisadopted son, Mr. Leslie. "

"Then all I can say, " cried the butcher, striking his huge fist on thetable, "is, that Mr. Egerton has behaved d---d unhandsome to us, and weshall be the laughing-stock of the borough. "

"Softly, softly, " said Harley. "There is a knock at the door behind. Excuse me. "

Harley quitted the room, but only for a minute or two. On his return headdressed himself to Randal. 

"Are we then to understand, Mr. Leslie, that your intention is not toresign?"

"Unless your Lordship actually urge me to the contrary, I should say, Let the election go on, and all take our chance. That seems to me thefair, manly, ENGLISH [great emphasis on the last adjective], honourablecourse. "

"Be it so, " replied Harley; "'let all take their chance. ' Mr. Leslie, we will no longer detain you. Go back to the polling-place, --one of thecandidates should be present; and you, Baron Levy, be good enough to goalso, and return thanks to those who may yet vote for Mr. Egerton. "

Levy bowed, and went out arm-in-arm with Randal. "Capital, capital, "said the baron. "You have a wonderful head. "

"I did not like L'Estrange's look, nevertheless. But he can't hurt menow; the votes he got for me instead of for Egerton have already polled. The Committee, indeed, may refuse to vote for me; but then there isAvenel's body of reserve. Yes, the election is virtually over. When weget back, Hazeldean will have arrived with the money for the purchase ofmy ancestral property; Dr. Riccabocca is already restored to the estatesand titles of Serrano; what do I care further for Lord L'Estrange?Still, I do not like his look. "

"Pooh, you have done just what he wished. I am forbidden to say more. Here we are at the booth. A new placard since we left. How are thenumbers? Avenel forty ahead of you; you thirty above Egerton; andLeonard Fairfield still last on the poll. But where are Avenel andFairfield?" Both those candidates had disappeared, perhaps gone to theirown Committee-room. 

Meanwhile, as soon as the doors had closed on Randal and the baron, in the midst of the angry hubbub succeeding to their departure, LordL'Estrange sprang upon the table. The action and his look stilled everysound. 

"Gentlemen, it is in our hands to return one of our candidates, and tomake our own choice between the two. You have heard Mr. Leslie and BaronLevy. To their statement I make but this reply, --Mr. Egerton is neededby the country; and whatever his health or his affairs, he is ready torespond to that call. If he has not canvassed, if he does not appearbefore you at this moment, the services of more than twenty years pleadfor him in his stead. Which, then, of the two candidates do you chooseas your member, --a renowned statesman, or a beardless boy? Both haveambition and ability; the one has identified those qualities with thehistory of a country, and (as it is now alleged to his prejudice) witha devotion that has broken a vigorous frame and injured a princelyfortune. The other evinces his ambition by inviting you to prefer himto his benefactor, and proves his ability by the excuses he makes foringratitude. Choose between the two, --an Egerton or a Leslie. "

"Egerton forever!" cried all the assembly, as with a single voice, followed by a hiss for Leslie. 

"But, " said a grave and prudent Committee-man, "have we really thechoice? Does not that rest with the Yellows? Is not your Lordship toosanguine?"

"Open that door behind; a deputation from our opponents waits in theroom on the other side the passage. Admit them. "

The Committee were hushed in breathless silence while Harley's order wasobeyed. And soon, to their great surprise, Leonard Fairfield himself, attended by six of the principal members of the Yellow party, enteredthe room. 

LORD L'ESTRANGE. --"You have a proposition to make to us, Mr. Fairfield, on behalf of yourself and Mr. Avenel, and with the approval of yourCommittee?"

LEONARD (advancing to the table). --"I have. We are convinced thatneither party can carry both its candidates. Mr. Avenel is safe. Theonly question is, which of the two candidates on your side it bestbecomes the honour of this constituency to select. My resignation, whichI am about to tender, will free sufficient votes to give the triumpheither to Mr. Egerton or to Mr. Leslie. "

"Egerton forever!" cried once more the excited Blues. "Yes, Egertonforever!" said Leonard, with a glow upon his cheek. "We may differ fromhis politics, but who can tell us those of Mr. Leslie? We may differfrom the politician, but who would not feel proud of the senator? Agreat and incalculable advantage is bestowed on that constituency whichreturns to parliament a distinguished man. His distinction ennobles theplace he represents, it sustains public spirit, it augments the manlyinterest in all that affects the nation. Every time his voice hushes theassembled parliament, it reminds us of our common country; and even thediscussion amongst his constituents which his voice provokes, clearstheir perceptions of the public interest, and enlightens themselves, from the intellect which commands their interests, and compels theirattention. Egerton, then, forever! If our party must subscribe to thereturn of one opponent, let all unite to select the worthiest. MyLord L'Estrange, when I quit this room, it will be to announce myresignation, and to solicit those who have promised me their votes totransfer them to Mr. Audley Egerton. "

Amidst the uproarious huzzas which followed this speech, Leonard drewnear to Harley. "My Lord, I have obeyed your wishes, as conveyed to meby my uncle, who is engaged at this moment elsewhere in carrying theminto effect. "

"Leonard, " said Harley, in the same undertone, "you have insured toAudley Egerton what you alone could do, --the triumph over a perfidiousdependent, the continuance of the sole career in which he has hithertofound the solace or the zest of life. He must thank you with his ownlips. Come to the Park after the close of the poll. There and then shallthe explanations yet needful to both be given and received. "

Here Harley bowed to the assembly and raised his voice: "Gentlemen, yesterday, at the nomination of the candidates, I uttered remarks thathave justly pained Mr. Fairfield. In your presence I wholly retract andfrankly apologize for them. In your presence I entreat his forgiveness, and say, that if he will accord me his friendship, I will place himin my esteem and affection side by side with the statesman whom he hasgiven to his country. "

Leonard grasped the hand extended to him with both his own, and then, overcome by his emotions, hurried from the room; while Blues and Yellowsexchanged greetings, rejoiced in the compromise that would dispel allparty irritation, secure the peace of the borough, and allow quietmen, who had detested each other the day before, and vowed reciprocalinjuries to trade and custom, the indulgence of all amiable andfraternal feelings--until the next general election. 

In the mean while the polling had gone on slowly as before, but still tothe advantage of Randal. "Not two-thirds of the constituency will poll, "murmured Levy, looking at his watch. "The thing is decided. Aha, AudleyEgerton! you who once tortured me with the unspeakable jealousy thatbequeaths such implacable hate; you who scorned my society, and calledme 'scoundrel, ' disdainful of the very power your folly placed within myhands, --aha, your time is up! and the spirit that administered to yourown destruction strides within the circle to seize its prey!"

"You shall have my first frank, Levy, " said Randal, "to enclose yourletter to Mr. Thornhill's solicitor. This affair of the election isover; we must now look to what else rests on our hands. "

"What the devil is that placard?" cried Levy, turning pale. 

Randal looked, and right up the market-place, followed by an immensethrong, moved, high over the heads of all, a Yellow Board, that seemedmarching through the air, cometlike:--

 Two o'clock p. M. 

 RESIGNATION OF FAIRFIELD. 

 ------

 YELLOWS!

 Vote For

 AVENEL AND EGERTON. 

 (Signed) Timothy Alljack

 Yellow Committee Room. 

"What infernal treachery is this?" cried Randal, livid with honestindignation. 

"Wait a moment; there is Avenel!" exclaimed Levy; and at the head ofanother procession that emerged from the obscurer lanes of the town, walked, with grave majesty, the surviving Yellow candidate. Dickdisappeared for a moment within a grocer's shop in the broadest part ofthe place, and then culminated at the height of a balcony on the firststory, just above an enormous yellow canister, significant of theprofession and the politics of the householder. No sooner did Dick, hatin hand, appear on this rostrum, than the two processions halted below, bands ceased, flags drooped round their staves, crowds rushed withinhearing, and even the poll clerks sprang from the booth. Randal and Levythemselves pressed into the throng. Dick on the balcony was the Deus exmachina. 

"Freemen and electors!" said Dick, with his most sonorous accents, "finding that the public opinion of this independent and enlightenedconstituency is so evenly divided, that only one Yellow candidate can bereturned, and only one Blue has a chance, it was my intention last nightto retire from the contest, and thus put an end to all bickerings andill-blood (Hold your tongues there, can't you!). I say honestly, Ishould have preferred the return of my distinguished and talented youngnephew--honourable relation--to my own; but he would not hear of it, andtalked all our Committee into the erroneous but high-minded notion, thatthe town would cry shame if the nephew rode into parliament by breakingthe back of the uncle. " (Loud cheers from the mob, and partial cries of"We 'll have you both!")

"You'll do no such thing, and you know it; hold your jaw, " resumed Dick, with imperious good-humour. "Let me go on, can't you?--time presses. Ina word, my nephew resolved to retire, if, at two o'clock this day, therewas no chance of returning both of us; and there is none. Now, then, thenext thing for the Yellows who have not yet voted, is to consider howthey will give their second votes. If I had been the man to retire, why, for certain reasons, I should have recommended them to split withLeslie, --a clever chap, and pretty considerable sharp. "

"Hear, hear, hear!" cried the baron, lustily. 

"But I'm bound to say that my nephew has an opinion of his own, --as anindependent Britisher, let him be twice your nephew, ought to have; andhis opinion goes the other way, and so does that of our Committee. "

"Sold!" cried the baron; and some of the crowd shook their heads, andlooked grave, --especially those suspected of a wish to be bought. 

"Sold! Pretty fellow you with the nosegay in your buttonhole to talk ofselling! You who wanted to sell your own client, --and you know it. [Levyrecoiled. ] Why, gentlemen, that's Levy the Jew, who talks of selling!And if he asperses the character of this constituency, I stand here todefend it! And there stands the parish pump, with a handle for the armof Honesty, and a spout for the lips of Falsehood!"

At the close of this magniloquent period, borrowed, no doubt, from somegreat American orator, Baron Levy involuntarily retreated towards theshelter of the polling-booth, followed by some frowning Yellows withvery menacing gestures. 

"But the calumniator sneaks away; leave him to the reproach of hisconscience, " resumed Dick, with a generous magnanimity. 

"SOLD! [the word rang through the place like the blast of a trumpet]Sold! No, believe me, not a man who votes for Egerton insteadof Fairfield will, so far as I am concerned, be a penny thebetter--[chilling silence]--or [with a scarce perceivable winktowards the anxious faces of the Hundred and Fifty who filled thebackground]--or a penny the worse. [Loud cheers from the Hundred andFifty, and cries of 'Noble!'] I don't like the politics of Mr. Egerton. But I am not only a politician, --I am a MAN! The arguments of ourrespected Committee--persons in business, tender husbands, and devotedfathers--have weight with me. I myself am a husband and a father. If aneedless contest be prolonged to the last, with all the irritationsit engenders, who suffer?--why, the tradesman and the operative. Partiality, loss of custom, tyrannical demands for house rent, noticesto quit, --in a word, the screw!"

"Hear, hear!" and "Give us the Ballot!"

"The Ballot--with all my heart, if I had it about me! And if we had theBallot, I should like to see a man dare to vote Blue. [Loud cheers fromthe Yellows. ] But, as we have not got it, we must think of our families. And I may add, that though Mr. Egerton may come again into office, yet[added Dick solemnly] I will do my best, as his colleague, to keep himstraight; and your own enlightenment (for the schoolmaster is abroad)will show him that no minister can brave public opinion, nor quarrelwith his own bread and butter. [Much cheering. ] In these times thearistocracy must endear themselves to the middle and working class; anda member in office has much to give away in the Stamps and Excise, inthe Customs, the Post Office, and other State departments in thisrotten old--I mean this magnificent empire, by which he can benefit hisconstituents, and reconcile the prerogatives of aristocracy with theclaims of the people, --more especially in this case, the people of theborough of Lausmere. [Hear, hear!]

"And therefore, sacrificing party inclinations (since it seems thatI can in no way promote them) on the Altar of General Good Feeling, Icannot oppose the resignation of my nephew, --honourable relation!--norblind my eyes to the advantages that may result to a borough soimportant to the nation at large, if the electors think fit to choose myRight Honourable brother--I mean the Right Honourable Blue candidate--asmy brother colleague. Not that I presume to dictate, or express a wishone way or the other; only, as a Family Man, I say to you, Electors andFreemen, having served your country in returning me, you have nobly wonthe right to think of the little ones at home. "

Dick put his hand to his heart, bowed gracefully, and retired from thebalcony amidst unanimous applause. 

In three minutes more Dick had resumed his place in the booth in hisquality of candidate. A rush of Yellow electors poured in, hot and fast. Up came Emanuel Trout, and, in a firm voice, recorded his vote, "Aveneland Egerton. " Every man of the Hundred and Fifty so polled. To eachquestion, "Whom do you vote for?" "Avenel and Egerton" knelled on theears of Randal Leslie with "damnable iteration. " The young man foldedhis arms across his breast in dogged despair. Levy had to shake handsfor Mr. Egerton with a rapidity that took away his breath. He longed toslink away, --longed to get at L'Estrange, whom he supposed would beas wroth at this turn in the wheel of fortune as himself. But how, asEgerton's representative, escape from the continuous gripes of thosehorny hands? Besides, there stood the parish pump, right in face of thebooth, and some huge truculent-looking Yellows loitered round it, asif ready to pounce on him the instant he quitted his present sanctuary. Suddenly the crowd round the booth receded; Lord L'Estrange's carriagedrove up to the spot, and Harley, stepping from it, assisted out of thevehicle an old, gray-haired, paralytic man. The old man stared roundhim, and nodded smilingly to the mob. "I'm here, -I'm come; I'm but apoor creature, but I'm a good Blue to the last!"

"Old John Avenel, --fine old John!" cried many a voice. 

And John Avenel, still leaning on Harley's arm, tottered into the booth, and plumped for "Egerton. "

"Shake hands, Father, " said Dick, bending forward, "though you'll notvote for me. "

"I was a Blue before you were born, " answered the old man, tremulously;"but I wish you success all the same, and God bless you, my boy!"

