“Your bride! The duke, then, still holds to the promise you were fortunate enough to obtain from Dr. Riccabocca?”
“He confirms that promise more solemnly than ever. You may well be surprised at his magnanimity.”
“No; he is a philosopher,—nothing in him can surprise me. But he seemed to think, when I saw him, that there were circumstances you might find it hard to explain.”
“Hard! Nothing so easy. Allow me to tender to you the same explanations which satisfied one whom philosophy itself has made as open to truth as he is clear-sighted to imposture.”
“Another time, Mr. Leslie. If your bride’s father be satisfied, what right have I to doubt? By the way, you stand for Lansmere. Do me the favour to fix your quarters at the Park during the election. You will, of course, accompany Mr. Egerton.”
“You are most kind,” answered Randal, greatly surprised.
“You accept? That is well. We shall then have ample opportunity for those explanations which you honour me by offering; and, to make your visit still more agreeable, I may perhaps induce our friends at Norwood to meet you. Good-day.” Harley walked on, leaving Randal motionless in amaze, but tormented with suspicion. What could such courtesies in Lord L’Estrange portend? Surely no good.
“I am about to hold the balance of justice,” said Harley to himself. “I will cast the light-weight of that knave into the scale. Violante never can be mine; but I did not save her from a Peschiera to leave her to a Randal Leslie. Ha, ha! Audley Egerton has some human feeling,—tenderness for that youth whom he has selected from the world, in which he left Nora’s child to the jaws of Famine. Through that side I can reach at his heart, and prove him a fool like myself, where he esteemed and confided! Good.”
Thus soliloquizing, Lord L’Estrange gained the corner of Bruton Street, when he was again somewhat abruptly accosted.
“My dear Lord L’Estrange, let me shake you by the hand; for Heaven knows when I may see you again, and you have suffered me to assist in one good action.”