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, reentering 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 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 signore 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 has 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.”