Even the poll-clerks were touched; and when Dick, leaving his place, wasseen by the crowd assisting Lord L'Estrange to place poor John againin the carriage, that picture of family love in the midst of politicaldifference--of the prosperous, wealthy, energetic son, who, as a boy, had played at marbles in the very kennel, and who had risen in lifeby his own exertions, and was now virtually M. P. For his native town, tending on the broken-down, aged father, whom even the interests ofa son he was so proud of could not win from the colours which heassociated with truth and rectitude--had such an effect upon the rudestof the mob there present, that you might have heard a pin fall, --tillthe carriage drove away back to John's humble home; and then there rosesuch a tempest of huzzas! John Avenel's vote for Egerton gave anotherturn to the vicissitudes of that memorable election. As yet Avenel hadbeen ahead of Audley; but a plumper in favour of Egerton, from Avenel'sown father, set an example and gave an excuse to many a Blue who had notyet voted, and could not prevail on himself to split his vote betweenDick and Audley; and, therefore, several leading tradesmen, who, seeingthat Egerton was safe, had previously resolved not to vote at all, cameup in the last hour, plumped for Egerton, and carried him to the headof the poll; so that poor John, whose vote, involving that of MarkFairfield, had secured the first opening in public life to the youngambition of the unknown son-in-law, still contributed to connect withsuccess and triumph, but also with sorrow, and, it may be, with death, the names of the high-born Egerton and the humble Avenel. 

The great town-clock strikes the hour of four; the returning officerdeclares the poll closed; the formal announcement of the result willbe made later. But all the town knows that Audley Egerton and RichardAvenel are the members for Lausmere. And flags stream, and drums beat, and men shake each other by the hand heartily; and there is talk of thechairing to-morrow; and the public-houses are crowded; and there is anindistinct hubbub in street and alley, with sudden bursts of uproariousshouting; and the clouds to the west look red and lurid round the sun, which has gone down behind the church tower, --behind the yew-trees thatovershadow the quiet grave of Nora Avenel. 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

Amidst the darkening shadows of twilight, Randal Leslie walked throughLansmere Park towards the house. He had slunk away before the poll wasclosed, --crept through bylanes, and plunged into the leafless copsesof the earl's stately pasture-grounds. Amidst the bewilderment ofhis thoughts--at a loss to conjecture how this strange mischance hadbefallen him, inclined to ascribe it to Leonard's influence over Avenel, but suspecting Harley, and half doubtful of Baron Levy--he sought toascertain what fault of judgment he himself had committed, what wile hehad forgotten, what thread in his web he had left ragged and incomplete. He could discover none. His ability seemed to him unimpeachable, --totus, teres, atque rotundas. And then there came across his breast a sharppang, --sharper than that of baffled ambition, --the feeling that he hadbeen deceived and bubbled and betrayed. For so vital a necessity to allliving men is TRUTH, that the vilest traitor feels amazed and wronged, feels the pillars of the world shaken, when treason recoils on himself. "That Richard Avenel, whom I trusted, could so deceive me!" murmuredRandal, and his lip quivered. 

He was still in the midst of the Park, when a man with a yellow cockadein his hat, and running fast from the direction of the town, overtookhim with a letter, on delivering which the messenger, waiting for noanswer, hastened back the way he had come. Randal recognized Avenel'shand on the address, broke the seal, and read as follows:

 (Private and Confidential. )

 DEAR LESLIE, --Don't be down-hearted, --you will know to-night or to-morrow why I have had cause to alter my opinion as to the Right Honourable; and you will see that I could not, as a Family Man, act otherwise than I have done. Though I have not broken my word to you, --for you remember that all the help I promised was dependent on my own resignation, and would go for nothing if Leonard resigned instead, --yet I feel you must think yourself rather bamboozled. But I have been obliged to sacrifice you, from a sense of Family Duty, as you will soon acknowledge. My own nephew is sacrificed also; and I have sacrificed my own concerns, which require the whole man of me for the next year or two at Screwstown. So we are all in the same boat, though you may think you are set adrift by yourself. But I don't mean to stay in parliament. I shall take the Chiltern Hundreds, pretty considerable soon. And if you keep well with the Blues, I'll do my best with the Yellows to let you walk over the course in my stead. For I don't think Leonard will want to stand again. And so a word to the wise, --and you may yet be member for Lansmere. 

 R. A. 

In this letter, Randal, despite all his acuteness, could not detect thehonest compunction of the writer. He could at first only look at theworst side of human nature, and fancy that it was a paltry attemptto stifle his just anger and ensure his discretion; but, on secondthoughts, it struck him that Dick might very naturally be glad to bereleased to his mill, and get a quid pro quo out of Randal, under thecomprehensive title, "repayment of expenses. " Perhaps Dick was notsorry to wait until Randal's marriage gave him the means to make therepayment. Nay, perhaps Randal had been thrown over for the present, in order to wring from him better terms in a single election. Thusreasoning, he took comfort from his belief in the mercenary motives ofanother. True; it might be but a short disappointment. Before the nextparliament was a month old, he might yet take his seat in it as memberfor Lansmere. But all would depend on his marriage with the heiress; hemust hasten that. 

Meanwhile, it was necessary to knit and gather up all his thought, courage, and presence of mind. How he shrunk from return to LansmereHouse, --from facing Egerton, Harley, all. But there was no choice. Hewould have to make it up with the Blues, --to defend the course he hadadopted in the Committee-room. There, no doubt, was Squire Hazeldeanawaiting him with the purchase-money for the lands of Rood; therewas the Duke di Serrano, restored to wealth and honour; there was hispromised bride, the great heiress, on whom depended all that couldraise the needy gentleman into wealth and position. Gradually, with theelastic temper that is essential to a systematic schemer, Randal Leslieplucked himself from the pain of brooding over a plot that was defeated, to prepare himself for consummating those that yet seemed so nearsuccess. After all, should he fail in regaining Egerton's favour, Egerton was of use no more. He might rear his head, and face out whatsome might call "ingratitude, " provided he could but satisfy the BlueCommittee. Dull dogs, how could he fail to do that! He could easilytalk over the Machiavellian sage. He should have small difficulty inexplaining all to the content of Audley's distant brother, the squire. Harley alone--but Levy had so positively assured him that Harley was notsincerely anxious for Egerton; and as to the more important explanationrelative to Peschiera, surely what had satisfied Violante's father oughtto satisfy a man who had no peculiar right to demand explanations atall; and if these explanations did not satisfy, the onus to disprovethem must rest with Harley; and who or what could contradict Randal'splausible assertions, --assertions in support of which he himself couldsummon a witness in Baron Levy? Thus nerving himself to all that couldtask his powers, Randal Leslie crossed the threshold of Lansmere House, and in the hall he found the baron awaiting him. 

"I can't account, " said Levy, "for what has gone so cross in thisconfounded election. It is L'Estrange that puzzles me; but I know thathe hates Egerton. I know that he will prove that hate by one mode ofrevenge, if he has lost it in another. But it is well, Randal, thatyou are secure of Hazeldean's money and the rich heiress's hand;otherwise--"

"Otherwise, what?"

"I should wash my hands of you, mon cher; for, in spite of all yourcleverness, and all I have tried to do for you, somehow or other Ibegin to suspect that your talents will never secure your fortune. Acarpenter's son beats you in public speaking, and a vulgar mill-ownertricks you in private negotiation. Decidedly, as yet, Randal Leslie, youare--a failure. And, as you so admirably said, 'a man from whom we havenothing to hope or fear we must blot out of the map of the future. '"

Randal's answer was cut short by the appearance of the groom of thechambers. 

"My Lord is in the saloon, and requests you and Mr. Leslie will do himthe honour to join him there. " The two gentlemen followed the servant upthe broad stairs. 

The saloon formed the centre room of the suite of apartments. From itssize, it was rarely used save on state occasions. It had the chilly andformal aspect of rooms reserved for ceremony. 

Riccabocca, Violante, Helen, Mr. Dale, Squire Hazeldean, and LordL'Estrange were grouped together by the cold Florentine marble table, not littered with books and female work, and the endearing signs ofhabitation, that give a living smile to the face of home; nothingthereon save a great silver candelabrum, that scarcely lighted thespacious room, and brought out the portraits on the walls as a part ofthe assembly, looking, as portraits do look, with searching, curiouseyes upon every eye that turns to them. 

But as soon as Randal entered, the squire detached himself from thegroup, and, coming to the defeated candidate, shook hands with himheartily. 

"Cheer up, my boy; 't is no shame to be beaten. Lord L'Estrange says youdid your best to win, and man can do no more. And I'm glad, Leslie, thatwe don't meet for our little business till the election is over; for, after annoyance, something pleasant is twice as acceptable. I've themoney in my pocket. Hush! and I say, my dear, dear boy, I cannot findout where Frank is, but it is really all off with that foreign woman, eh?"

"Yes, indeed, sir, I hope so. I'll talk to you about it when we can bealone. We may slip away presently, I trust. "

"I'll tell you a secret scheme of mine and Harry's, " said the squire, ina still low whisper. "We, must drive that marchioness, or whatevershe is, out of the boy's head, and put a pretty English girl into itinstead. That will settle him in life too. And I must try and swallowthat bitter pill of the post-obit. Harry makes worse of it than I do, and is so hard on the poor fellow that I've been obliged to take hispart. I've no idea of being under petticoat government, it is not theway with the Hazeldeans. Well, but to come back to the point: Whom doyou think I mean by the pretty girl?"

"Miss Sticktorights?"

"Zounds, no!--your own little sister, Randal. Sweet pretty face! Harryliked her from the first, and then you'll be Frank's brother, and yoursound head and good heart will keep him right. And as you are going tobe married too (you must tell me all about that later), why, we shallhave two marriages, perhaps, in the family on the same day. "

Randal's hand grasped the squire's, and with an emotion of humangratitude, --for we know that, hard to all else, he had natural feelingsfor his fallen family; and his neglected sister was the one being onearth whom he might almost be said to love. With all his intellectualdisdain for honest simple Frank, he knew no one in the world with whomhis young sister could be more secure and happy. Transferred to theroof, and improved by the active kindness, of Mrs. Hazeldean, blestin the manly affection of one not too refined to censure her owndeficiencies of education, what more could he ask for his sister, as hepictured her to himself, with her hair hanging over her ears, and hermind running into seed over some trashy novel. But before he couldreply, Violante's father came to add his own philosophical consolationsto the squire's downright comfortings. 

"Who could ever count on popular caprice? The wise of all ages haddespised it. In that respect, Horace and Machiavelli were of the samemind, " etc. "But, " said the duke, with emphatic kindness "perhaps yourvery misfortune here may serve you elsewhere. The female heart is proneto pity, and ever eager to comfort. Besides, if I am recalled to Italy, you will have leisure to come with us, and see the land where, of allothers, ambition can be most readily forgotten, even" added the Italianwith a sigh--"even by her own sons!"

Thus addressed by both Hazeldean and the duke, Randal recovered hisspirits. It was clear that Lord L'Estrange had not conveyed to themany unfavourable impression of his conduct in the Committee-room. WhileRandal had been thus engaged, Levy had made his way to Harley, whoretreated with the baron into the bay of the great window. 

"Well, my Lord, do you comprehend this conduct on the part of RichardAvenel? He secure Egerton's return!--he!"

"What so natural, Baron Levy, --his own brother-in-law?" The baronstarted, and turned very pale. 

"But how did he know that? I never told him. I meant indeed--"

"Meant, perhaps, to shame Egerton's pride at the last by publiclydeclaring his marriage with a shopkeeper's daughter. A very good revengestill left to you; but revenge for what? A word with you, now, Baron, that our acquaintance is about to close forever. You know why I havecause for resentment against Egerton. I do but suspect yours; will youmake it clear to me?"

"My Lord, my Lord, " faltered Baron Levy, "I, too, wooed Nora Avenel asmy wife; I, too, had a happier rival in the haughty worldling who didnot appreciate his own felicity; I too--in a word, some women inspire anaffection that mingles with the entire being of a man, and is fused withall the currents of his life-blood. Nora Avenel was one of those women. "

Harley was startled. This burst of emotion from a man so corrupt andcynical arrested even the scorn he felt for the usurer. Levy soonrecovered himself. "But our revenge is not baffled yet. Egerton, if notalready in my power, is still in yours. His election may save him fromarrest, but the law has other modes of public exposure and effectualruin. "

"For the knave, yes, --as I intimated to you in your own house, --you whoboast of your love to Nora Avenel, and know in your heart that you wereher destroyer; you who witnessed her marriage, and yet dared to tell herthat she was dishonoured!"

"My Lord--I--how could you know--I mean, how think that--that--"faltered Levy, aghast. 

"Nora Avenel has spoken from her grave, " replied Harley, solemnly. "Learn that, wherever man commits a crime, Heaven finds a witness!"

"It is on me, then, " said Levy, wrestling against a superstitious thrillat his heart--"on me that you now concentre your vengeance; and I mustmeet it as I may. But I have fulfilled my part of our compact. I haveobeyed you implicitly--and--"

"I will fulfil my part of our bond, and leave you undisturbed in yourwealth. "

"I knew I might trust to your Lordship's honour, " exclaimed the usurer, in servile glee. 

"And this vile creature nursed the same passions as myself; and butyesterday we were partners in the same purpose, and influenced by thesame thought!" muttered Harley to himself. "Yes, " he said aloud, "Idare not, Baron Levy, constitute myself your judge. Pursue your ownpath, --all roads meet at last before the common tribunal. But you arenot yet released from our compact; you must do some good in spite ofyourself. Look yonder, where Randal Leslie stands, smiling secure, between the two dangers he has raised up for himself. And as RandalLeslie himself has invited me to be his judge, and you are aware thathe cited yourself this very day as his witness, here I must expose theguilty; for here the innocent still live, and need defence. "

Harley turned away, and took his place by the table. "I have wished, "said he, raising his voice, "to connect with the triumph of my earliestand dearest friend the happiness of others in whose welfare I feel aninterest. To you, Alphonso, Duke of Serrano, I now give this despatch, received last evening by a special messenger from the Prince Von ------, announcing your restoration to your lands and honours. "

The squire stared with open mouth. "Rickeybockey a duke? Why, Jemima's aduchess! Bless me, she is actually crying!" And his good heart promptedhim to run to his cousin and cheer her up a bit. 

