“Less ignorant than myself, in a word,” said Fossbrooke, laughing. “You mean you'd like to hear a more trustworthy prophet predict as favorably; and with all that I agree heartily.”
“There's no one would be better pleased to be certain that the fine palace on the wall there was not a castle in Spain. I think you know that.”
“I do, Cave,—I know it well; but bear in mind, your best runs in the hunting-field have not always been when you have killed your fox. The pursuit, when it is well sustained, with its fair share of perils met, dared, and overcome,—this is success. Whatever keeps a man's heart up and his courage high to the end, is no mean thing. I own to you I hope to win, and I don't know that there is any such failure possible as would quench this hope.”
“Just what Trafford said of you when he came back from that fishing-excursion,” cried Cave, as though carried away by a sudden burst of thought.
“What a good fellow he is! Shall we have him up here to-night?”
“No; some of our men have been getting into scrapes at Cagliari, and I have been obliged to ask him to stay there and keep things in order.”
“Is his quarrel with his family final, or is there still an opening to reconciliation?”
“I 'm afraid not. Some old preference of his mother's for the youngest son has helped on the difference; and then certain stories she brought back from Ireland of Lionel's doings there, or at least imputed doings, have, I suspect, steeled his father's heart completely against him.”
“I'll stake my life on it there is nothing dishonorable to attach to him. What do they allege?”
“I have but a garbled version of the story, for from Trafford himself I have heard nothing; but I know, for I have seen the bills, he has lost largely at play to a very dangerous creditor, who also accuses him of designs on his wife; and the worst of this is that the latter suspicion originated with Lady Trafford.”