“No, no! But is not Harley, is not Lord L’Estrange one whose opinion you have cause to esteem? And if he distrusts Mr. Leslie—”
“Let him make good his distrust by such proof as will absolve my word, and I shall share your own joy. I have told him this. I have invited him to make good his suspicions, he puts me off. He cannot do so,” added Riccabocca, in a dejected tone; “Randal has already so well explained all that Harley deemed equivocal. Violante, my name and my honour rest in your hands. Cast them away if you will; I cannot constrain you, and I cannot stoop to implore. Noblesse oblige! With your birth you took its duties. Let them decide between your vain caprice and your father’s solemn remonstrance.”
Assuming a sternness that he was far from feeling, and putting aside his daughter’s arms, the exile walked away. Violante paused a moment, shivered, looked round as if taking a last farewell of joy and peace and hope on earth, and then approaching her father with a firm step, she said, “I never rebelled, Father; I did but entreat. What you say is my law now, as it has ever been; and come what may, never shall you hear complaint or murmur from me. Poor Father, you will suffer more than I shall. Kiss me!”
About an hour afterwards, as the short day closed in, Harley, returning from his solitary wanderings, after he had parted from Helen, encountered on the terrace, before the house, Lady Lansmere and Audley Egerton arm in arm.
Harley had drawn his hat over his brows, and his eyes were fixed on the ground, so that he did not see the group upon which he came unawares, until Audley’s voice startled him from his revery.
“My dear Harley,” said the ex-minister, with a faint smile, “you must not pass us by, now that you have a moment of leisure from the cares of the election. And, Harley, though we are under the same roof, I see you so little.” Lord L’Estrange darted a quick glance towards his mother,—a glance that seemed to say, “You leaning on Audley’s arm! Have you kept your promise?” And the eye that met his own reassured him.
“It is true,” said Harley; “but you, who know that, once engaged in public affairs, one has no heart left for the ties of private life, will excuse me. And this election is so important!”
“And you, Mr. Egerton,” said Lady Lansmere, “whom the election most concerns, seem privileged to be the only one who appears indifferent to success.”
“Ay; but you are not indifferent?” said Lord L’Estrange, abruptly.
“No. How can I be so, when my whole future career may depend on it?”