Violante glanced at Harley, and flung herself on her father's breast. Randal involuntarily rose, and moved to the duke's chair. 

"And you, Mr. Randal Leslie, " continued Harley, "though you have lostyour election, see before you at this moment such prospects of wealthand happiness, that I shall only have to offer you congratulations towhich those that greet Mr. Audley Egerton may well appear lukewarm andinsipid, provided you prove that you have not forfeited the right toclaim that promise which the Duke di Serrano has accorded to thesuitor of his daughter's hand. Some doubts resting on my mind, you havevolunteered to dispel them. I have the duke's permission to address toyou a few questions, and I now avail myself of your offer to reply tothem. "

"Now, --and here, my Lord?" said Randal, glancing round the room, as ifdeprecating the presence of so many witnesses. "Now, --and here. Nor arethose present so strange to your explanations as your question wouldimply. Mr. Hazeldean, it so happens that much of what I shall say to Mr. Leslie concerns your son. "

Randal's countenance fell. An uneasy tremor now seized him. 

"My son! Frank? Oh, then, of course, Randal will speak out. Speak, myboy!"

Randal remained silent. The duke looked at his working face, and drewaway his chair. 

"Young man, can you hesitate?" said he. "A doubt is expressed whichinvolves your honour. "

"'s death!" cried the squire, also gazing on Randal's cowering eye andquivering lip, "what are you afraid of?"

"Afraid!" said Randal, forced into speech, and with a hollowlaugh--"afraid?--I? What of? I was only wondering what Lord L'Estrangecould mean. "

"I will dispel that wonder at once. Mr. Hazeldean, your son displeasedyou first by his proposals of marriage to the Marchesa di Negra againstyour consent; secondly, by a post-obit bond granted to Baron Levy. Didyou understand from Mr. Randal Leslie that he had opposed or favouredthe said marriage, --that he had countenanced or blamed the saidpost-obit?"

"Why, of course, " cried the squire, "that he had opposed both the oneand the other. "

"Is it so, Mr. Leslie?"

"My Lord--I--I--my affection for Frank, and my esteem for his respectedfather--I--I--" (He nerved himself, and went on with firm voice)--"Ofcourse, I did all I could to dissuade Frank from the marriage; and as tothe post-obit, I know nothing about it. "

"So much at present for this matter. I pass on to the graver one, that affects your engagement with the Duke di Serrano's daughter. Iunderstand from you, Duke, that to save your daughter from the snaresof Count di Peschiera, and in the belief that Mr. Leslie shared inyour dread of the count's designs, you, while in exile and in poverty, promised to that gentleman your daughter's hand? When the probabilitiesof restoration to your principalities seemed well-nigh certain, youconfirmed that promise on learning from Mr. Leslie that he had, howeverineffectively, struggled to preserve your heiress from a perfidioussnare. Is it not so?"

"Certainly. Had I succeeded to a throne, I could not recall the promisethat I had given in penury and banishment; I could not refuse to him whowould have sacrificed worldly ambition in wedding a penniless bride, thereward of his own generosity. My daughter subscribes to my views. "

Violante trembled, and her hands were locked together; but her gaze wasfixed on Harley. 

Mr. Dale wiped his eyes, and thought of the poor refugee feeding onminnows, and preserving himself from debt amongst the shades of theCasino. 

"Your answer becomes you, Duke, " resumed Harley. "But should it beproved that Mr. Leslie, instead of wooing the princess for herself, actually calculated on the receipt of money for transferring her toCount Peschiera; instead of saving her from the dangers you dreaded, actually suggested the snare from which she was delivered, --would youstill deem your honour engaged to--"

"Such a villain? No, surely not!" exclaimed the duke. "But this is agroundless hypothesis! Speak, Randal. "

"Lord L'Estrange cannot insult me by deeming it otherwise than agroundless hypothesis!" said Randal, striving to rear his head. 

"I understand then, Mr. Leslie, that you scornfully reject such asupposition?"

"Scornfully--yes. And, " continued Randal, advancing a step, "since thesupposition has been made, I demand from Lord L'Estrange, as his equal(for all gentlemen are equals where honour is to be defended at the costof life), either instant retractation--or instant proof. "

"That's the first word you have spoken like a man, " cried the squire. "Ihave stood my ground myself for a less cause. I have had a ball throughmy right shoulder. "

"Your demand is just, " said Harley, unmoved. "I cannot give theretractation, --I will produce the proof. "

He rose and rang the bell; the servant entered, received his whisperedorder, and retired. There was a pause painful to all. Randal, however, ran over in his fearful mind what evidence could be brought againsthim--and foresaw none. The folding doors of the saloon were thrown openand the servant announced--

 THE COUNT DI PESCHIERA. 

A bombshell, descending through the roof could not have produced a morestartling sensation. Erect, bold, with all the imposing effect of hisform and bearing, the count strode into the centre of the ring; andafter a slight bend of haughty courtesy, which comprehended all present, reared up his lofty head, and looked round, with calm in his eye and acurve on his lip, --the self-assured, magnificent, high-bred Daredevil. 

"Duke di Serrano, " said the count, in English, turning towards hisastounded kinsman, and in a voice that, slow, clear, and firm, seemed tofill the room, "I returned to England on the receipt of a letter from myLord L'Estrange, and with a view, it is true, of claiming at his handsthe satisfaction which men of our birth accord to each other, whereaffront, from what cause soever, has been given or received. Nay, fairkinswoman, "--and the count, with a slight but grave smile, bowed toViolante, who had uttered a faint cry, --"that intention is abandoned. IfI have adopted too lightly the old courtly maxim, that 'all stratagemsare fair in love, ' I am bound also to yield to my Lord L'Estrange'sarguments, that the counter-stratagems must be fair also. And, afterall, it becomes me better to laugh at my own sorry figure in defeat, than to confess myself gravely mortified by an ingenuity more successfulthan my own. " The count paused, and his eye lightened with sinisterfire, which ill suited the raillery of his tone and the polished ease ofhis bearing. "Ma foi!" he continued, "it is permitted me to speak thus, since at least I have given proofs of my indifference to danger, and mygood fortune when exposed to it. Within the last six years I havehad the honour to fight nine duels, and the regret to wound five, anddismiss from the world four, as gallant and worthy gentlemen as ever thesun shone upon. "

"Monster!" faltered the parson. 

The squire stared aghast, and mechanically rubbed the shoulder which hadbeen lacerated by Captain Dashinore's bullet. Randal's pale face grewyet more pale, and the eye he had fixed upon the count's hardy visagequailed and fell. 

"But, " resumed the count, with a graceful wave of the hand, "I have tothank my Lord L'Estrange for reminding me that a man whose courage isabove suspicion is privileged not only to apologize if he has injuredanother, but to accompany apology with atonement. Duke of Serrano, it isfor that purpose that I am here. My Lord, you have signified your wishto ask me some questions of serious import as regards the duke and hisdaughter; I will answer them without reserve. "

"Monsieur le Comte, " said Harley, "availing myself of your courtesy, I presume to inquire who informed you that this young lady was a guestunder my father's roof?"

"My informant stands yonder, --Mr. Randal Leslie; and I call upon BaronLevy to confirm my statement. "

"It is true, " said the baron, slowly, and as if overmastered by the toneand mien of an imperious chieftain. 

There came a low sound like a hiss from Randal's livid lips. 

"And was Mr. Leslie acquainted with your project for securing the personand hand of your young kinswoman?"

"Certainly, --and Baron Levy knows it. " The baron bowed assent. "Permitme to add--for it is due to a lady nearly related to myself--that itwas, as I have since learned, certain erroneous representations made toher by Mr. Leslie which alone induced that lady, after my own argumentshad failed, to lend her aid to a project which otherwise she wouldhave condemned as strongly as, Duke di Serrano, I now with unfeignedsincerity do myself condemn it. "

There was about the count, as he thus spoke, so much of that personaldignity which, whether natural or artificial, imposes for the momentupon human judgment, --a dignity so supported by the singular advantagesof his superb stature, his handsome countenance, his patricianair, --that the duke, moved by his good heart, extended his hand to theperfidious kinsman, and forgot all the Machiavellian wisdom which shouldhave told him how little a man of the count's hardened profligacywas likely to be influenced by any purer motives, whether to frankconfession or to manly repentance. The count took the hand thus extendedto him, and bowed his face, perhaps to conceal the smile which wouldhave betrayed his secret soul. Randal still remained mute, and paleas death. His tongue clove to his mouth. He felt that all present wereshrinking from his side. At last, with a violent effort, he falteredout, in broken sentences, "A charge so sudden may well--may well confound me. But--but--who cancredit it? Both the law and commonsense pre-suppose some motive for acriminal action; what could be my motive here? I--myself the suitor forthe hand of the duke's daughter--I betray her! Absurd--absurd! Duke, Duke, I put it to your own knowledge of mankind whoever goes thusagainst his own interest--and--and his own heart?"

This appeal, however feebly made, was not without effect on thephilosopher. "That is true, " said the duke, dropping his kinsman's hand;"I see no motive. "

"Perhaps, " said Harley, "Baron Levy may here enlighten us. Do you knowof any motive of self-interest that could have actuated Mr. Leslie inassisting the count's schemes?"

Levy hesitated. The count took up the word. "Pardieu!" said he, in hisclear tone of determination and will--"pardieu! I can have no doubtthrown on my assertion, least of all by those who know of its truth; andI call upon you, Baron Levy, to state whether, in case of my marriagewith the duke's daughter, I had not agreed to present my sister witha sum, to which she alleged some ancient claim, and which would havepassed through your hands?"

"Certainly, that is true, " said the baron. 

"And would Mr. Leslie have benefited by any portion of that sum?"

Levy paused again. 

"Speak, sir, " said the count, frowning. 

"The fact is, " said the baron, "that Mr. Leslie was anxious to completea purchase of certain estates that had once belonged to his family, andthat the count's marriage with the signora, and his sister's marriagewith Mr. Hazeldean, would have enabled me to accommodate Mr. Leslie witha loan to effect that purchase. "

"What! what!" exclaimed the squire, hastily buttoning his breast-pocketwith one hand, while he seized Randal's arm with the other--"my son'smarriage! You lent yourself to that, too? Don't look so like a lashedhound! Speak out like a man, if man you be!"

"Lent himself to that, my good sir!" said the count. "Do you supposethat the Marchesa di Negra could have condescended to an alliance with aMr. Hazeldean--"

"Condescended! a Hazeldean of Hazeldean!" exclaimed the squire, turningfiercely, and half choked with indignation. "Unless, " continued thecount, imperturbably, "she had been compelled by circumstances to dothat said Mr. Hazeldean the honour to accept a pecuniary accommodation, which she had no other mode to discharge? And here, sir, the familyof Hazeldean, I am bound to say, owe a great debt of gratitude to Mr. Leslie; for it was he who most forcibly represented to her the necessityfor this misalliance; and it was he, I believe, who suggested to myfriend the baron the mode by which Mr. Hazeldean was best enabled toafford the accommodation my sister deigned to accept. "

"Mode! the post-obit!" ejaculated the squire, relinquishing his hold ofRandal to lay his gripe upon Levy. 

The baron shrugged his shoulders. "Any friend of Mr. Frank Hazeldean'swould have recommended the same, as the most economical mode of raisingmoney. "

Parson Dale, who had at first been more shocked than any one present atthese gradual revelations of Randal's treachery, now turning his eyestowards the young man, was so seized with commiseration at the sight ofRandal's face, that he laid his hand on Harley's arm, and whispered him, "Look, look at that countenance!--and one so young! Spare him, sparehim!"

"Mr. Leslie, " said Harley, in softened tones, "believe me that nothingshort of justice to the Duke di Serrano--justice even to my young friendMr. Hazeldean--has compelled me to this painful duty. Here let allinquiry terminate. "

"And, " said the count, with exquisite blandness, "since I have beeninformed by my Lord L'Estrange that Mr. Leslie has represented as aserious act on his part that personal challenge to myself, which Iunderstood was but a pleasant and amicable arrangement in our baffledscheme, let me assure Mr. Leslie that if he be not satisfied with theregret that I now express for the leading share I have taken in thesedisclosures, I am wholly at Mr. Leslie's service. "

"Peace, homicide, " cried the parson, shuddering; and he glided tothe side of the detected sinner, from whom all else had recoiled inloathing. 

Craft against craft, talent against talent, treason against treason--inall this Randal Leslie would have risen superior to Giulio di Peschiera. But what now crushed him was not the superior intellect, --it was thesheer brute power of audacity and nerve. Here stood the careless, unblushing villain, making light of his guilt, carrying it away fromdisgust itself, with resolute look and front erect. There stood theabler, subtler, profounder criminal, cowering, abject, pitiful; thepower of mere intellectual knowledge shivered into pieces against thebrazen metal with which the accident of constitution often arms someignobler nature. 

The contrast was striking, and implied that truth so universally felt, yet so little acknowledged in actual life, that men with audacityand force of character can subdue and paralyze those far superior tothemselves in ability and intelligence. It was these qualities whichmade Peschiera Randal's master; nay, the very physical attributes ofthe count, his very voice and form, his bold front and unshrinking eye, overpowered the acuter mind of the refining schemer, as in a popularassembly some burly Cleon cows into timorous silence every dissentientsage. But Randal turned in sullen impatience from the parson's whisper, that breathed comfort or urged repentance; and at length said, withclearer tones than he had yet mustered, "It is not a personal conflict with the Count di Peschiera thatcan vindicate my honour; and I disdain to defend myself against theaccusations of a usurer, and of a mam who--"

"Monsieur!" said the count, drawing himself up. 

