“Not from you, perhaps,” said Norwood, insolently; “but I had the misfortune to go out as his friend! My position is a most painful and critical one.”
“I should suppose that no one will understand how to deal with such embarrassments better than your Lordship.”
“Thanks for the good opinion; the speech I take to be a compliment, however you meant it. I believe I am not altogether unskilled in such affairs, and it is precisely because such is the case that I am here now. Onslow, in other hands than mine, is a ruined man. The story, tell it how you will, comes to this: that, having gone out to meet a man he had grossly insulted, he wanders away from the rendezvous, and is found some hours after at the foot of the cliff, insensible. He may have fallen, he may have been waylaid,—though everything controverts this notion; or, lastly, he may have done the act himself. There will be advocates for each view of the case; but it is essential, for his honor and reputation, that one story should be authenticated. Now, I am quite ready to stand godfather to such a version, taking all the consequences, however serious, on myself.”
“This is very kind, very generous, indeed, my Lord,” said Grounsell, suddenly warming into an admiration of one he was always prejudiced against.
“Oh, I'm a regular John Bull!” said the Viscount, at once assuming the burden of that canticle, which helped him in all moments of hypocrisy. “Always stand by the old stock,—nothing like them, sir. The Anglo-Saxon blood will carry all before it yet; never suffer a rascally foreigner to put his foot on one of your countrymen. Have him out, sir; parade the fellow at once: that's my plan.”
“I like your spirit!” cried Grounsell, enthusiastically.
“To be sure you do, old cock!” exclaimed Norwood, clapping him familiarly on the shoulder. “Depend upon it, I 'll pull George through this. I 'll manage the matter cleverly. There must be no mistake about it; no room for doubt or equivocation, you know. All straightforward, open, and manly: John Bull every inch of It That's my notion, at least,——I hope it's yours?”
“Perfectly,—thoroughly so!”
“Well, then, just hand that note to Sir Stafford.” Here he placed a sealed letter in Grounsell's hand. “Tell him what I've just told you. Let him fairly understand the whole question, and let me have the contents this evening at the café in the Santa Trinita,—say about nine o'clock; not later than that These fellows always gather about that hour.”
“I'll take care of it,” said Grounsell.