"By the Lord Harry!" cried the Squire, as he stood with his wife in the
park, on a visit of inspection to some first-rate South-Downs just added
to his stock; "by the Lord, if that is not Randal Leslie trying to get
into the park at the back gate! Hollo, Randal! you must come round by
the lodge, my boy," said he. "You see this gate is locked to keep out
trespassers."
"A pity," said Randal. "I like short-cuts, and you have shut up a very
short one."
"So the trespassers said," quoth the Squire "but Stirn would not hear of
it;--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 his Harry.
"Ah, William," said she anxiously, "though certainly Randal Leslie means
well, I always dread his visits."
"So do I, in one sense," quoth the Squire, "for he always carries away a
bank-note for Frank."
"I hope he is really Frank's friend," said Mrs. Hazeldean.
"Whose else can he be? Not his own, poor fellow, for he will never
accept a shilling from 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 before the
Squire's mouth. The Squire was softened, and kissed the fair hand
gallantly--perhaps he kissed the lips too; at all events, the worthy
pair 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 that
young 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 formed
soon melted away.
Randal continued to make himself thus agreeable, until the Squire,
persuaded that his young kinsman was a first-rate agriculturist,
insisted upon carrying him off to the home-farm, and Harry turned toward
the house to order Randal's room to be got ready: "For," said Randal,
"knowing that you will excuse my morning dress, I ventured to invite
myself to dine and sleep at the Hall."
On approaching the farm buildings, Randal was seized with the terror of
an impostor; for, despite all the theoretical learning on Bucolics and
Georgics with which he had dazzled the Squire, poor Frank, so despised,
would have beat him hollow when it came to judging of the points of an
ox or the show of a crop.
"Ha, ha!" cried the Squire, chuckling, "I long to see how you'll
astonish Stirn. Why, you'll guess in a moment where we put the
top-dressing; and when you come to handle my short-horns, I dare swear
you'll know to a pound how much oilcake has gone into their sides."
"Oh, you do me too much honor--indeed you do. I only know the general
principles of agriculture--the details are eminently interesting; but I
have not had the opportunity to acquire them."
"Stuff!" cried the Squire. "How can a man know general principles unless
he 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 Stirn peering out of a cattle-shed, and
felt undone. He made a desperate rush toward changing the Squire's
humor.
"Well, sir, perhaps Frank may soon gratify your wish, and turn farmer
himself."
"Eh!" quoth the Squire, stopping short. "What now?"
"Suppose he was to marry?"
"I'd give him the two best farms on the property rent free. Ha, ha! Has
he seen the girl yet? I'd leave him free to choose, sir. I chose for
myself--every man should. Not but what Miss Sticktorights is an heiress,
and, I hear, a very decent girl, and that would join the two properties,
and put an end to that lawsuit about the right of way, which began in
the reign of King Charles the Second, and is likely otherwise to last
till the day of judgment. But never mind her; let Frank choose to please
himself."
"I'll not fail to tell him so, sir. I did fear you might have some
prejudices. But here we are at the farm-yard."
"Burn the farm-yard! How can I think of farm-yards when you talk of
Frank's marriage? Come on--this way. What were you saying about
prejudices?"
"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 to
Madame di Negra--"who might, perhaps, speak very little English?"
"Lord ha' mercy!"
"And a Roman Catholic--"
"Worshiping idols, and roasting people who don't worship them."
"Signior 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 a
thing, 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 such
painted good-for-nothing creature in Frank's eye, eh?"
"Indeed, sir, if ever I find there is, I will give you notice in time.
At present I was only trying to ascertain what you wished for a daughter
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 bubble and
squeak. English beef and good cabbage. But foreign rank and
title!--foreign cabbage and beef!--foreign bubble and foreign squeak!"
And the Squire made a wry face, and spat forth his disgust and
indignation.
"You must have an Englishwoman?"
"Of course?"
"Money?"
"Don't care, provided she is a tidy, sensible, active lass, with a good
character for her dower."
"Character--ah, that is indispensable?"