"A man who, " persisted Randal, though he trembled visibly, "by his ownconfession, was himself guilty of all the schemes in which he wouldrepresent me as his accomplice, and who now, not clearing himself, wouldyet convict another--"

"Cher petit monsieur!" said the count, with his grand air of disdain, "when men like me make use of men like you, we reward them for a serviceif rendered, or discard them if the service be not done; and if Icondescend to confess and apologize for any act I have committed, surely Mr. Randal Leslie might do the same without disparagement tohis dignity. But I should never, sir, have taken the trouble to appearagainst you, had you not, as I learn, pretended to the hand of the ladywhom I had hoped, with less presumption, to call my bride; and in this, how can I tell that you have not tricked and betrayed me? Is thereanything in our past acquaintance that warrants me to believe that, instead of serving me, you sought but to serve yourself? Be that as itmay, I had but one mode of repairing to the head of my house the wrongsI have done him, and that was by saving his daughter from a derogatoryalliance with an impostor who had abetted my schemes for hire, and whonow would filch for himself their fruit. "

"Duke!" exclaimed Randal. 

The duke turned his back. Randal extended his hands to the squire. "Mr. Hazeldean--what? you, too, condemn me, and unheard?"

"Unheard!--zounds, no! If you have anything to say, speak truth, andshame the devil. "

"I abet Frank's marriage! I sanction the post-obit! Oh!" cried Randal, clinging to a straw, "if Frank himself were but here!"

Harley's compassion vanished before this sustained hypocrisy. 

"You wish for the presence of Frank Hazeldean? It is just. " Harleyopened the door of the inner room, and Frank appeared at the entrance. 

"My son! my son!" cried the squire, rushing forward, and clasping Frankto his broad, fatherly breast. 

This affecting incident gave a sudden change to the feelings of theaudience, and for a moment Randal himself was forgotten. The youngman seized that moment. Reprieved, as it were, from the glare ofcontemptuous, accusing eyes, slowly he crept to the door, slowly andnoiselessly, as the viper, when it is wounded, drops its crest andglides writhing through the grass. Levy followed him to the threshold, and whispered in his ear, "I could not help it, --you would have done the same by me. You see youhave failed in everything; and when a man fails completely, we bothagreed that we must give him up altogether. "

Randal said not a word, and the baron marked his shadow fall on thebroad stairs, stealing down, down, step after step, till it faded fromthe stones. 

"But he was of some use, " muttered Levy. "His treachery and his exposurewill gall the childless Egerton. Some little revenge still!"

The count touched the arm of the musing usurer, "J'ai bien joue mon role, n'est ce pas?"--(I have well played my part, have I not?)

"Your part! Ah, but, my dear count, I do not quite understand it. "

"Ma foi, you are passably dull. I had just been landed in France, whena letter from L'Estrange reached me. It was couched as an invitation, which I interpreted to--the duello. Such invitations I never refuse. I replied: I came hither, took my lodgings at an inn. My Lord seeks melast night. 

"I begin in the tone you may suppose. Pardieu! he is clever, milord! Heshows me a letter from the Prince Von -----, Alphonse's recall, my ownbanishment. He places before me, but with admirable suavity, the optionof beggary and ruin, or an honourable claim on Alphonso's gratitude. Andas for that petit monsieur, do you think I could quietly contemplate myown tool's enjoyment of all I had lost myself? Nay, more, if that youngHarpagon were Alphonso's son-inlaw, could the duke have a whisperer athis ear more fatal to my own interests? To be brief, I saw at a glancemy best course. I have adopted it. The difficulty was to extricatemyself as became a man de sang et de jeu. If I have done so, congratulate me. Alphonso has taken my hand, and I now leave it to himto attend to my fortunes, and clear up my repute. "

"If you are going to London, " said Levy, "my carriage, ere this, must beat the door, and I shall be proud to offer you a seat, and converse withyou on your prospects. But, peste, mon cher, your fall has been from agreat height, and any other man would have broken his bones. "

"Strength is ever light, " said the count, smiling; "and it does notfall; it leaps down and rebounds. "

Levy looked at the count, and blamed himself for having disparagedPeschiera and overrated Randal. 

While this conference went on, Harley was by Violante's side. 

"I have kept my promise to you, " said he, with a kind of tenderhumility. "Are you still so severe on me?"

"Ah, " answered Violante, gazing on his noble brow, with all a woman'spride in her eloquent, admiring eyes, "I have heard from Mr. Dale thatyou have achieved a conquest over yourself, which makes me ashamed tothink that I presumed to doubt how your heart would speak when a momentof wrath (though of wrath so just) had passed away. "

"No, Violante, do not acquit me yet; witness my revenge (for I have notforegone it), and then let my heart speak, and breathe its prayer thatthe angel voice, which it now beats to hear, may still be its guardianmonitor. "

"What is this?" cried an amazed voice; and Harley, turning round, sawthat the duke was by his side; and, glancing with ludicrous surprise, now to Harley, now to Violante, "Am I to understand that you--"

"Have freed you from one suitor for this dear hand, to become myselfyour petitioner!"

"Corpo di Bacco!" cried the sage, almost embracing Harley, "this, indeed, is joyful news. But I must not again make a rash pledge, --notagain force my child's inclinations. And Violante; you see, is runningaway. "

The duke stretched out his arm, and detained his child. He drew herto his breast, and whispered in her ear. Violante blushed crimson, andrested her head on his shoulder. Harley eagerly pressed forward. 

"There, " said the duke, joining Harley's hand with his daughter's, "Idon't think I shall hear much more of the convent; but anything of thissort I never suspected. If there be a language in the world for whichthere is no lexicon nor grammar, it is that which a woman thinks in, butnever speaks. "

"It is all that is left of the language spoken in paradise, " saidHarley. 

"In the dialogue between Eve and the serpent, --yes, " quoth theincorrigible sage. "But who comes here?--our friend Leonard. "

Leonard now entered the room; but Harley could scarcely greet him, before he was interrupted by the count. "Milord, " said Peschiera, beckoning him aside, "I have fulfilled my promise, and I will now leaveyour roof. Baron Levy returns to London, and offers me a seat in hiscarriage, which is already, I believe, at your door. The duke and hisdaughter will readily forgive me if I do not ceremoniously bidthem farewell. In our altered positions, it does not become me toointrusively to claim kindred; it became me only to remove, as I trust Ihave done, a barrier against the claim. If you approve my conduct, youwill state your own opinion to the duke. " With a profound salutation thecount turned to depart; nor did Harley attempt to stay him, but attendedhim down the stairs with polite formality. 

"Remember only, my Lord, that I solicit nothing. I may allow myself toaccept, --voilia tout. " He bowed again, with the inimitable grace of theold regime, and stepped into the baron's travelling carriage. 

Levy, who had lingered behind, paused to accost L'Estrange. "YourLordship will explain to Mr. Egerton how his adopted son deserved hisesteem, and repaid his kindness. For the rest, though you have bought upthe more pressing and immediate demands on Mr. Egerton, I fear that evenyour fortune will not enable you to clear those liabilities which willleave him, perhaps, a pauper!"

"Baron Levy, " said Harley, abruptly, "if I have forgiven Mr. Egerton, cannot you too forgive? Me he has wronged; you have wronged him, andmore foully. "

"No, my Lord, I cannot forgive him. You he has never humiliated, you hehas never employed for his wants, and scorned as his companion. You havenever known what it is to start in life with one whose fortunes wereequal to your own, whose talents were not superior. Look you, LordL'Estrange, in spite of this difference between me and Egerton, that hehas squandered the wealth that he gained without effort, while Ihave converted the follies of others into my own ample revenues, thespendthrift in his penury has the respect and position which millionscannot bestow upon me. You would say that I am an usurer, and he is astatesman. But do you know what I should have been, had I not been bornthe natural son of a peer? Can you guess what I should have been ifNora Avenel had been my wife? The blot on my birth, and the blight on myyouth, and the knowledge that he who was rising every year into the rankwhich entitled him to reject me as a guest at his table--he whom theworld called the model of a gentleman--was a coward and a liar to thefriend of his youth, --all this made me look on the world with contempt;and, despising Audley Egerton, I yet hated him and envied. You, whomhe wronged, stretch your hand as before to the great statesman; from mytouch you would shrink as pollution. My Lord, you may forgive him whomyou love and pity; I cannot forgive him whom I scorn and envy. Pardon myprolixity. I now quit your house. " The baron moved a step, then, turningback, said with a withering sneer, --

"But you will tell Mr. Egerton how I helped to expose the son headopted! I thought of the childless man when your Lordship imagined Iwas but in fear of your threats. Ha! ha! that will sting. "

The baron gnashed his teeth as, hastily entering the carriage, he drewdown the blinds. The post-boys cracked their whips, and the wheelsrolled away. 

"Who can judge, " thought Harley, "through what modes retribution comeshome to the breast? That man is chastised in his wealth, ever gnawed bydesire for what his wealth cannot buy!" He roused himself, cleared hisbrow, as from a thought that darkened and troubled; and, entering thesaloon, laid his hand upon Leonard's shoulder, and looked, rejoicing, into the poet's mild, honest, lustrous eyes. "Leonard, " said he, gently, "your hour is come at last. "

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

Audely Egerton was alone in his apartment. A heavy sleep had come overhim, shortly after Harley and Randal had left the house in the earlymorning; and that sleep continued till late in the day. All the whilethe town of Lansmere had been distracted in his cause, all the while somany tumultuous passions had run riot in the contest that was to closeor re-open for the statesman's ambition the Janus gates of politicalwar, the object of so many fears and hopes, schemes and counter-schemes, had slumbered quietly as an infant in the cradle. He woke but in time toreceive Harley's despatch, announcing the success of his election; andadding, "Before the night you shall embrace your son. Do not join usbelow when I return. Keep calm, --we will come to you. "

In fact, though not aware of the dread nature of Audley's complaint, with its warning symptoms, Lord L'Estrange wished to spare to his friendthe scene of Randal's exposure. 

On the receipt of that letter Egerton rose. At the prospect of seeinghis son--Nora's son--the very memory of his disease vanished. The poor, weary, over-laboured heart indeed beat loud, and with many a jerk andspasm. He heeded it not. The victory, that restored him to the sole lifefor which he had hitherto cared to live, was clean forgotten. Natureclaimed her own, --claimed it in scorn of death, and in oblivion ofrenown. 

There sat the man, dressed with his habitual precision, --the blackcoat, buttoned across the broad breast; his countenance, so mechanicallyhabituated to self-control, still revealing little of emotion, thoughthe sickly flush came and went on the bronzed cheek, and the eye watchedthe hand of the clock, and the ear hungered for a foot-tread along thecorridor. At length the sound was heard, --steps, many steps. He sprungto his feet, he stood on the hearth. Was the hearth to be solitary nomore? Harley entered first. Egerton's eyes rested on him eagerly fora moment, and strained onward across the threshold. Leonard camenext, --Leonard Fairfield, whom he had seen as his opponent! He beganto suspect, to conjecture, to see the mother's tender eyes in the son'smanly face. Involuntarily he opened his arms; but, Leonard remainingstill, let them fall with a deep sigh, and fancied himself deceived. 

"Friend, " said Harley, "I give to you a son proved in adversity, and whohas fought his own way to fame. Leonard, in the man to whom I prayed youto sacrifice your own ambition, of whom you have spoken with suchworthy praise, whose career of honour you have promoted, and whose life, unsatisfied by those honours, you will soothe with your filial love, behold the husband of Nora Avenel! Kneel to your father! O Audley, embrace your son!"

"Here, here!" exclaimed Egerton, as Leonard bent his knee, --"here to myheart! Look at me with those eyes!--kindly, forgivingly: they are yourmother's!" His proud head sunk on his son's shoulder. 

"But this is not enough, " said Harley, leading Helen, and placing her byLeonard's side. "You must open your heart for more. Take into its foldsmy sweet ward and daughter. What is a home without the smile of woman?They have loved each other from children. Audley, yours be the hand tojoin, --yours be the lips to bless. "

Leonard started anxiously. "Oh, sir!--oh, my father!--this generoussacrifice may not be; for he--he who has saved me for this surpassingjoy--he too loves her!"

"Nay, Leonard, " said Harley, smiling, "I am not so neglectful of myself. Another home woos you, Audley. He whom you long so vainly sought toreconcile to life, exchanging mournful dreams for happy duties, --he, too, presents you to his bride. Love her for my sake, --for your own. Sheit is, not I, who presides over this hallowed reunion. But for her, Ishould have been a blinded, vindictive, guilty, repentant man; and--"Violante's soft hand was on his lips. "Thus, " said the parson, with mildsolemnity, "man finds that the Saviour's precepts, 'Let not the sun godown upon thy wrath, ' and 'Love one another, ' are clews that conduct usthrough the labyrinth of human life, when the schemes of fraud and hatesnap asunder, and leave us lost amidst the maze. "

Egerton reared his head, as if to answer; and all present were struckand appalled by the sudden change that had come over his countenance. There was a film upon the eye, a shadow on the aspect; the wordsfailed his lips; he sunk on the seat beside him. The left hand resteddroopingly upon the piles of public papers and official documents, andthe fingers played with them, as the bedridden dying sufferer plays withthe coverlid he will soon exchange for the winding-sheet. But his righthand seemed to feel, as through the dark, for the recovered son; andhaving touched what it sought, feebly drew Leonard near and nearer. Alas! that blissful PRIVATE LIFE--that close centre round the core ofbeing in the individual man--so long missed and pined for, slipped fromhim, as it were, the moment it reappeared; hurried away, as the circleon the ocean, which is scarce seen ere it vanishes amidst infinity. Suddenly both hands were still; the head fell back. Joy had burstasunder the last ligaments, so fretted away in unrevealing sorrow. Afar, their sound borne into that room, the joy-bells were pealing triumph;mobs roaring out huzzas; the weak cry of John Avenel might be blent inthose shouts, as the drunken zealots reeled by his cottage door, andstartled the screaming ravens that wheeled round the hollow oak. Theboom which is sent from the waves on the surface of life, while thedeeps are so noiseless in their march, was wafted on the wintry air intothe chamber of the statesman it honoured, and over the grass sighing lowupon Nora's grave. But there was one in the chamber, as in the grave, for whom the boom on the wave had no sound, and the march of the deephad no tide. Amidst promises of home, and union, and peace, and fame, Death strode into the household ring, and, seating itself, calm andstill, looked life-like, --warm hearts throbbing round it; lofty hopesfluttering upward; Love kneeling at its feet; Religion, with liftedfinger, standing by its side. 

