Harley half rose, and his eyes literally flashed fire; but he calmed his anger into irony. “Ha!” said he, with a sarcastic smile, “so you suppose that I was the perfidious seducer of Nora Avenel,—that I am the callous father of the child who came into the world without a name. Very well, sir, taking these assumptions for granted, what is it you demand from me on behalf of this young man?”
“I ask from you his happiness,” replied Mr. Dale, imploringly; and yielding to the compassion with which Leonard inspired him, and persuaded that Lord L’Estrange felt a father’s love for the boy whom he had saved from the whirlpool of London, and guided to safety and honourable independence, he here, with simple eloquence, narrated all Leonard’s feelings for Helen,—his silent fidelity to her image, though a child’s, his love when he again beheld her as a woman, the modest fears which the parson himself had combated, the recommendation that Mr. Dale had forced upon him, to confess his affection to Helen, and plead his cause. “Anxious, as you may believe, for his success,” continued the parson, “I waited without your gates till he came from Miss Digby’s presence. And oh, my Lord, had you but seen his face!—such emotion and such despair! I could not learn from him what had passed. He escaped from me and rushed away. All that I could gather was from a few broken words, and from those words I formed the conjecture (it may be erroneous) that the obstacle to his happiness was not in Helen’s heart, my Lord, but seemed to me as if it were in yourself. Therefore, when he had vanished from my sight, I took courage, and came at, once to you. If he be your son, and Helen Digby be your ward,—she herself an orphan, dependent on your bounty,—why should they be severed? Equals in years, united by early circumstance, congenial, it seems, in simple habits and refined tastes,—what should hinder their union, unless it be the want of fortune? And all men know your wealth, none ever questioned your generosity. My Lord, my Lord, your look freezes me. If I have offended, do not visit my offence on him,—on Leonard!”
“And so,” said Harley, still controlling his rage, “so this boy—whom, as you say, I saved from that pitiless world which has engulfed many a nobler genius—so, in return for all, he has sought to rob me of the last affection, poor and lukewarm though it was, that remained to me in life? He presume to lift his eyes to my affianced bride! He! And for aught I know, steal from me her living heart, and leave to me her icy hand!”
“Oh, my Lord, your affianced bride! I never dreamed of this. I implore your pardon. The very thought is so terrible, so unnatural! the son to woo the father’s! Oh, what sin have I fallen into! The sin was mine,—I urged and persuaded him to it. He was ignorant as myself. Forgive him, forgive him!”
“Mr. Dale,” said Harley, rising, and extending his hand, which the poor parson felt himself—unworthy to take,—“Mr. Dale, you are a good man,—if, indeed, this universe of liars contains some man who does not cheat our judgment when we deem him honest. Allow me only to ask why you consider Leonard Fairfield to be my son.”
“Was not your youthful admiration for poor Nora evident to me? Remember I was a frequent guest at Lansmere Park; and it was so natural that you, with all your brilliant gifts, should captivate her refined fancy, her affectionate heart.”
“Natural—you think so,—go on.”
“Your mother, as became her, separated you. It was not unknown to me that you still cherished a passion which your rank forbade to be lawful. Poor girl! she left the roof of her protectress, Lady Jane. Nothing was known of her till she came to her father’s house to give birth to a child, and die. And the same day that dawned on her corpse, you hurried from the place. Ah, no doubt your conscience smote you; you have never returned to Lansmere since.”
Harley’s breast heaved, he waved his hand; the parson resumed,
“Whom could I suspect but you? I made inquiries: they confirmed my suspicions.”