"My son! Frank? Oh, then, of course, Randal will speak out. Speak, my boy!"
Randal remained silent. The duke looked at his working face, and drew away his chair.
"Young man, can you hesitate?" said he. "A doubt is expressed which involves your honour."
"'s death!" cried the squire, also gazing on Randal's cowering eye and quivering lip, "what are you afraid of?"
"Afraid!" said Randal, forced into speech, and with a hollow laugh— "afraid?—I? What of? I was only wondering what Lord L'Estrange could mean."
"I will dispel that wonder at once. Mr. Hazeldean, your son displeased you first by his proposals of marriage to the Marchesa di Negra against your consent; secondly, by a post-obit bond granted to Baron Levy. Did you understand from Mr. Randal Leslie that he had opposed or favoured the said marriage,—that he had countenanced or blamed the said post-obit?"
"Why, of course," cried the squire, "that he had opposed both the one and the other."
"Is it so, Mr. Leslie?"
"My Lord—I—I—my affection for Frank, and my esteem for his respected father—I—I—" (He nerved himself, and went on with firm voice)—"Of course, I did all I could to dissuade Frank from the marriage; and as to the post-obit, I know nothing about it."
"So much at present for this matter. I pass on to the graver one, that affects your engagement with the Duke di Serrano's daughter. I understand from you, Duke, that to save your daughter from the snares of Count di Peschiera, and in the belief that Mr. Leslie shared in your dread of the count's designs, you, while in exile and in poverty, promised to that gentleman your daughter's hand? When the probabilities of restoration to your principalities seemed well-nigh certain, you confirmed that promise on learning from Mr. Leslie that he had, however ineffectively, struggled to preserve your heiress from a perfidious snare. Is it not so?"