FINAL CHAPTER. 

 SCENE--The Hall in the Old Tower of CAPTAIN ROLAND DE CAXTON. 

"But you have not done?" said Augustine Caxton. 

PISISTRATUS. --"What remains to do?"

MR. CAXTON. --"What! why, the Final Chapter!--the last news you can giveus of those whom you have introduced to our liking or dislike. "

PISISTRATUS. --"Surely it is more dramatic to close the work with ascene that completes the main design of the plot, and leave it to theprophetic imagination of all whose flattering curiosity is still notwholly satisfied, to trace the streams of each several existence, whenthey branch off again from the lake in which their waters converge, andby which the sibyl has confirmed and made clear the decree that 'Conductis Fate. '"

MR. CAXTON. --"More dramatic, I grant; but you have not written a drama. A novelist should be a comfortable, garrulous, communicative, gossipingfortune-teller; not a grim, laconical, oracular sibyl. I like a novelthat adopts all the old-fashioned customs prescribed to its art bythe rules of the Masters, --more especially a novel which you style 'MyNovel' par emphasis. "

CAPTAIN ROLAND. --"A most vague and impracticable title 'My Novel'! Itmust really be changed before the work goes in due form to the public. "

MR. SQUILLS. --"Certainly the present title cannot be even pronounced bymany without inflicting a shock upon their nervous system. Do you think, for instance, that my friend, Lady Priscilla Graves--who is a greatnovel-reader indeed, but holds all female writers unfeminine desertersto the standard of Man--could ever come out with, 'Pray, sir, have youhad time to look at--MY Novel?'--She would rather die first. And yetto be silent altogether on the latest acquisition to the circulatinglibraries would bring on a functional derangement of her ladyship'sorgans of speech. Or how could pretty Miss Dulcet--all sentiment, itis true, but all bashful timidity--appall Captain Smirke from proposingwith, 'Did not you think the parson's sermon a little too dry in--MYNovel'? It will require a face of brass, or at least a long courseof citrate of iron, before a respectable lady or unassuming younggentleman, with a proper dread of being taken for scribblers, couldelectrify a social circle with 'The reviewers don't do justice to theexcellent things in--My Novel. '"

CAPTAIN ROLAND. --"Awful consequences, indeed, may arise from themistakes such a title gives rise to. Counsellor Digwell, for instance, alawyer of literary tastes, but whose career at the Bar was long delayedby an unjust suspicion amongst the attorneys that he had written a'Philosophical Essay'--imagine such a man excusing himself for beinglate at a dinner of bigwigs, with 'I could not get away from--My Novel!'It would be his professional ruin! I am not fond of lawyers in general, but still I would not be a party to taking the bread out of the mouthof those with a family; and Digwell has children, --the tenth an innocentbaby in arms. "

MR. CAXTON. --"As to Digwell in particular, and lawyers in general, theyare too accustomed to circumlocution to expose themselves to the dangeryour kind heart apprehends; but I allow that a shy scholar like myself, or a grave college tutor, might be a little put to the blush, if he wereto blurt forth inadvertently with, 'Don't waste your time over trashlike--MY Novel. ' And that thought presents to us another and morepleasing view of this critical question. The title you condemn placesthe work under universal protection. Lives there a man or a woman sodead to self-love as to say, 'What contemptible stuff is--MY Novel'?Would he or she not rather be impelled by that strong impulse of anhonourable and virtuous heart, which moves us to stand as well as we canwith our friends, to say, 'Allow that there is really a good thing nowand then in--My Novel. ' Moreover, as a novel aspires to embrace most ofthe interests or the passions that agitate mankind, --to generalize, asit were, the details of life that come home to us all, --so, in reality, the title denotes that if it be such as the author may not unworthilycall his Novel, it must also be such as the reader, whoever he be, mayappropriate in part to himself, representing his own ideas, expressinghis own experience, reflecting, if not in full, at least in profile, his own personal identity. Thus, when we glance at the looking-glass inanother man's room, our likeness for the moment appropriates the mirror;and according to the humour in which we are, or the state of our spiritsand health, we say to ourselves, 'Bilious and yellow!--I might as welltake care of my diet!' Or, 'Well, I 've half a mind to propose to dearJane; I'm not such an ill-looking dog as I thought for!' Still, whateverresult from that glance at the mirror, we never doubt that 't is ourlikeness we see; and each says to the phantom reflection, 'Thou artmyself, ' though the mere article of furniture that gives the reflectionbelongs to another. It is my likeness if it be his glass. And anarrative that is true to the Varieties of Life is every Man's Novel, no matter from what shores, by what rivers, by what bays, in what pits, were extracted the sands and the silex, the pearlash, the nitre, andquicksilver which form its materials; no matter who the craftsman whofashioned its form; no matter who the vendor that sold, or the customerwho bought: still, if I but recognize some trait of myself, 't is mylikeness that makes it 'My Novel. '"

MR. SQUILLS (puzzled, and therefore admiring). --"Subtle, sir, --verysubtle. Fine organ of Comparison in Mr. Caxton's head, and much calledinto play this evening!"

MR. CAXTON (benignly). --"Finally, the author by this most admirable andmuch signifying title dispenses with all necessity of preface. He needinsinuate no merits, he need extenuate no faults; for, by calling hiswork thus curtly 'MY Novel, ' he doth delicately imply that it is no usewasting talk about faults or merits. "

PISISTRATUS (amazed). --"How is that, sir?"

MR. CAXTON. --"What so clear? You imply that, though a better novel maybe written by others, you do not expect to write a novel to which, taken as a novel, you would more decisively and unblushingly prefix thatvoucher of personal authorship and identity conveyed in the monosyllable'My. ' And if you have written your best, let it be ever so bad, what canany man of candour and integrity require more from you? Perhaps you willsay that, if you had lived two thousand years ago, you might have calledit 'The Novel, ' or the 'Golden Novel, ' as Lucius called his story 'TheAss;' and Apuleius, to distinguish his own more elaborate Ass from allAsses preceding it, called his tale 'The Golden Ass. ' But living in thepresent day, such a designation--implying a merit in general, notthe partial and limited merit corresponding only with your individualabilities--would be presumptuous and offensive. True, I here anticipatethe observation I see Squills is about to make--"

SQUILLS. --"I, Sir?"

MR. CAXTON. --"You would say that, as Scarron called his work of fiction'The Comic Novel, ' so Pisistratus might have called his 'The SeriousNovel, ' or 'The Tragic Novel. ' But, Squills, that title would not havebeen inviting nor appropriate, and would have been exposed to comparisonwith Scarron, who being dead is inimitable. Wherefore--to put thequestion on the irrefragable basis of mathematics--wherefore as A B 'MyNovel' is not equal to B C 'The Golden Novel, ' nor to D E 'The Seriousor Tragic Novel, ' it follows that A B 'My Novel' is equal to P C'Pisistratus Caxton, ' and P C 'Pisistratus Caxton' must therefore bejust equal, neither more nor less, to A B 'My Novel, '--which was to bedemonstrated. " My father looked round triumphantly, and observing thatSquills was dumfounded, and the rest of his audience posed, he addedmildly, "And so now, 'non quieta movere, ' proceed with the Final Chapter, andtell us first what became of that youthful Giles Overreach, who washimself his own Marrall?"

"Ay, " said the captain, "what became of Randal Leslie? Did he repent andreform?"

"Nay, " quoth my father, with a mournful shake of the head, "you canregulate the warm tide of wild passion, you can light into virtue thedark errors of ignorance; but where the force of the brain does but clogthe free action of the heart, where you have to deal, not with ignorancemisled, but intelligence corrupted, small hope of reform; for reformhere will need re-organization. I have somewhere read (perhaps in Hebrewtradition) that of the two orders of fallen spirits, --the Angels of Loveand the Angels of Knowledge, --the first missed the stars they had lost, and wandered back through the darkness, one by one, into heaven; but thelast, lighted on by their own lurid splendours, said, 'Wherever we go, there is heaven!' And deeper and lower descending, lost their shapeand their nature, till, deformed and obscene, the bottomless pit closedaround them. "

MR. SQUILLS. --"I should not have thought, Mr. Caxton, that a book-manlike you would be thus severe upon Knowledge. "

MR. CAXTON (in wrath). --"Severe upon knowledge! Oh, Squills, Squills, Squills! Knowledge perverted is knowledge no longer. Vinegar, which, exposed to the sun, breeds small serpents, or at best slimy eels, notcomestible, once was wine. If I say to my grandchildren, 'Don't drinkthat sour stuff, which the sun itself fills with reptiles, ' does thatprove me a foe to sound sherry? Squills, if you had but received ascholastic education, you would know the wise maxim that saith, 'Allthings the worst are corruptions from things originally designed as thebest. ' Has not freedom bred anarchy, and religion fanaticism? And if Iblame Marat calling for blood, or Dominic racking a heretic, am I severeon the religion that canonized Francis de Sales, or the freedom thatimmortalized Thrasybulus?"

Mr. Squills, dreading a catalogue of all the saints in the calendar, and an epitome of Ancient History, exclaimed eagerly, "Enough, sir; I amconvinced!"

MR. CAXTON. --"Moreover, I have thought it a natural stroke of art inPisistratus to keep Randal Leslie, in his progress towards the rotof the intellect unwholesomely refined, free from all the salutaryinfluences that deter ambition from settling into egotism. Neither inhis slovenly home, nor from his classic tutor at his preparatory school, does he seem to have learned any truths, religious or moral, that mightgive sap to fresh shoots, when the first rank growth was cut down by theknife; and I especially noted, as illustrative of Egerton, no less thanof Randal, that though the statesman's occasional hints of advice tohis protege are worldly wise in their way, and suggestive of honour asbefitting the creed of a gentleman, they are not such as much influencea shrewd reasoner like Randal, whom the example of the playground atEton had not served to correct of the arid self-seeking, which lookedto knowledge for no object but power. A man tempted by passions likeAudley, or seduced into fraud by a cold, subtle spirit like Leslie, will find poor defence in the elegant precept, 'Remember to act asa gentleman. ' Such moral embroidery adds a beautiful scarf to one'sarmour; but it is not the armour itself! Ten o'clock, as I live! Pushon, Pisistratus! and finish the chapter. "

MRS. CAXTON (benevolently). --"Don't hurry. Begin with that odious RandalLeslie, to oblige your father; but there are others whom Blanche and Icare much more to hear about. "

Pisistratus, since there is no help for it, produces a supplementarymanuscript, which proves that, whatever his doubt as to the artisticeffect of a Final Chapter, he had foreseen that his audience would notbe contented without one. 

Randal Leslie, late at noon the day after he quitted Lansmere Park, arrived on foot at his father's house. He had walked all the way, andthrough the solitudes of the winter night; but he was not sensible offatigue till the dismal home closed round him, with its air of hopelessignoble poverty; and then he sunk upon the floor feeling himself aruin amidst the ruins. He made no disclosure of what had passed to hisrelations. Miserable man, there was not one to whom he could confide, or from whom he might hear the truths that connect repentance withconsolation! After some weeks passed in sullen and almost unbrokensilence, be left as abruptly as he had appeared, and returned to London. The sudden death of a man like Egerton had even in those excitedtimes created intense, though brief sensation. The particulars of theelection, that had been given in detail in the provincial papers, werecopied into the London journals, among those details, Randal Leslie'sconduct in the Committee-room, with many an indignant comment onselfishness and ingratitude. The political world of all parties formedone of those judgments on the great man's poor dependant, which fix astain upon the character and place a barrier in the career of ambitiousyouth. The important personages who had once noticed Randal for Audley'ssake, and who, on their subsequent and not long-deferred restoration topower, could have made his fortune, passed him in the streets withouta nod. He did not venture to remind Avenel of the promise to aid him inanother election for Lansmere, nor dream of filling up the vacancy whichEgerton's death had created. He was too shrewd not to see that all hopeof that borough was over, --he would have been hooted in the streets andpelted from the hustings. Forlorn in the vast metropolis as Leonardhad once been, in his turn he loitered on the bridge, and gazed on theremorseless river. He had neither money nor connections, --nothing savetalents and knowledge to force his way back into the lofty world inwhich all had smiled on him before; and talents and knowledge, that hadbeen exerted to injure a benefactor, made him but the more despised. But even now, Fortune, that had bestowed on the pauper heir of Roodadvantages so numerous and so dazzling, out of which he had cheatedhimself, gave him a chance, at least, of present independence, by which, with patient toil, he might have won, if not to the highest places, atleast to a position in which he could have forced the world to listento his explanations; and perhaps receive his excuses. The L5, 000that Audley designed for him, and which, in a private memorandum, thestatesman had entreated Harley to see safely rescued from the fangs ofthe law, were made over to Randal by Lord L'Estrange's solicitor; butthis sum seemed to him so small after the loss of such gorgeous hopes, and the up-hill path seemed so slow after such short cuts to power, that Randal looked upon the unexpected bequest simply as an apology foradopting no profession. Stung to the quick by the contrast between hispast and his present place in the English world, he hastened abroad. There, whether in distraction from thought, or from the curiosity of arestless intellect to explore the worth of things yet untried, RandalLeslie, who had hitherto been so dead to the ordinary amusements ofyouth, plunged into the society of damaged gamesters and third-rateroues. In this companionship his very talents gradually degenerated, andtheir exercise upon low intrigues and miserable projects but abased hissocial character, till, sinking step after step as his funds decayed, he finally vanished out of the sphere in which even profligates stillretain the habits, and cling to the caste of gentlemen. His father died;the neglected property of Rood devolved on Randal, but out of its scantyproceeds he had to pay the portions of his brother and sister, andhis mother's jointure; the surplus left was scarcely visible in theexecutor's account. The hope of restoring the home and fortunes of hisforefathers had long ceased. What were the ruined hall and its bleakwastes, without that hope which had once dignified the wreck and thedesert? He wrote from St. Petersburg, ordering the sale of the property. No one great proprietor was a candidate for the unpromising investment;it was sold in lots among small freeholders and retired traders. Abuilder bought the hall for its material. Hall, lands, and name wereblotted out of the map and the history of the county. 

