“Miss Sticktorights?”
“Zounds, no!—your own little sister, Randal. Sweet pretty face! Harry liked her from the first, and then you’ll be Frank’s brother, and your sound head and good heart will keep him right. And as you are going to be married too (you must tell me all about that later), why, we shall have two marriages, perhaps, in the family on the same day.”
Randal’s hand grasped the squire’s, and with an emotion of human gratitude,—for we know that, hard to all else, he had natural feelings for his fallen family; and his neglected sister was the one being on earth whom he might almost be said to love. With all his intellectual disdain for honest simple Frank, he knew no one in the world with whom his young sister could be more secure and happy. Transferred to the roof, and improved by the active kindness, of Mrs. Hazeldean, blest in the manly affection of one not too refined to censure her own deficiencies of education, what more could he ask for his sister, as he pictured her to himself, with her hair hanging over her ears, and her mind running into seed over some trashy novel. But before he could reply, Violante’s father came to add his own philosophical consolations to the squire’s downright comfortings.
“Who could ever count on popular caprice? The wise of all ages had despised it. In that respect, Horace and Machiavelli were of the same mind,” etc. “But,” said the duke, with emphatic kindness “perhaps your very misfortune here may serve you elsewhere. The female heart is prone to pity, and ever eager to comfort. Besides, if I am recalled to Italy, you will have leisure to come with us, and see the land where, of all others, ambition can be most readily forgotten, even” added the Italian with a sigh—“even by her own sons!”
Thus addressed by both Hazeldean and the duke, Randal recovered his spirits. It was clear that Lord L’Estrange had not conveyed to them any unfavourable impression of his conduct in the Committee-room. While Randal had been thus engaged, Levy had made his way to Harley, who retreated with the baron into the bay of the great window.
“Well, my Lord, do you comprehend this conduct on the part of Richard Avenel? He secure Egerton’s return!—he!”
“What so natural, Baron Levy,—his own brother-in-law?” The baron started, and turned very pale.
“But how did he know that? I never told him. I meant indeed—”
“Meant, perhaps, to shame Egerton’s pride at the last by publicly declaring his marriage with a shopkeeper’s daughter. A very good revenge still left to you; but revenge for what? A word with you, now, Baron, that our acquaintance is about to close forever. You know why I have cause for resentment against Egerton. I do but suspect yours; will you make it clear to me?”
“My Lord, my Lord,” faltered Baron Levy, “I, too, wooed Nora Avenel as my wife; I, too, had a happier rival in the haughty worldling who did not appreciate his own felicity; I too—in a word, some women inspire an affection that mingles with the entire being of a man, and is fused with all the currents of his life-blood. Nora Avenel was one of those women.”