Mr. Dale, supposing that Violante wished to dispense with the presence of Helen, said to the latter, “My dear young lady, perhaps you will excuse me to Dr. Riccabocca,—who is beckoning to me, and no doubt very much surprised to see me here,—while I finish what I was saying to Violante when we were interrupted.”
Helen left them, and Violante led the parson round through the shrubbery, towards the side door in another wing of the house.
“What have you to say to me?” asked Mr. Dale, surprised that she remained silent.
“You will see Lord L’Estrange. Be sure that you convince him of Leonard’s honour. A doubt of treachery so grieves his noble heart that perhaps it may disturb his judgment.”
“You seem to think very highly of the heart of this Lord L’Estrange, child!” said the parson, in some surprise. Violante blushed, but went on firmly, and with serious earnestness: “Some words which he-that is, Lord L’Estrange—said to me very lately, make me so glad that you are here,—that you will see him; for I know how good you are, and how wise, dear, dear Mr. Dale! He spoke as one who had received some grievous wrong, which had abruptly soured all his views of life. He spoke of retirement, solitude,—he on whom his country has so many claims. I know not what he can mean, unless it be that his—his marriage with Helen Digby is broken off.”
“Broken off! Is that so?”
“I have it from herself. You may well be astonished that she could even think of another after having known him!” The parson fixed his eyes very gravely on the young enthusiast. But though her cheek glowed, there was in her expression of face so much artless, open innocence, that Mr. Dale contented himself with a slight shake of the head, and a dry remark,—
“I think it quite natural that Helen Digby should prefer Leonard Fairfield. A good girl, not misled by vanity and ambition,—temptations of which it behoves us all to beware; nor least, perhaps, young ladies suddenly brought in contact with wealth and rank. As to this nobleman’s merits, I know not yet whether to allow or to deny them; I reserve my judgment till after our interview. This is all you have to say to me?”
Violante paused a moment. “I cannot think,” she said, half smiling,—“I cannot think that the change that has occurred in him,—for changed he is,—that his obscure hints as to injury received, and justice to be done, are caused merely by his disappointment with regard to Helen. But you can learn that; learn if he be so very much disappointed. Nay, I think not!”
She slipped her slight hand from the parson’s arm, and darted away through the evergreens. Half concealed amidst the laurels, she turned back, and Mr. Dale caught her eye, half arch, half melancholy; its light came soft through a tear.