"I should think so, indeed. A Mrs. Hazeldean of Hazeldean; you frighten
me. 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 he
might be seized with apoplexy before Frank's crimes had made him alter
his will.
Therefore he hastened to relieve Mr. Hazeldean's mind, and assured him
that he had been only talking at random; that Frank was in the habit,
indeed, of seeing foreign ladies occasionally, as all persons in the
London world were; but that he was sure Frank would never marry without
the full consent and approval of his parents. He ended by repeating his
assurance that he would warn the Squire if ever it became necessary.
Still, however, he left Mr. Hazeldean so disturbed and uneasy, that that
gentleman forgot all about the farm, and went moodily on in the opposite
direction, re-entering the park at its farther extremity. As soon as
they approached the house, the Squire hastened to shut himself with his
wife in full parental consultation; and Randal, seated upon a bench on
the terrace, revolved the mischief he had done, and its chances of
success.
While thus seated, and thus thinking, a footstep approached cautiously,
and in a low voice said, in broken English, "Sare, sare, let me speak
vid you."
Randal turned in surprise, and beheld a swarthy saturnine face, with
grizzled hair and marked features. He recognized the figure that had
joined Riccabocca in the Italian's garden.
"Speak-a you Italian?" resumed Jackeymo.
Randal, who had made himself an excellent linguist, nodded assent; and
Jackeymo, rejoiced, begged him to withdraw into a more private part of
the grounds.
Randal obeyed, and the two gained the shade of a stately chestnut
avenue.
"Sir," then said Jackeymo, speaking in his native tongue, and expressing
himself with a certain simple pathos, "I am but a poor man; my name is
Giacomo. You have heard of me;--servant to the Signior whom you saw
to-day--only a servant; but he honors me with his confidence. We have
known danger together; and of all his friends and followers, I alone
came 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 confided that which I told him this
day?"
"He did. Ah, sir! the Padrone was too proud to ask you to explain
more--too proud to show fear of another. But he does fear--he ought to
fear--he shall fear" (continued Jackeymo, working himself up to
passion)--"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 hinted
that this man might wish to marry the Signora. Marry her! I could cut
his 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 have
saved--but penniless, compared to him."
"My good friend, I know not yet his motives, but I can easily learn
them. If, however, this Count be your master's enemy, it is surely well
to guard against him, whatever his designs; and, to do so, you should
move into London or its neighborhood. I fear that while we speak, the
Count may get upon his track."
"He had better not come here!" cried the servant, menacingly, and
putting his hand where the knife was _not_.
"Beware of your own anger, Giacomo. One act of violence, and you would
be transported from England, and your master would lose a friend."
Jackeymo seemed struck by this caution.
"And if the Padrone were to meet him, do you think the Padrone would
meekly say, 'Come sta sa Signoria.' The Padrone would strike him dead!"
"Hush--hush! You speak of what, in England, is called murder, and is
punished by the gallows. If you really love your master, for heaven's
sake, get him from this place--get him from all chance of such passion
and peril. I go to town to-morrow; I will find him a house that shall be
safe from all spies--all discovery. And there, too, my friend, I can
do--what I can not at this distance--watch over him, and keep watch also
on his enemy."
Jackeymo seized Randal's hand, and lifted it toward his lip; then, as if
struck by a sudden suspicion, dropped the hand, and said bluntly:
"Signior, I think you have seen the Padrone twice. Why do you take this
interest in him?"
"Is it so uncommon to take interest even in a stranger who is menaced by
some peril?"
Jackeymo, who believed little in general philanthropy, shook his head
skeptically.
"Besides," continued Randal, suddenly bethinking himself of a more
plausible reason: "besides, I am a friend and connection of Mr. Egerton;
and Mr. Egerton's most intimate friend is Lord L'Estrange; and I have
heard that Lord L'Estrange--"
"The good lord! Oh, now I understand," interrupted Jackeymo, and his
brow cleared. "Ah, if _he_ were in England! But you will let us know
when he comes?"
"Certainly. Now, tell me, Giacomo, is this Count really unprincipled and
dangerous? Remember, I know him not personally."
"He has neither heart, head, nor conscience."
