"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
towards the house to order Randal's room to be got ready: "For,"
said Randal, "knowing that you will excuse my morning dress, I
venture 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 honour--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 towards changing the
Squire's humour.
"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--"
"Worshipping 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 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 recognised 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 honours 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 neighbourhood. 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 stà 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 cannot at this distance--watch over
him, and keep watch also on his enemy."
Jackeymo seized Randal's hand and lifted it towards 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 sceptically.
"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. Everywhere 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-humoured 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 quarrelled 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. Cæsar 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 favourite 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
unchristian-like usurpation on the part of the Church generally, and
a most especial and iniquitous infliction upon the Hazeldean estates
in particular.