“You saw Violante yesterday. Did you speak to her of Madame di Negra?” asked Harley, suddenly recalling the questions respecting the marchesa which Violante had addressed to him.
In spite of himself, Randal felt that he changed countenance. “Of Madame di Negra? I do not think so. Yet I might. Oh, yes, I remember now. She asked me the marchesa’s address; I would not give it.”
“The address is easily found. Can she have gone to the marchesa’s house?”
“I will run there, and see,” cried Randal, starting up. “And I with you. Stay, my dear mother. Proceed, as you propose, to Norwood, and take Mr. Leslie’s advice. Spare our friend the news of his daughter’s loss—if lost she be—till she is restored to him. He can be of no use mean while. Let Giacomo rest here; I may want him.”
Harley then passed into the next room, and entreated the prince and Leonard to await his return, and allow Giacomo to stay in the same room.
He then went quickly back to Randal. Whatever might be his fears or emotions, Harley felt that he had need of all his coolness of judgment and presence of mind. The occasion made abrupt demand upon powers which had slept since boyhood, but which now woke with a vigour that would have made even Randal tremble, could he have detected the wit, the courage, the electric energies, masked under that tranquil self-possession. Lord L’Estrange and Randal soon reached the marchesa’s house, and learned that she had been out since morning in one of Count Peschiera’s carriages. Randal stole an alarmed glance at Harley’s face. Harley did not seem to notice it.
“Now, Mr. Leslie, what do you advise next?”
“I am at a loss. Ah, perhaps, afraid of her father, knowing how despotic is his belief in paternal rights, and how tenacious he is of his word once passed, as it has been to me, she may have resolved to take refuge in the country, perhaps at the Casino, or at Mrs. Dale’s, or Mrs. Hazeldean’s. I will hasten to inquire at the coach-office. Meanwhile, you—”
“Never mind me, Mr. Leslie. Do what you think best. But, if your surmises be just, you must have been a very rude wooer to the high-born lady you aspired to win.”
“Not so; but perhaps an unwelcome one. If she has indeed fled from me, need I say that my suit will be withdrawn at once? I am not a selfish lover, Lord L’Estrange.”