“No, no! do not say that,—I could not believe you.” Harley frowned, but resumed calmly, “If, then, I say, ‘Ask me not wherefore, but I forbid you to be the wife of Leonard Fairfield, I what would be your answer?’”
“Ah, my Lord, if you can but comfort him, do with me as you will! but do not command me to break his heart.”
“Oh, silly child,” cried Harley, laughing scornfully, “hearts are not found in the race from which that man sprang. But I take your promise, with its credulous condition. Helen, I pity you. I have been as weak as you, bearded man though I be. Some day or other, you and I may live to laugh at the follies at which you weep now. I can give you no other comfort, for I know of none.”
He moved to the door, and paused at the threshold: “I shall not see you again for some days, Helen. Perhaps I may request my mother to join me at Lansmere; if so, I shall pray you to accompany her. For the present, let all believe that our position is unchanged. The time will soon come when I may—”
Helen looked up wistfully through her tears.
“I may release you from all duties to me,” continued Harley, with grave and severe coldness; “or I may claim your promise in spite of the condition; for your lover’s heart will not be broken. Adieu!”
CHAPTER XVII.
As Harley entered London, he came suddenly upon Randal Leslie, who was hurrying from Eaton Square, having not only accompanied Mr. Avenel in his walk, but gone home with him, and spent half the day in that gentleman’s society. He was now on his way to the House of Commons, at which some disclosure as to the day for the dissolution of parliament was expected.
“Lord L’Estrange,” said Randal, “I must stop you. I have been to Norwood, and seen our noble friend. He has confided to me, of course, all that passed. How can I express my gratitude to you! By what rare talent, with what signal courage, you have saved the happiness—perhaps even the honour—of my plighted bride!”