The widow, Oliver, and Juliet removed to a provincial town in anothershire. Juliet married an ensign in a marching regiment; and died ofneglect after childbirth. Mrs. Leslie did not long survive her. Oliveradded to his little fortune by marriage with the daughter of a retailtradesman, who had amassed a few thousand pounds. He set up a brewery, and contrived to live without debt, though a large family and his ownconstitutional inertness extracted from his business small profits andno savings. Nothing of Randal had been heard of for years after the saleof Rood, except that he had taken up his residence either in Australiaor the United States; it was not known which, but presumed to be thelatter. Still, Oliver had been brought up with so high a veneration ofhis brother's talents, that he cherished the sanguine belief that Randalwould some day appear, wealthy and potent, like the uncle in acomedy; lift rip the sunken family, and rear into graceful ladies andaccomplished gentlemen the clumsy little boys and the vulgar littlegirls who now crowded round Oliver's dinner-table, with appetitesaltogether disproportioned to the size of the joints. 

One winter day, when from the said dinner-table wife and children hadretired, and Oliver sat sipping his half-pint of bad port, and lookingover unsatisfactory accounts, a thin terrier, lying on the threadbarerug by the niggard fire, sprang up and barked fiercely. Oliver liftedhis dull blue eyes, and saw opposite to him, at the window, a humanface. The face was pressed close to the panes, and was obscured by thehaze which the breath of its lips drew forth from the frosty rime thathad gathered on the glass. 

Oliver, alarmed and indignant, supposing this intrusive spectator of hisprivacy to be some bold and lawless tramper, stepped out of the room, opened the front door, and bade the stranger go about his business;while the terrier still more inhospitably yelped and snapped at thestranger's heels. Then a hoarse voice said, "Don't you know me, Oliver?I am your brother Randal! Call away your dog and let me in. " Oliverstared aghast; he could not believe his slow senses, he could notrecognize his brother in the gaunt grim apparition before him; but atlength he came forward, gazed into Randal's face, and, grasping his handin amazed silence, led him into the little parlour. Not a trace ofthe well-bred refinement which had once characterized Randal's air andperson was visible. His dress bespoke the last stage of that terribledecay which is significantly called the "shabby genteel. " His mien wasthat of the skulking, timorous, famished vagabond. As he took off hisgreasy tattered hat, he exhibited, though still young in years, thesigns of premature old age. His hair, once so fine and silken, was ofa harsh iron-gray, bald in ragged patches; his forehead and visage wereploughed into furrows; intelligence was still in the aspect, but anintelligence that instinctively set you on your guard, --sinister, gloomy, menacing. 

Randal stopped short all questioning. He seized the small modicum ofwine on the table, and drained it at a draught. "Poole, " said he, "haveyou nothing that warms a man better than this?" Oliver, who felt as ifunder the influence of a frightful dream, went to a cupboard and tookout a bottle of brandy three-parts full. Randal snatched at it eagerly, and put his lips to the mouth of the bottle. "Ah, " said he, after ashort pause, "this comforts; now give me food. " Oliver hastened himselfto serve his brother; in fact, he felt ashamed that even the slipshodmaid-servant should see his visitor. When he returned with suchprovisions as he could extract from the larder, Randal was seated by thefire, spreading over the embers emaciated bony hands, like the talons ofa vulture. 

He devoured the cold meat set before him with terrible voracity, andnearly finished the spirits left in the bottle; but the last had noeffect in dispersing his gloom. Oliver stared at him in fear; theterrier continued to utter a low suspicious growl. 

"You would know my history?" at length said Randal, bluntly. "It isshort. I have tried for fortune and failed, I am without a penny andwithout a hope. You seem poor, --

"I suppose you cannot much help me. Let me at least stay with you for atime, --I know not where else to look for bread and for shelter. "

Oliver burst into tears, and cordially bade his brother welcome. Randalremained some weeks at Oliver's house, never stirring out of the doors, and not seeming to notice, though he did not scruple to use, the newhabiliments, which Oliver procured ready-made, and placed, withoutremark, in his room. But his presence soon became intolerable to themistress of the house, and oppressive even to its master. Randal, whohad once been so abstemious that he had even regarded the mostmoderate use of wine as incompatible with clear judgment and vigilantobservation, had contracted the habit of drinking spirits at all hoursof the day; but though they sometimes intoxicated him into stupor, theynever unlocked his heart nor enlivened his sullen mood. If he observedless acutely than of old, he could still conceal just as closely. Mrs. Oliver Leslie, at first rather awed and taciturn, grew cold andrepelling, then pert and sarcastic, at last undisguisedly and vulgarlyrude. Randal made no retort; but his sneer was so galling that the wifeflew at once to her husband, and declared that either she or his brothermust leave the house. Oliver tried to pacify and compromise, withpartial success; and a few days afterwards, he came to Randal and saidtimidly, "You see, my wife brought me nearly all I possess, and youdon't condescend to make friends with her. Your residence here must beas painful to you as to me. But I wish to see you provided for; and Icould offer you something, only it seems, at first glance, so beneath--"

"Beneath what?" interrupted Randal, witheringly. "What I was--or what Iam? Speak out!"

"To be sure you are a scholar; and I have heard you say fine thingsabout knowledge and so forth; and you'll have plenty of books at yourdisposal, no doubt; and you are still young, and may rise--and--"

"Hell and torments! Be quick, --say the worst or the best!" cried Randal, fiercely. 

"Well, then, " said poor Oliver, still trying to soften the intendedproposal, "you must know that our poor sister's husband was nephewto Dr. Felpem, who keeps a very respectable school. He is not learnedhimself, and attends chiefly to arithmetic and book-keeping, and suchmatters; but he wants an usher to teach the classics, for some of theboys go to college. And I have written to him, just to sound--I did notmention your name till I knew if you would like it; but he will take myrecommendation. Board, lodging, L50 a year; in short, the place is yoursif you like it. " Randal shivered from head to foot, and was longbefore he answered. "Well, be it so; I have come to that. Ha, ha! yes, knowledge is power!" He paused a few moments. "So, the old Hall is razedto the ground, and you are a tradesman in a small country town, and mysister is dead, and I henceforth am--John Smith! You say that you didnot mention my name to the schoolmaster, --still keep it concealed;forget that I once was a Leslie. Our tie of brotherhood ceases when Igo from your hearth. Write, then, to your head-master, who attendsto arithmetic, and secure the rank of his usher in Latin and Greekfor--John Smith!"

Not many days afterwards, the protege of Audley Egerton entered on hisduties as usher in one of those large, cheap schools, which comprise asprinkling of the sons of gentry and clergymen designed for the learnedprofessions, with a far larger proportion of the sons of traders, intended, some for the counting-house, some for the shop and the till. There, to this day, under the name of John Smith, lives Randal Leslie. 

It is probably not pride alone that induces him to persist in thatchange of name, and makes him regard as perpetual the abandonment ofthe one that he took from his forefathers, and with which he had onceidentified his vaulting ambition; for shortly after he had quittedhis brother's house, Oliver read in the weekly newspaper, to which hebounded his lore of the times in which he lived, an extract froman American journal, wherein certain mention was made of an Englishadventurer who, amongst other aliases, had assumed the name ofLeslie, --that extract caused Oliver to start, turn pale, look round, and thrust the paper into the fire. From that time he never attempted toviolate the condition Randal had imposed on him, never sought to renewtheir intercourse, nor to claim a brother. Doubtless, if the adventurerthus signalized was the man Oliver suspected, whatever might be imputedto Randal's charge that could have paled a brother's cheek, it was noneof the more violent crimes to which law is inexorable, but rather (inthat progress made by ingratitude and duplicity, with Need and Necessityurging them on) some act of dishonesty which may just escape from thelaw, to sink, without redemption, the name. However this be, there isnothing in Randal's present course of life which forbodes any deeperfall. He has known what it is to want bread, and his former restlessnesssubsides into cynic apathy. 

He lodges in the town near the school, and thus the debasing habit ofunsocial besotment is not brought under the eyes of his superior. Thedrain is his sole luxury; if it be suspected, it is thought to be hissole vice. He goes through the ordinary routine of tuition with averagecredit; his spirit of intrigue occasionally shows itself in attemptsto conciliate the favour of the boys whose fathers are wealthy, who areborn to higher rank than the rest; and he lays complicated schemes tobe asked home for the holidays. But when the schemes succeed, and theinvitation comes, he recoils and shrinks back, --he does not dare to showhimself on the borders of the brighter world he once hoped to sway; hefears that he may be discovered to be--a Leslie! On such days, when histaskwork is over, he shuts himself up in his room, locks the door, anddrugs himself into insensibility. 

Once he found a well-worn volume running the round of delightedschoolboys, took it up, and recognized Leonard's earliest popular work, which had, many years before, seduced himself into pleasant thoughts andgentle emotions. He carried the book to his own lodgings, read it again;and when he returned it to its young owner, some of the leaves werestained with tears. Alas! perhaps but the maudlin tears of brokennerves, not of the awakened soul, --for the leaves smelt strongly ofwhiskey. Yet, after that re-perusal, Randal Leslie turned suddenly todeeper studies than his habitual drudgeries required. He revived andincreased his early scholarship; he chalked the outline of a work ofgreat erudition, in which the subtlety of his intellect found fieldin learned and acute criticism. But he has never proceeded far in thiswork. After each irregular and spasmodic effort, the pen drops from hishand, and he mutters, "But to what end?

"I can never now raise a name. Why give reputation to--John Smith?"

Thus he drags on his life; and perhaps, when he dies, the fragments ofhis learned work may be discovered in the desk of the usher, and serveas hints to some crafty student, who may filch ideas and repute from thedead Leslie, as Leslie had filched them from the living Burley. 

While what may be called poetical justice has thus evolved itself fromthe schemes in which Randal Leslie had wasted rare intellect in bafflinghis own fortunes, no outward signs of adversity evince the punishmentof Providence on the head of the more powerful offender, Baron Levy. Nofall in the Funds has shaken the sumptuous fabric, built from the ruinedhouses of other men. Baron Levy is still Baron Levy the millionaire; butI doubt if at heart he be not more acutely miserable than Randal Lesliethe usher. For Levy is a man who has admitted the fiercer passions intohis philosophy of life; he has not the pale blood and torpid heart whichallow the scotched adder to dose away its sense of pain. Just as old agebegan to creep upon the fashionable usurer, he fell in love with a youngopera-dancer, whose light heels had turned the lighter heads of half theeligans of Paris and London. The craft of the dancer was proof againstall lesser bribes than that of marriage; and Levy married her. Fromthat moment his house, Louis Quinze, was more crowded than ever by thehigh-born dandies whose society he had long so eagerly courted. Thatsociety became his curse. The baroness was an accomplished coquette; andLevy (with whom, as we have seen, jealousy was the predominant passion)was stretched on an eternal rack. His low estimate of human nature, hisdisbelief in the possibility of virtue, added strength to the agonyof his suspicions, and provoked the very dangers he dreaded. Hisself-torturing task was that of the spy upon his own hearth. Hisbanquets were haunted by a spectre; the attributes of his wealth were asthe goad and the scourge of Nemesis. His gay cynic smile changed intoa sullen scowl, his hair blanched into white, his eyes were hollow withone consuming care. Suddenly he left his costly house, --left London;abjured all the society which it had been the joy of his wealthto purchase; buried himself and his wife in a remote corner of theprovinces; and there he still lives. He seeks in vain to occupy his dayswith rural pursuits, --he to whom the excitements of a metropolis, withall its corruption and its vices, were the sole sources of the torpidstream that he called "pleasure. " There, too, the fiend of jealousystill pursues him: he prowls round his demesnes with the haggard eyeand furtive step of a thief; he guards his wife as a prisoner, for shethreatens every day to escape. The life of the man who had opened theprison to so many is the life of a jailer. His wife abhors him, and doesnot conceal it; and still slavishly he dotes on her. Accustomed to thefreest liberty, demanding applause and admiration as her rights; whollyuneducated, vulgar in mind, coarse in language, violent in temper, thebeautiful Fury he had brought to his home makes that home a hell. Thus, what might seem to the superficial most enviable, is to their possessormost hateful. He dares not ask a soul to see how he spends his gold;he has shrunk into a mean and niggardly expenditure, and complainsof reverse and poverty, in order to excuse himself to his wife fordebarring her the enjoyments which she anticipated from the Money Bagsshe had married. A vague consciousness of retribution has awakenedremorse, to add to his other stings. And the remorse coming fromsuperstition, not religion (sent from below, not descending from above), brings with it none of the consolations of a genuine repentance. Henever seeks to atone, never dreams of some redeeming good action. Hisriches flow around him, spreading wider and wider--out of his own reach. 

The Count di Peschiera was not deceived in the calculations whichhad induced him to affect repentance, and establish a claim upon hiskinsman. He received from the generosity of the Duke di Serrano anannuity not disproportioned to his rank, and no order from his courtforbade his return to Vienna. But, in the very summer that followed hisvisit to Lansmere, his career came to an abrupt close. At Baden-Badenhe paid court to a wealthy and accomplished Polish widow; and his fineperson and terrible repute awed away all rivals, save a young Frenchman, as daring as himself, and much more in love. A challenge was given andaccepted. Peschiera appeared on the fatal ground, with his customarysang-froid, humming an opera air, and looking so diabolically gay thathis opponent's nerves were affected in spite of his courage; and theFrenchman's trigger going off before he had even taken aim, to his ownineffable astonishment, he shot the count through the heart, dead. 

