Early the next morning Randal received two notes, one from Frank, written
in great agitation, begging Randal to see and propitiate his father, whom
he feared he had grievously offended; and then running off, rather
incoherently, into protestations that his honour as well as his
affections 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 less
cordial than usual--requesting Mr. Leslie to call on him.
Randal dressed in haste, and went first to Limmer's hotel. He found the
parson with Mr. Hazeldean, and endeavouring in vain to soothe him. The
squire had not slept all night, and his appearance was almost haggard.
"Oho! Mr. young Leslie," said he, throwing himself back in his chair as
Randal entered, "I thought you were a friend,--I thought you were Frank's
adviser. Explain, sir! explain!"
"Gently, my dear Mr. Hazeldean," said the parson. "You do but surprise
and 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 Frank was
in love with Violante Rickeybockey?"
RANDAL (as in amaze).--"I! Never, sir! I feared, on the contrary, that
he was somewhat enamoured of a very different person. I hinted at that
possibility. I could not do more, for I did not know how far Frank's
affections were seriously engaged. And indeed, sir, Mrs. Hazeldean,
though not encouraging the idea that your son could marry a foreigner and
a Roman Catholic, did not appear to consider such objections insuperable,
if Frank's happiness were really at stake."
Here the poor squire gave way to a burst of passion, that involved in one
tempest Frank, Randal, Harry herself, and the whole race of foreigners,
Roman Catholics, and women. While the squire was still incapable of
hearing reason, the parson, taking aside Randal, convinced himself that
the whole affair, so far as Randal was concerned, had its origin in a
very natural mistake; and that while that young gentleman had been
hinting at Beatrice, Mrs. Hazeldean had been thinking of Violante.
With considerable difficulty he succeeded in conveying this explanation
to the squire, and somewhat appeasing his wrath against Randal. And the
Dissimulator, seizing his occasion, then expressed so much grief and
astonishment at learning that matters had gone as far as the parson
informed him,--that Frank had actually proposed to Beatrice, been
accepted, and engaged himself, before even communicating with his father;
he declared so earnestly, that he could never conjecture such evil, that
he had had Frank's positive promise to take no step without the sanction
of his parents; he professed such sympathy with the squire's wounded
feelings, and such regret at Frank's involvement, that Mr. Hazeldean at
last yielded up his honest heart to his consoler, and griping Randal's
hand, said, "Well, well, I wronged you; beg your pardon. 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 things
have come to, indeed! A widow, too, I hear. Artful jade! thought, no
doubt, to catch a Hazeldean of Hazeldean. My estates go to an outlandish
Papistical set of mongrel brats! No, no, never!"
"But," said the parson, mildly, "perhaps we may be unjustly prejudiced
against 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 the
arm--"Answer the parson!" cried he, vehemently.
"Indeed, sir, I cannot speak disrespectfully of the character of a
woman,--who may, too, become Frank's wife; and the world is ill-natured
and 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 would
advise his nephew to marry."
"My brother!" exclaimed the squire, furiously. "Consult my distant
brother 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, through him,
we may be enabled to enlighten Frank, and save him from what appears 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 openly
without a third person, even so wise and kind as you."
"Let Randal go," growled the squire. And Randal went. He spent some
time with Frank, and the reader will easily divine how that time was
employed. As he left Frank's lodgings, he found himself suddenly seized
by the squire himself.
"I was too impatient to stay at home and listen to the parson's prosing,"
said Mr. Hazeldean, nervously. "I have shaken Dale off. Tell me 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 adjacent
park.
"My dear sir," said he, sorrowfully, "this is very confidential what I am
about to say. I must repeat it to you, because, without such confidence,
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;--only do not
tell him. He would never forgive me; it would forever destroy my
influence over him."
"Go on, go on," gasped the squire; "speak out. I'll never tell the
ungrateful boy that I learned his secrets from another."
"Then," said Randal, "the secret of his entanglement with Madame di Negra
is simply this: he found her in debt--nay, on the point of being
arrested--"
"Debt! arrested! Jezebel!"
"And in paying the debt himself, and saving her from arrest, he conferred
on her the obligation which no woman of honour could accept save from an
affianced husband. Poor Frank!--if sadly taken in, still we must pity
and forgive him!"
Suddenly, to Randal's great surprise, the squire's whole face brightened
up.
"I see, I see!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "I have it, I have it!
'T is an affair of money! I can buy her off. If she took money from
him--the mercenary, painted baggage I--why, then, she'll take it from me.
I don't care what if costs--half my fortune--all! I'd be content never
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 has
broken 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 go to
her at once." And as he spoke, the squire actually pulled out his
pocketbook, and began turning over and counting the bank-notes in it.
Randal at first tried to combat this bold resolution on the part of the
squire; but Mr. Hazeldean had seized on it with all the obstinacy of his
straightforward English mind. He cut Randal's persuasive eloquence off
in the midst.
"Don't waste your breath! I've settled it; and if you don't tell me
where she lives, 't is easily found out, I suppose."
Randal mused a moment. "After all," thought he, "why not? He will be
sure so to speak as to enlist her pride against himself, and to irritate
Frank to the utmost. Let him go."
Accordingly he gave the information required; and, insisting with great
earnestness on the squire's promise not to mention to Madame di Negra his
knowledge of Frank's pecuniary aid (for that would betray Randal as the
informant); and satisfying himself as he best might with the squire's
prompt assurance, "that he knew how to settle matters, without saying why
or wherefore, as long as he opened his purse wide enough," he accompanied
Mr. Hazeldean back into the streets, and there left him,--fixing an hour
in the evening for an interview at Limmer's, and hinting that it would be
best to have that interview without the presence of the parson.
"Excellent good man," said Randal, "but not with sufficient knowledge of
the world for affairs of this kind, which you understand so well."
"I should think so," quoth the squire, who had quite recovered his good-
humour. "And the parson is as soft as buttermilk. We must be firm
here,--firm, sir." And the squire struck the end of his stick on the
pavement, nodded to Randal, and went on to May Fair as sturdily and as
confidently as if to purchase a prize cow at a cattle-show.