“They must be reconciled now, sooner or later,—squire and son,” said Randal to himself, as he left the lodgings. “I don’t see how I can prevent that,—the marchesa being withdrawn,—unless Frank does it for me. But it is well he should be abroad,—something maybe made out of that; meanwhile I may yet do all that I could reasonably hope to do,—even if Frank had married Beatrice,—since he was not to be disinherited. Get the squire to advance the money for the Thornhill purchase, complete the affair; this marriage with Violante will help; Levy must know that; secure the borough;—well thought of. I will go to Avenel’s. By-the-by, by-the-by, the squire might as well keep me still in the entail after Frank, supposing Frank die childless. This love affair may keep him long from marrying. His hand was very hot,—a hectic colour; those strong-looking fellows often go off in rapid decline, especially if anything preys on their minds,—their minds are so very small.
“Ah, the Hazeldean parson,—and with Avenel! That young man, too, who is he? I have seen him before some where.—My dear Mr. Dale, this is a pleasant surprise. I thought you had returned to Hazeldean with our friend the squire?”
MR. DALE.—“The squire! Has he left town, and without telling me?”
RANDAL (taking aside the parson).—“He was anxious to get back to Mrs. Hazeldean, who was naturally very uneasy about her son and this foolish marriage; but I am happy to tell you that that marriage is effectually and permanently broken off.”
MR. DALE.—“How, how? My poor friend told me he had wholly failed to make any impression on Frank,—forbade me to mention the subject. I was just going to see Frank myself. I always had some influence with him. But, Mr. Leslie, explain this very sudden and happy event. The marriage broken off!”
RANDAL.—“It is a long story, and I dare not tell you my humble share in it. Nay, I must keep that secret. Frank might not forgive me. Suffice it that you have my word that the fair Italian has left England, and decidedly refused Frank’s addresses. But stay, take my advice, don’t go to him; you see it was not only the marriage that has offended the squire, but some pecuniary transactions,—an unfortunate post-obit bond on the Casino property. Frank ought to be left to his own repentant reflections. They will be most salutary; you know his temper,—he don’t bear reproof; and yet it is better, on the other hand, not to let him treat too lightly what has passed. Let us leave him to himself for a few days He is in an excellent frame of mind.”
MR. DALE (shaking Randal’s hand warmly).—“You speak admirably—a post-obit!—so often as he has heard his father’s opinion on such transactions. No, I will not see him; I should be too angry—”
RANDAL (leading the parson back, resumes, after an exchange of salutations with Avenel, who, meanwhile, had been conferring with his nephew).—“You should not be so long away from your rectory, Mr. Dale. What will your parish do without you?”
MR. DALE.—“The old fable of the wheel and the fly. I am afraid the wheel rolls on the same. But if I am absent from my parish, I am still in the company of one who does me honour as an old parishioner. You remember Leonard Fairfield, your antagonist in the Battle of the Stocks?”
MR. AVENEL.—“My nephew, I am proud to say, sir.” Randal bowed with marked civility, Leonard with a reserve no less marked.