Beatrice di Negra lived for some years after her brother's death instrict seclusion, lodging within a convent, though she did not takethe veil, as she at first proposed. In fact, the more she saw of thesisterhood, the more she found that human regrets and human passions(save in some rarely gifted natures) find their way through the barredgates and over the lofty walls. Finally, she took up her abode in Rome, where she is esteemed for a life not only marked by strict propriety, but active benevolence. She cannot be prevailed on to accept from theduke more than a fourth of the annuity that had been bestowed on herbrother; but she has few wants, save those of charity; and when charityis really active, it can do so much with so little gold! She is notknown in the gayer circles of the city; but she gathers round her asmall society composed chiefly of artists and scholars, and is never sohappy as when she can aid some child of genius, --more especially if hiscountry be England. 

The squire and his wife still flourish at Hazeldean, where CaptainBarnabas Higginbotham has taken up his permanent abode. The captain is aconfirmed hypochondriac; but he brightens up now and then when he hearsof any illness in the family of Mr. Sharpe Currie, and, at such times, is heard to murmur, "If those seven sickly children should go off, Imight still have very great--EXPECTATIONS, "--for the which he has beenroundly scolded by the squire, and gravely preached at by the parson. Upon both, however, he takes his revenge in a fair and gentlemanlikeway, three times a week, at the whist-table, the parson no longer havingthe captain as his constant partner, since a fifth now generally cutsin at the table, --in the person of that old enemy and neighbour, Mr. Sticktorights. The parson, thus fighting his own battles unallied to thecaptain, observes with melancholy surprise that there is a long run ofluck against him, and that he does not win so much as he used todo. Fortunately that is the sole trouble--except Mrs. Dale's "littletempers, " to which he is accustomed--that ever disturbs the serene tenorof the parson's life. We must now explain how Mr. Sticktorights cameto cut in at the Hazeldean whist-table. Frank has settled at the Casinowith a wife who suits him exactly, and that wife was Miss Sticktorights. It was two years before Frank recovered the disappointment with whichthe loss of Beatrice saddened his spirits, but sobered his habits andawoke his reflection. An affection, however misplaced and ill-requited, if honestly conceived and deeply felt, rarely fails to advance theself-education of man. Frank became steady and serious; and, on a visitto Hazeldean, met at a county ball Miss Sticktorights, and the two youngpersons were instantly attracted towards each other, perhaps by thevery feud that had so long existed between their houses. The marriagesettlements were nearly abandoned, at the last moment, by a discussionbetween the parents as to the Right of Way; but the dispute was happilyappeased by Mr. Dale's suggestion that as both properties wouldbe united in the children of the proposed marriage, all cause forlitigation would naturally cease, since no man would go to law withhimself. Mr. Sticktorights and Mr. Hazeldean, however, agreed in theprecaution of inserting a clause in the settlements (though all thelawyers declared that it could not be of any legal avail), by whichit was declared, that if, in default of heritable issue by the saidmarriage, the Sticktorights' estate devolved on some distant scion ofthe Sticktorights family, the right of way from the wood across thewaste land would still remain in the same state of delectable disputein which it then stood. There seems, however, little chance of a lawsuitthus providently bequeathed to the misery of distant generations, sincetwo sons and two daughters are already playing at hide-and-seek onthe terrace where Jackeymo once watered the orange-trees, and in thebelvidere where Riccabocca had studied his Machiavelli. 

Jackeymo, though his master has assessed the long arrears of his wagesat a sum which would enable him to have orange-groves and servantsof his own, still clings to his former duties, and practises hisconstitutional parsimony. His only apparent deviation into profusionconsists in the erection of a chapel to his sainted namesake, to whomhe burns many a votive taper, --the tapers are especially tall, and theirsconces are wreathed with garlands, whenever a letter with the foreignpostmark brings good news of the absent Violante and her English lord. 

Riccabocca was long before he reconciled himself to the pomp of hisprincipalities and his title of Duke. Jemima accommodated herself muchmore readily to greatness; but she retained all her native Hazeldeansimplicity at heart, and is adored by the villagers around her, especially by the young of both sexes, whom she is always ready to marryand to portion, --convinced, long ere this, of the redeemable qualitiesof the male sex by her reverence for the duke, who continues to satirizewomen and wedlock, and deem himself--thanks to his profound experienceof the one, and his philosophical endurance of the other--the only happyhusband in the world. Longer still was it before the sage, who had beenso wisely anxious to rid himself of the charge of a daughter, couldwean his thoughts from the remembrance of her tender voice and lovingeyes, --not, indeed, till he seriously betook himself to the task ofeducating the son with whom, according to his scientific prognostics, Jemima presented him shortly after his return to his native land. The sage began betimes with his Italian proverbs, full of hardheartedworldly wisdom, and the boy was scarce out of the hornbook before he wasintroduced to Machiavelli. But somehow or other the simple goodnessof the philosopher's actual life, with his high-wrought patriciansentiments of integrity and honour, so counteract the theoreticallessons, that the Heir of Serrano is little likely to be made more wiseby the proverbs, or more wicked by the Machiavelli, than those studieshave practically made the progenitor, whose opinions his countrymenstill shame with the title of "Alphonso the Good. "

The duke long cherished a strong curiosity to know what had become ofRandal. He never traced the adventurer to his closing scene. But once(years before Randal had crept into his present shelter) in a visitof inspection to the hospital at Genoa, the duke, with his peculiarshrewdness of observation in all matters except those which concernedhimself, was remarking to the officer in attendance, "that for one dull, honest man whom fortune drove to the hospital or the jail, he had found, on investigation of their antecedents, three sharp-witted knaves who hadthereto reduced themselves"--when his eye fell upon a man asleep inone of the sick wards; and recognizing the face, not then so changed asOliver had seen it, he walked straight up, and gazed upon Randal Leslie. 

"An Englishman, " said the official. "He was brought hither insensible, from a severe wound on the head, inflicted, as we discovered, by awell-known chevalier d'industrie, who declared that the Englishman hadoutwitted and cheated him. That was not very likely, for a few crownswere all we could find on the Englishman's person, and he had beenobliged to leave his lodgings for debt. He is recovering, but there isfever still. "

The duke gazed silently on the sleeper, who was tossing restlessly onhis pallet, and muttering to himself; then he placed his purse in theofficial's hand. "Give this to the Englishman, " said he; "but concealmy name. It is true, it is true, the proverb is very true, " resumed theduke, descending the stairs, "Piu pelli di volpi the di asini vanno inPellieciaria. " (More hides of foxes than of asses find their way to thetanner's). 

Dr. Morgan continues to prescribe globules for grief, and to administerinfinitesimally to a mind diseased. Practising what he prescribes, he swallows a globule of caustic whenever the sight of a distressedfellow-creature moves him to compassion, --a constitutional tendencywhich, he is at last convinced, admits of no radical cure. For the rest, his range of patients has notably expanded; and under his sage carehis patients unquestionably live as long--as Providence pleases. Noallopathist can say more. 

The death of poor John Burley found due place in the obituary of"literary men. " Admirers, unknown before, came forward and subscribedfor a handsome monument to his memory in Kensall Green. They would havesubscribed for the relief of his widow and children, if he had leftany. Writers in magazines thrived for some months on collections of hishumorous sayings, anecdotes of his eccentricities, and specimens ofthe eloquence that had lightened through the tobacco-reek of tavernand club-room. Leonard ultimately made a selection from his scatteredwritings which found place in standard libraries, though their subjectswere either of too fugitive an interest, or treated in too capriciousa manner, to do more than indicate the value of the ore, had it beenpurified from its dross and subjected to the art of the mint. Thesespecimens could not maintain their circulation as the coined money ofThought, but they were hoarded by collectors as rare curiosities. Alas, poor Burley!

The Pompleys sustained a pecuniary loss by the crash of a railwaycompany, in which the colonel had been induced to take several sharesby one of his wife's most boasted "connections, " whose estate the saidrailway proposed to traverse, on paying L400 an acre, in that golden agewhen railway companies respected the rights of property. The colonel wasno longer able, in his own country, to make both ends meet at Christmas. He is now straining hard to achieve that feat in Boulogne, and has inthe process grown so red in the face, that those who meet him in hismorning walk on the pier, bargaining for fish, shake their heads andsay, "Old Pompley will go off in a fit of apoplexy; a great loss tosociety; genteel people the Pompleys! and very highly 'connected. '"

The vacancy created in the borough of Lansmere by Audley Egerton'sdeath was filled up by our old acquaintance, Haveril Dashmore, who hadunsuccessfully contested that seat on Egerton's first election. Thenaval officer was now an admiral, and perfectly reconciled to theConstitution, with all its alloy of aristocracy. 

Dick Avenel did not retire from parliament so soon as he hadanticipated. He was not able to persuade Leonard, whose brief fever ofpolitical ambition was now quenched in the calm fountain of the Muse, to supply his place in the senate, and he felt that the House of Avenelneeded one representative. He contrived, however, to devote, for thefirst year or two, much more of his time to his interests at Screwstownthan to the affairs of his country, and succeeded in baffling theover-competition to which he had been subjected by taking the competitorinto partnership. Having thus secured a monopoly at Screwstown, Dick, ofcourse, returned with great ardour to his former enlightened opinions infavour of free trade. He remained some years in parliament; and thoughfar too shrewd to venture out of his depth as an orator, distinguishedhimself so much by his exposure of "humbug" on an important Committee, that he acquired a very high reputation as a man of business, andgradually became so in request amongst all the members who moved for"Select Committees, " that he rose into consequence; and Mrs. Avenel, courted for his sake, more than her own, obtained the wish of herheart, and was received as an acknowledged habituee into the circlesof fashion. Amidst these circles, however, Dick found that his homeentirely vanished; and when he came home from the House of Commons, tired to death, at two in the morning, disgusted at always hearing thatMrs. Avenel was not yet returned from some fine lady's ball, he formed asudden resolution of cutting Parliament, Fashion, and London altogether;withdrew his capital, now very large, from his business; bought theremaining estates of Squire Thornhill; and his chief object of ambitionis in endeavouring to coax or bully out of their holdings all the smallfreeholders round, who had subdivided amongst them, into poles andfurlongs, the fated inheritance of Randal Leslie. An excellent justiceof the peace, though more severe than your old family proprietorsgenerally are; a spirited landlord, as to encouraging and making, ata proper percentage, all permanent improvements on the soil, butformidable to meet if the rent be not paid to the day, or the leastbreach of covenant be heedlessly incurred on a farm that he could letfor more money; employing a great many hands in productive labour, butexacting rigorously from all the utmost degree of work at the smallestrate of wages which competition and the poor-rate permit; the youngand robust in his neighbourhood never stinted in work, and the agedand infirm, as lumber worn out, stowed away in the workhouse, --RichardAvenel holds himself an example to the old race of landlords; and, takenaltogether, he is no very bad specimen of the rural civilizers whom theapplication of spirit and capital raise up in the new. 

From the wrecks of Egerton's fortune, Harley, with the aid of hisfather's experience in business, could not succeed in saving, for thestatesman's sole child and heir, more than a few thousand pounds; andbut for the bonds and bills which, when meditating revenge, he hadbought from Levy, and afterwards thrown into the fire--paying dearfor that detestable whistle--even this surplus would not have beenforthcoming. 

Harley privately paid out of his own fortune the L5, 000 Egerton hadbequeathed to Leslie; perhaps not sorry, now that the stern duty ofexposing the false wiles of the schemer was fulfilled, to afford somecompensation even to the victim who had so richly deserved his fate;and pleased, though mournfully, to comply with the solemn request of thefriend whose offence was forgotten in the remorseful memory of his ownprojects of revenge. 

Leonard's birth and identity were easily proved, and no one appeared todispute them. The balance due to him as his father's heir, together withthe sum Avenel ultimately paid to him for the patent of his invention, and the dowry which Harley insisted upon bestowing on Helen, amounted tothat happy competence which escapes alike the anxieties of poverty, and(what to one of contemplative tastes and retired habits are often moreirksome to bear) the show and responsibilities of wealth. His father'sdeath made a deep impression upon Leonard's mind; but the discovery thathe owed his birth to a statesman of so great a repute, and occupying aposition in society so conspicuous, contributed not to confirm, but tostill, the ambition which had for a short time diverted him from hismore serene aspirations. He had no longer to win a rank which mightequal Helen's. He had no longer a parent, whose affections might be bestwon through pride. The memories of his earlier peasant life, and hislove for retirement, --in which habit confirmed the constitutionaltendency, --made him shrink from what a more worldly nature would haveconsidered the enviable advantages of a name that secured the entranceinto the loftiest sphere of our social world. He wanted not that name toassist his own path to a rank far more durable than that which kings canconfer. And still he retained in the works he had published, and stillhe proposed to bestow on the works more ambitious that he had, inleisure and competence, the facilities to design with care, and completewith patience, the name he had himself invented, and linked with thememory of the low-born mother. Therefore, though there was somewonder, in drawing-rooms and clubs, at the news of Egerton's firstunacknowledged marriage, and some curiosity expressed as to what the sonof that marriage might do, --and great men were prepared to welcome, andfine ladies to invite and bring out, the heir to the statesman's graverepute, --yet wonder and curiosity soon died away; the repute soon passedout of date, and its heir was soon forgotten. Politicians who fall shortof the highest renown are like actors; no applause is so vivid whilethey are on the stage, no oblivion so complete when the curtain falls onthe last farewell. 

