“It is all that is left of the language spoken in paradise,” said Harley.
“In the dialogue between Eve and the serpent,—yes,” quoth the incorrigible sage. “But who comes here?—our friend Leonard.”
Leonard now entered the room; but Harley could scarcely greet him, before he was interrupted by the count. “Milord,” said Peschiera, beckoning him aside, “I have fulfilled my promise, and I will now leave your roof. Baron Levy returns to London, and offers me a seat in his carriage, which is already, I believe, at your door. The duke and his daughter will readily forgive me if I do not ceremoniously bid them farewell. In our altered positions, it does not become me too intrusively to claim kindred; it became me only to remove, as I trust I have done, a barrier against the claim. If you approve my conduct, you will state your own opinion to the duke.” With a profound salutation the count turned to depart; nor did Harley attempt to stay him, but attended him down the stairs with polite formality.
“Remember only, my Lord, that I solicit nothing. I may allow myself to accept,—voilia tout.” He bowed again, with the inimitable grace of the old regime, and stepped into the baron’s travelling carriage.
Levy, who had lingered behind, paused to accost L’Estrange. “Your Lordship will explain to Mr. Egerton how his adopted son deserved his esteem, and repaid his kindness. For the rest, though you have bought up the more pressing and immediate demands on Mr. Egerton, I fear that even your fortune will not enable you to clear those liabilities which will leave him, perhaps, a pauper!”
“Baron Levy,” said Harley, abruptly, “if I have forgiven Mr. Egerton, cannot you too forgive? Me he has wronged; you have wronged him, and more foully.”
“No, my Lord, I cannot forgive him. You he has never humiliated, you he has never employed for his wants, and scorned as his companion. You have never known what it is to start in life with one whose fortunes were equal to your own, whose talents were not superior. Look you, Lord L’Estrange, in spite of this difference between me and Egerton, that he has squandered the wealth that he gained without effort, while I have converted the follies of others into my own ample revenues, the spendthrift in his penury has the respect and position which millions cannot bestow upon me. You would say that I am an usurer, and he is a statesman. But do you know what I should have been, had I not been born the natural son of a peer? Can you guess what I should have been if Nora Avenel had been my wife? The blot on my birth, and the blight on my youth, and the knowledge that he who was rising every year into the rank which entitled him to reject me as a guest at his table—he whom the world called the model of a gentleman—was a coward and a liar to the friend of his youth,—all this made me look on the world with contempt; and, despising Audley Egerton, I yet hated him and envied. You, whom he wronged, stretch your hand as before to the great statesman; from my touch you would shrink as pollution. My Lord, you may forgive him whom you love and pity; I cannot forgive him whom I scorn and envy. Pardon my prolixity. I now quit your house.” The baron moved a step, then, turning back, said with a withering sneer,—
“But you will tell Mr. Egerton how I helped to expose the son he adopted! I thought of the childless man when your Lordship imagined I was but in fear of your threats. Ha! ha! that will sting.”
The baron gnashed his teeth as, hastily entering the carriage, he drew down the blinds. The post-boys cracked their whips, and the wheels rolled away.
“Who can judge,” thought Harley, “through what modes retribution comes home to the breast? That man is chastised in his wealth, ever gnawed by desire for what his wealth cannot buy!” He roused himself, cleared his brow, as from a thought that darkened and troubled; and, entering the saloon, laid his hand upon Leonard’s shoulder, and looked, rejoicing, into the poet’s mild, honest, lustrous eyes. “Leonard,” said he, gently, “your hour is come at last.”