Towards the evening, Randal was riding fast on the road to Norwood.
The arrival of Harley, and the conversation that had passed between
that nobleman and Randal, made the latter anxious to ascertain how
far Riccabocca was likely to learn L'Estrange's return to England,
and to meet with him. For he felt that, should the latter come to
know that Riccabocca, in his movements, had gone by Randal's advice,
Harley would find that Randal had spoken to him disingenuously;
and, on the other hand, Riccabocca, placed under the friendly
protection of Lord L'Estrange, would no longer need Randal Leslie to
defend him from the machinations of Peschiera. To a reader happily
unaccustomed to dive into the deep and mazy recesses of a schemer's
mind, it might seem that Randal's interest in retaining a hold
over the exile's confidence would terminate with the assurances
that had reached him, from more than one quarter, that Violante
might cease to be an heiress if she married himself. "But perhaps,"
suggests some candid and youthful conjecturer--"perhaps Randal
Leslie is in love with this fair creature?" Randal in love!--no! He
was too absorbed by harder passions for that blissful folly. Nor,
if he could have fallen in love, was Violante the one to attract
that sullen, secret heart; her instinctive nobleness, the very
stateliness of her beauty, womanlike though it was, awed him. Men of
that kind may love some soft slave--they cannot lift their eyes to
a queen. They may look down--they cannot look up. But, on the one
hand, Randal could not resign altogether the _chance_ of securing
a fortune that would realise his most dazzling dreams, upon the
mere assurance, however probable, which had so dismayed him; and,
on the other hand, should he be compelled to relinquish all idea of
such alliance, though he did not contemplate the base perfidy of
actually assisting Peschiera's avowed designs, still, if Frank's
marriage with Beatrice should absolutely depend upon her brother's
obtaining the knowledge of Violante's retreat, and that marriage
should be as conducive to his interests as he thought he could make
it, why,--he did not then push his deductions farther, even to
himself--they seemed too black; but he sighed heavily, and that sigh
foreboded how weak would be honour and virtue against avarice and
ambition. Therefore, on all accounts, Riccabocca was one of those
cards in a sequence, which so calculating a player would not throw
out of his hand: it _might_ serve for repique at the worst--it might
score well in the game. Intimacy with the Italian was still 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 there seen them, reader, you
would have been seized with equal surprise and curiosity; for some
extraordinary communication had certainly passed between them.
Riccabocca was evidently much agitated, and with emotions not
familiar to him. The tears stood in his eyes at the same time that
a smile, the reverse of cynical or sardonic, curved his lips; while
his wife was leaning her head on his shoulder, her hand clasped in
his, and, by the expression of her face, you might guess that he had
paid her some very gratifying compliment, of a nature more genuine
and sincere than those which characterised his habitual hollow and
dissimulating gallantry. But just at this moment Giacomo entered,
and Jemima, with her native English modesty, withdrew in haste from
Riccabocca's sheltering side.
"Padrone," said Giacomo, who, whatever his astonishment at the
connubial position he had disturbed, was much too discreet to betray
it--"Padrone, I see the young Englishman riding towards the house,
and I hope, when he arrives, you will not forget the alarming
information I gave to you this morning."
"Ah--ah!" said Riccabocca, his face falling.
"If the Signorina were but married!"
"My very thought--my constant thought!" exclaimed Riccabocca. "And
you really believe the young Englishman loves her?"
"Why else should he come, Excellency?" asked Giacomo, with great
_naïveté_.
"Very true; why, indeed?" said Riccabocca. "Jemima, I cannot endure
the terrors I suffer on that poor child's account. I will open
myself frankly to Randal Leslie. And now, too, that which might have
been a serious consideration, in case I return to Italy, will no
longer stand in our way, Jemima."
Jemima smiled faintly, and whispered something to Riccabocca, to
which he replied--
"Nonsense, _anima mia_. I know it _will_ be--have not a doubt of
it. I tell you it is as nine to four, according to the nicest
calculations. I will speak at once to Randal. He is too young--too
timid to speak himself."
"Certainly," interposed Giacomo; "how could he dare to speak, let
him love ever so well?"
Jemima shook her head.
"O, never fear," said Riccabocca, observing this gesture; "I will
give him the trial. If he entertain but mercenary views, I shall
soon detect them. I know human nature pretty well, I think, my love;
and, Giacomo,--just get me my Machiavel;--that's right. Now leave
me, my dear; I must reflect and prepare myself."
When Randal entered the house, Giacomo, with a smile of peculiar
suavity, ushered him into the drawing-room. He found Riccabocca
alone, and seated before the fire-place, leaning his face on his
hand, with the great folio of Machiavel lying open on the table.
The Italian received him as courteously as usual; but there was
in his manner a certain serious and thoughtful dignity, which was
perhaps the more imposing, because but rarely assumed. After a few
preliminary observations, Randal remarked that Frank Hazeldean
had informed him of the curiosity which the disappearance of the
Riccaboccas had excited at the Hall, and inquired carelessly if the
Doctor had left instructions as to the forwarding of any letters
that might be directed to him at the Casino.
"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 to be 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 clue
to your address."
"Nor I either."
Satisfied so far, and knowing that it was not in Riccabocca's habits
to read the newspapers, by which he might otherwise have learnt of
L'Estrange's arrival in London, Randal then proceeded to inquire,
with much seeming interest, into the health of Violante--hoped it
did not suffer by confinement, &c. Riccabocca eyed him gravely while
he spoke, and then suddenly rising, that air of dignity to which I
have before referred, 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 passed the sage's lips, and his eye glanced towards his
Machiavel.