Leonard saw a fair tomb rise above Nora's grave, and on the tomb wasengraved the word of WIFE, which vindicated her beloved memory. Hefelt the warm embrace of Nora's mother, no longer ashamed to own hergrandchild; and even old John was made sensible that a secret weightof sorrow was taken from his wife's stern silent heart. Leaningon Leonard's arm, the old man gazed wistfully on Nora's tomb, andmuttering, "Egerton! Egerton! 'Leonora, the first wife of the RightHonourable Audley Egerton!' Ha! I voted for him. She married the rightcolour. Is that the date? Is it so long since she died? Well, well! Imiss her sadly. But wife says we shall both now see her soon; and wifeonce thought we should never see her again, --never; but I always knewbetter. Thank you, sir. I'm a poor creature, but these tears don't painme, --quite otherwise. I don't know why, but I'm very happy. Where's myold woman? She does not mind how much I talk about Nora now. Oh, there she is! Thank you, sir, humbly; but I'd rather lean on my oldwoman, --I'm more used to it; and--wife, when shall we go to Nora?"

Leonard had brought Mrs. Fairfield to see her parents, and Mrs. Avenelwelcomed her with unlooked-for kindness. The name inscribed upon Nora'stomb softened the mother's heart to her surviving daughter. As poor Johnhad said, "She could now talk about Nora;" and in that talk, she and thechild she had so long neglected discovered how much they had in common. So when, shortly after his marriage with Helen, Leonard went abroad, Jane Fairfield remained with the old couple. After their death, whichwas within a day of each other, she refused, perhaps from pride, to takeup her residence with Leonard; but she settled near the home which hesubsequently found in England. Leonard remained abroad for some years. A quiet observer of the various manners and intellectual development ofliving races, a rapt and musing student of the monuments that revivethe dead, his experience of mankind grew large in silence, and hisperceptions of the Sublime and Beautiful brightened into tranquil artunder their native skies. 

On his return to England he purchased a small house amidst the mostbeautiful scenes of Devonshire, and there patiently commenced a workin which he designed to bequeath to his country his noblest thoughtsin their fairest forms. Some men best develop their ideas by constantexercise; their thoughts spring from their brain ready-armed, and seek, like the fabled goddess, to take constant part in the wars of men. Andsuch are, perhaps, on the whole, the most vigorous and lofty writers;but Leonard did not belong to this class. Sweetness and serenity werethe main characteristics of his genius; and these were deepened by hisprofound sense of his domestic happiness. To wander alone with Helenby the banks of the murmurous river; to gaze with her on the deep stillsea; to feel that his thoughts, even when most silent, were comprehendedby the intuition of love, and reflected on that translucent sympathy soyearned for and so rarely found by poets, --these were the Sabbaths ofhis soul, necessary to fit him for its labours: for the Writer has thisadvantage over other men, that his repose is not indolence. His duties, rightly fulfilled, are discharged to earth and men in other capacitiesthan those of action. If he is not seen among those who act, he isall the while maturing some noiseless influence, which will guide orillumine, civilize or elevate, the restless men whose noblest actionsare but the obedient agencies of the thoughts of writers. Call not, then, the Poet whom we place amidst the Varieties of Life, the sybariteof literary ease, if, returning on Summer eves, Helen's light footstepby his musing side, he greets his sequestered home, with its trellisedflowers smiling out from amidst the lonely cliffs in which it isembedded; while lovers still, though wedded long, they turn to eachother, with such deep joy in their speaking eyes, grateful that theworld, with its various distractions and noisy conflicts, lies so farfrom their actual existence, --only united to them by the happy link thatthe writer weaves invisibly with the hearts that he moves and the soulsthat he inspires. No! Character and circumstance alike unfitted Leonardfor the strife of the thronged literary democracy; they led towards thedevelopment of the gentler and purer portions of his nature, --to thegradual suppression of the more combative and turbulent. The influenceof the happy light under which his genius so silently and calmly grew, was seen in the exquisite harmony of its colours, rather than thegorgeous diversities of their glow. His contemplation, intent uponobjects of peaceful beauty, and undisturbed by rude anxieties andvehement passions, suggested only kindred reproductions to the creativefaculty by which it was vivified; so that the whole man was not onlya poet, but, as it were, a poem, --a living idyl, calling into pastoralmusic every reed that sighed and trembled along the stream of life. AndHelen was so suited to a nature of this kind, she so guarded the idealexistence in which it breathes! All the little cares and troubles ofthe common practical life she appropriated so quietly to herself, --thestronger of the two, as should be a poet's wife, in the necessaryhousehold virtues of prudence and forethought. Thus if the man's geniusmade the home a temple, the woman's wisdom gave to the temple thesecurity of the fortress. They have only one child, --a girl; they callher Nora. She has the father's soul-lit eyes, and the mother's warmhuman smile. She assists Helen in the morning's noiseless domesticduties; she sits in the evening at Leonard's feet, while he reads orwrites. In each light grief of childhood she steals to the mother'sknee; but in each young impulse of delight, or each brighter flash ofprogressive reason, she springs to the father's breast. Sweet Helen, thou hast taught her this, taking to thyself the shadows even of thineinfant's life, and leaving to thy partner's eyes only its rosy light!

But not here shall this picture of Helen close. Even the Ideal can onlycomplete its purpose by connection with the Real; even in solitude thewriter must depend upon mankind. 

Leonard at last has completed the work, which has been the joy and thelabour of so many years, --the work which he regards as the flower of allhis spiritual being, and to which he has committed all the hopes thatunite the creature of today with the generations of the future. The workhas gone through the press, each line lingered over with the elaboratepatience of the artist, loath to part with the thought he has sculpturedinto form, while an improving touch can be imparted by the chisel. Hehas accepted an invitation from Norreys. In the restless excitement(strange to him since his first happy maiden effort) he has gone toLondon. Unrecognized in the huge metropolis, he has watched to see ifthe world acknowledge the new tie he has woven between its busy life andhis secluded toil. And the work came out in an unpropitious hour; otherthings were occupying the public; the world was not at leisure to heedhim, and the book did not penetrate into the great circle of readers. But a savage critic has seized on it, and mangled, distorted, deformedit, confounding together defect and beauty in one mocking ridicule; andthe beauties have not yet found an exponent, nor the defects a defender;and the publisher shakes his head, points to groaning shelves, anddelicately hints that the work which was to be the epitome of the sacredlife within life does not hit the taste of the day. Leonard thinks overthe years that his still labour has cost him, and knows that he hasexhausted the richest mines of his intellect, and that long years willelapse before he can recruit that capital of ideas which is necessary tosink new shafts and bring to light fresh ore; and the deep despondencyof intellect, frustrated in its highest aims, has seized him, and allhe has before done is involved in failure by the defeat of the crowningeffort. Failure, and irrecoverable, seems his whole ambition as writer;his whole existence in the fair Ideal seems to have been a profitlessdream, and the face of the Ideal itself is obscured. And even Norreysfrankly, though kindly, intimates that the life of a metropolis isessential to the healthful intuition of a writer in the intellectualwants of his age, since every great writer supplies a want in his owngeneration, for some feeling to be announced, some truth to be revealed. And as this maxim is generally sound, as most great writers have livedin cities, Leonard dares not dwell on the exception; it is only successthat justifies the attempt to be an exception to the common rule; andwith the blunt manhood of his nature, which is not a poet's, Norreyssums up with, "What then? One experiment has failed; fit your life toyour genius, and try again. " Try again! Easy counsel enough to the manof ready resource and quick combative mind; but to Leonard, how hardand how harsh! "Fit his life to his genius!"--renounce contemplation andNature for the jostle of Oxford Street! Would that life not scare awaythe genius forever? Perplexed and despondent, though still strugglingfor fortitude, he returns to his home; and there at his hearth awaitsthe Soother, and there is the voice that repeats the passages mostbeloved, and prophesies so confidently of future fame; and gradually allaround smiles from the smile of Helen. And the profound conviction thatHeaven places human happiness beyond the reach of the world's contemptor praise, circulates through his system and restores its serene calm. And he feels that the duty of the intellect is to accomplish and perfectitself, --to harmonize its sounds into music that may be heard in heaven, though it wake not an echo on the earth. If this be done, as with somemen, best amidst the din and the discord, be it so; if, as with him, best in silence, be it so too. And the next day he reclines with Helenby the seashore, gazing calmly as before on the measureless sunlitocean; and Helen, looking into his face, sees that it is sunlit as thedeep. His hand steals within her own, in the gratitude that endearsbeyond the power of passion, and he murmurs gently, "Blessed be thewoman who consoles. "

The work found its way at length into fame, and the fame sent its voicesloud to the poet's home. But the applause of the world had not a soundso sweet to his ear, as, when, in doubt, humiliation, and sadness, thelips of his Helen had whispered "Hope! and believe!"

Side by side with this picture of Woman the Consoler, let me place thecompanion sketch. Harley L'Estrange, shortly after his marriage withViolante, had been induced, whether at his bride's persuasions, or todissipate the shadow with which Egerton's death still clouded his weddedfelicity, to accept a temporary mission, half military, half civil, toone of our colonies. On this mission he had evinced so much abilityand achieved so signal a success, that on his return to England he wasraised to the peerage, while his father yet lived to rejoice that theson who would succeed to his honours had achieved the nobler dignityof honours not inherited, but won. High expectations were formed ofHarley's parliamentary success; but he saw that such success, to bedurable, must found itself on the knowledge of wearisome details, andthe study of that practical business which jarred on his tastes, thoughit suited his talents. Harley had been indolent for so many years, --andthere is so much to make indolence captivating to a man whose rank issecured, who has nothing to ask from fortune, and who finds at his homeno cares from which he seeks a distraction; so he laughed at ambition inthe whim of his delightful humours, and the expectations formed fromhis diplomatic triumph died away. But then came one of those politicalcrises, in which men ordinarily indifferent to politics rouse themselvesto the recollection that the experiment of legislation is not made upondead matter, but on the living form of a noble country; and in bothHouses of Parliament the strength of party is put forth. 

It is a lovely day in spring, and Harley is seated by the window ofhis old room at Knightsbridge, --now glancing to the lively green ofthe budding trees; now idling with Nero, who, though in canine old age, enjoys the sun like his master; now repeating to himself, as he turnsover the leaves of his favourite Horace, some of those lines that makethe shortness of life the excuse for seizing its pleasures andeluding its fatigues, which formed the staple morality of the polishedepicurean; and Violante (into what glorious beauty her maiden bloomhas matured!) comes softly into the room, seats herself on a low stoolbeside him, leaning her face on her hands, and looking up at himthrough her dark, clear, spiritual eyes; and as she continues to speak, gradually a change comes over Harley's aspect, gradually the brow growsthoughtful, and the lips lose their playful smile. There is no hatefulassumption of the would-be "superior woman, " no formal remonstrance, nolecture, no homily which grates upon masculine pride; but the high themeand the eloquent words elevate unconsciously of themselves, and theHorace is laid aside, --a Parliamentary Blue Book has been, by somemarvel or other, conjured there in its stead; and Violante now movesaway as softly as she entered. Harley's hand detains her. 

"Not so. Share the task, or I quit it. Here is an extract I condemn youto copy. Do you think I would go through this labour if you were not tohalve the success?--halve the labour as well!"

And Violante, overjoyed, kisses away the implied rebuke, and sits downto work, so demure and so proud, by his side. I do not know if Harleymade much way in the Blue Book that morning; but a little time after hespoke in the Lords, and surpassed all that the most sanguine had hopedfrom his talents. The sweetness of fame and the consciousness of utilityonce fully tasted, Harley's consummation of his proper destinieswas secure. A year later, and his voice was one of the influences ofEngland. His boyish love of glory revived, --no longer vague and dreamy, but ennobled into patriotism, and strengthened into purpose. One night, after a signal triumph, he returned home, with his father, who hadwitnessed it, and Violante--who all lovely, all brilliant, though shewas, never went forth in her lord's absence, to lower among fops andflatterers the dignity of the name she so aspired to raise--sprang tomeet him. Harley's eldest son--a boy yet in the nursery--had been keptup later than usual; perhaps Violante had anticipated her husband'striumph, and wished the son to share it. The old earl beckoned thechild to him, and laying his hand on the infant's curly locks, said withunusual seriousness, "My boy, you may see troubled times in England before these hairs areas gray as mine; and your stake in England's honour and peace will begreat. Heed this hint from an old man who had no talents to make anoise in the world, but who yet has been of some use in his generation. Neither sounding titles, nor wide lands, nor fine abilities, will giveyou real joy, unless you hold yourself responsible for all to your Godand to your country; and when you are tempted to believe that the giftsyou may inherit from both entail no duties, or that duties are at warwith true pleasure, remember how I placed you in your father's arms, and said, 'Let him be as proud of you some day as I at this hour am ofhim. '"

The boy clung to his father's breast, and said manfully, "I will try!"Harley bent his fair smooth brow over the young earnest face, and saidsoftly, "Your mother speaks in you!"

Then the old countess, who had remained silent and listening on herelbow-chair, rose and kissed the earl's hand reverently. Perhaps in thatkiss there was the repentant consciousness how far the active goodnessshe had often secretly undervalued had exceeded, in its fruits, her owncold unproductive powers of will and mind. Then passing on to Harley, her brow grew elate, and the pride returned to her eye. 

"At last, " she said, laying on his shoulder that light firm hand, fromwhich he no longer shrunk, --"at last, O my noble son, you have fulfilledall the promise of your youth!"

"If so, " answered Harley, "it is because I have found what I then soughtin vain. " He drew his arm around Violante, and added, with half tender, half solemn smile, "Blessed is the woman who exalts!"

So, symbolled forth in these twin and fair flowers which Eve saved forEarth out of Paradise, each with the virtue to heal or to strengthen, stored under the leaves that give sweets to the air; here, soothing theheart when the world brings the trouble; here, recruiting the soul whichour sloth or our senses enervate, leave we Woman, at least in the placeHeaven assigns to her amidst the multiform "Varieties of Life. "

Farewell to thee, gentle Reader; and go forth to the world, O MY NOVEL!

THE END.