"That makes him dangerous to men; but to women, danger comes from other
qualities. Could it be possible, if he obtained any interview with the
Signora, that he could win her affections?"
Jackeymo crossed himself rapidly, and made 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.
Every where else a foreigner is in himself an object of attention and
curiosity."
"True."
"Let your master, then, come to London. He can reside in one of the
suburbs most remote from the Count's haunts. In two days I will have
found him a lodging and write to him. You trust to me now?"
"I do indeed--I do, Excellency. Ah, if the Signorina were married, we
would not care!"
"Married! But she looks so high!"
"Alas! not now--not here!"
Randal sighed heavily. Jackeymo's eyes sparkled. He thought he had
detected a new motive for Randal's interest--a motive to an Italian the
most natural, the most laudable of all.
"Find the house, Signior--write to the Padrone. He shall come. I'll talk
to him. I can manage him. Holy San Giacomo, bestir thyself now--'tis
long since I troubled thee!"
Jackeymo strode off through the fading trees, smiling and muttering as
he went.
The first dinner-bell rang, and, on entering the drawing-room, Randal
found Parson Dale and his wife, who had been invited in haste to meet
the unexpected visitor.
The preliminary greetings over, Mr. Dale took the opportunity afforded
by 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 contact
with him once, respecting, I think, some of your old parishioners at
Lansmere?"
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-humored laugh.
"Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my old opponent in
London 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 dare
say. 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 that
he 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 not
maintain her."
Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler announced
dinner.
The Squire was unusually taciturn--Mrs. Hazeldean thoughtful--Mrs. Dale
languid, and headachy. The Parson, who seldom enjoyed the luxury of
converse with a scholar, save when he quarreled with Dr. Riccabocca, was
animated, by Randal's repute for ability, into a great desire for
argument.
"A glass of wine, Mr. Leslie. You were saying, before dinner, that
burlesque 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 of
knowledge, in a worldly point of view. How does one learn it? Do books
help?"
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).--"Upon
my word, sir, you express yourself very well. I must own that I began
these questions in the hope of differing from you; for I like an
argument."
"That he does," growled the Squire; "the most contradictory creature!"
PARSON.--"Argument is the salt of talk. But now I am afraid I must agree
with you, which I was not at all prepared for."
Randal bowed, and answered--"No two men of our education can dispute
upon the application of knowledge."
PARSON (pricking up his ears).--"Eh! what to?"
RANDAL.--"Power, of course."
PARSON (overjoyed).--"Power!--the vulgarest application of it, or the
loftiest? But you mean the loftiest?"
RANDAL (in his turn interested and interrogative).--"What do you call
the 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, and
adopt it; but I fear that the knowledge which aims only at beneficence
very rarely in this world gets any power at all."
SQUIRE (seriously).--"That's true: I never get my own way when I want to
do a kindness, and Stirn always gets his when he insists on something
diabolically brutal and harsh."
PARSON.--"Pray, Mr. Leslie, what does intellectual power refined to the
utmost, but entirely stripped of beneficence, most resemble?"
RANDAL.--"Resemble?--I can hardly say, some very great man--almost any
very great man--who has baffled all his foes, and attained all his
ends."
PARSON.--"I doubt if any man has ever become very great who has not
meant to be beneficent, though he might err in the means. Caesar was
naturally beneficent, and so was Alexander. But intellectual power
refined to the utmost, and wholly void of beneficence, resembles only
one 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! Even
he, 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 he
fell."
There was a solemn pause. Randal was more impressed than he liked to own
to himself. By this time the dinner was over, and the servants had
retired. Harry glanced at Carry. Carry smoothed her gown and rose.
The gentlemen remained over their wine; and the Parson, satisfied with
what he deemed a clencher upon his favorite subject of discussion,
changed the subject to lighter topics, till happening to fall upon
tithes, the Squire struck in, and by dint of loudness of voice, and
truculence of brow, fairly overwhelmed both his guests, and proved to
his own satisfaction that tithes were an unjust and unchristianlike
usurpation on the part of the Church generally, and a most especial and
iniquitous infliction upon the Hazeldean estates in particular.