"I know human nature--at least I have studied it," he renewed more
earnestly, and with less evident self-conceit; "and I believe that
when a perfect stranger to me exhibits an interest in my affairs,
which occasions him no small trouble--an interest (continued the
wise man, laying his hand upon Randal's shoulder) which scarcely
a son could exceed, he must be under the influence of some strong
personal motive."
"Oh, sir!" cried Randal, turning a shade more pale, and with a
faltering tone. 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
you share the opinions of your government, and those opinions have
not favoured mine. Not that of pecuniary or ambitious calculations;
for how can such calculations enlist you on behalf of a ruined
exile? What remains? Why, the motive which at your age is ever
the most natural, and the strongest. I don't blame you. Machiavel
himself allows that such a motive has swayed the wisest minds, and
overturned the most solid states. In a word, young man, you are in
love, and with my daughter Violante."
Randal was so startled by this direct and unexpected charge upon his
own masked batteries, that he did not even attempt his defence. His
head drooped on his breast, and he remained speechless.
"I do not doubt," resumed the penetrating judge of human nature,
"that you would have been withheld by the laudable and generous
scruples which characterise your happy age, from voluntarily
disclosing to me the state of your heart. You might suppose
that, proud of the position I once held, or sanguine in the
hope of regaining my inheritance, I might be over-ambitious in
my matrimonial views for Violante; or that you, anticipating my
restoration to honours and fortune, might seem actuated by the last
motives which influence love and youth; and, therefore, my dear
young friend, I have departed from the ordinary custom in England,
and adopted a very common one in my own country. With us, a suitor
seldom 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, my first object in life is to see her safe and secure;
and, in a word--you understand me."
Now, mightily may it comfort and console us ordinary mortals, who
advance no pretence to superior wisdom and ability, to see the
huge mistakes made by both these very sagacious personages--Dr
Riccabocca, valuing himself on his profound acquaintance with
character, and Randal Leslie, accustomed to grope into every
hole and corner of thought and action, wherefrom to extract that
knowledge which is power! For whereas the sage, judging not only
by his own heart in youth, but by the general influence of the
master passion on the young, had ascribed to Randal sentiments
wholly foreign to that able diplomatist's nature, so, no sooner had
Riccabocca brought his speech to a close, than Randal, judging also
by his own heart, and by the general laws which influence men of the
mature age and boasted worldly wisdom of the pupil of Machiavel,
instantly decided that Riccabocca presumed upon his youth and
inexperience, and meant most nefariously to take him in.
"The poor youth!" thought Riccabocca, "how unprepared he is for the
happiness 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,
and so 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 remotest probability of becoming the greatest heiress in Italy,
would he dream of bestowing 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
was about to disclaim altogether the disinterested and absurd
affection laid to his charge, when it occurred to him that, by so
doing, he might mortally offend the Italian--since the cunning never
forgive those who refuse to be duped by them--and it might still be
conducive to his interest to preserve intimate and familiar terms
with Riccabocca; therefore, subduing his first impulse, he exclaimed,
"O too generous man! pardon me if I have so long been unable to
express my amaze, my gratitude; but I cannot--no, I cannot, while
your prospects remain thus uncertain, avail myself of your--of your
inconsiderate magnanimity. Your rare conduct can only redouble my
own scruples, if you, as I firmly hope and believe, are restored to
your great possessions,--you would naturally look so much higher
than me. Should those hopes fail, then, indeed, it may be different;
yet even then, what position, what fortune, have I to offer to your
daughter worthy of her?"
"You are well born: all gentlemen are equals," said Riccabocca,
with a sort of easy nobleness. "You have youth, information,
talent--sources of certain wealth in this happy country--powerful
connections; and, in fine, if you are satisfied with marrying
for love, I shall be contented;--if not, speak openly. As to the
restoration to my possessions, I can scarcely think that probable
while my enemy lives. And even in that case, since I saw you last,
something has occurred (added Riccabocca with a strange smile,
which seemed to Randal singularly sinister and malignant) that may
remove all difficulties. Meanwhile, do not think me so extravagantly
magnanimous--do not underrate the satisfaction I must feel at
knowing Violante safe from the designs of Peschiera--safe, and for
ever, under a husband's roof. I will tell you an Italian proverb--it
contains a truth full of wisdom and terror:--
"'Hai cinquanta Amici?--non basta--hai un Nemico?--è
troppo.'"[56]
[56] Have you fifty friends?--it is not enough.--Have you one
enemy?--it is too much.
"Something has occurred!" echoed Randal, not heeding the conclusion
of this speech, and scarcely hearing the proverb which the sage
delivered in his most emphatic and tragic tone. "Something has
occurred! My dear friend, be plainer. What has occurred?" Riccabocca
remained silent. "Something that induces you to bestow your daughter
on me?"
Riccabocca nodded, and emitted a low chuckle.
"The very laugh of a fiend," muttered Randal. "Something that makes
her not worth bestowing. He betrays himself. Cunning people always
do."
"Pardon me," said the Italian at last," if I don't answer your
question; 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 frankness to you." Here Riccabocca's face changed, and
assumed an expression of mingled rage and fear. "You must know," he
added, sinking his voice, "that Giacomo has seen a strange person
loitering about the house, and looking up at the windows; and he
has no doubt--nor have I--that this is some 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
kept at 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
'if we 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
commence inquiry."
"I cannot detain you. May I think that we have now an interest in
common?"
"O, indeed yes; but--but--your daughter! how can I dream that one so
beautiful, so peerless, will confirm the hope you have extended to
me?"
"The daughter of an Italian is brought up to consider that it is a
father's right to dispose of her hand."
"But the heart?"
"_Cospetto!_" said the Italian, true to his infamous notions as to
the sex, "the heart of a girl is like a convent--the holier the
cloister, the more charitable the door."