LEVY.—“To those doubly-crossed, very long letters,—I will.”
“Poor Nora,” said Egerton, sighing, “she will think this answer brief and churlish enough. Explain my excuses kindly, so that they will serve for the future. I really have no time and no heart for sentiment. The little I ever had is well-nigh worried out of me. Still I love her fondly and deeply.”
LEVY.—“You must have done so. I never thought it in you to sacrifice the world to a woman.”
EGERTON.—“Nor I either; but,” added the strong man, conscious of that power which rules the world infinitely more than knowledge, conscious of tranquil courage, “but I have not sacrificed the world yet. This right arm shall bear up her and myself too.”
LEVY.—“Well said! but in the mean while, for heaven’s sake, don’t attempt to go to London, nor to leave this place; for, in that case, I know you will be arrested, and then adieu to all hopes of parliament,—of a career.”
Audley’s haughty countenance darkened; as the dog, in his bravest mode, turns dismayed from the stone plucked from the mire, so, when Ambition rears itself to defy mankind, whisper “disgrace and a jail,”—and, lo, crestfallen, it slinks away! That evening Levy called on Nora, and ingratiating himself into her favour by praise of Egerton, with indirect humble apologetic allusions to his own former presumption, he prepared the way to renewed visits; she was so lonely, and she so loved to see one who was fresh from seeing Audley, one who would talk to her of him! By degrees the friendly respectful visitor thus stole into her confidence; and then, with all his panegyrics on Audley’s superior powers and gifts, he began to dwell upon the young husband’s worldly aspirations, and care for his career; dwell on them so as vaguely to alarm Nora,—to imply that, dear as she was, she was still but second to Ambition. His way thus prepared, he next began to insinuate his respectful pity at her equivocal position, dropped hints of gossip and slander, feared that the marriage might be owned too late to preserve reputation. And then what would be the feelings of the proud Egerton if his wife were excluded from that world whose opinion he so prized? Insensibly thus he led her on to express (though timidly) her own fear, her own natural desire, in her letters to Audley. When could the marriage be proclaimed? Proclaimed! Audley felt that to proclaim such a marriage at such a moment would be to fling away his last cast for fame and fortune. And Harley, too,—Harley still so uncured of his frantic love! Levy was sure to be at hand when letters like these arrived.
And now Levy went further still in his determination to alienate these two hearts. He contrived, by means of his various agents, to circulate through Nora’s neighbourhood the very slanders at which he had hinted. He contrived that she should be insulted when she went abroad, outraged at home by the sneers of her own servant, and tremble with shame at her own shadow upon her abandoned bridal hearth.
Just in the midst of this intolerable anguish, Levy reappeared. His crowning hour was ripe. He intimated his knowledge of the humiliations Nora had undergone, expressed his deep compassion, offered to intercede with Egerton “to do her justice.” He used ambiguous phrases, that shocked her ear and tortured her heart, and thus provoked her on to demand him to explain; and then, throwing her into a wild state of indefinite alarm, in which he obtained her solemn promise not to divulge to Audley what he was about to communicate, he said, with villanous hypocrisy of reluctant shame, “that her marriage was not strictly legal; that the forms required by the law had not been complied with, that Audley, unintentionally or purposely, had left himself free to disown the rite and desert the bride.” While Nora stood stunned and speechless at a falsehood which, with lawyer-like show, he contrived to make truth-like to her inexperience, he hurried rapidly on, to re-awake on her mind the impression of Audley’s pride, ambition, and respect for worldly position. “These are your obstacles,” said he; “but I think I may induce him to repair the wrong, and right you at last.” Righted at last—oh, infamy!
Then Nora’s anger burst forth. She believe such a stain on Audley’s honour!
“But where was the honour when he betrayed his friend? Did you not know that he was entrusted by Lord L’Estrange to plead for him. How did he fulfil the trust?”