It was the high character of Malcolm Montrose that commended him so favorably to the esteem of Lord Leaton, and induced his lordship to promote the betrothal between that young gentleman and the young heiress of Allworth; for be it known that the engagement was rather of Lord Leaton’s making than of the young pair’s seeking.
They loved each other as brother and sister, nor dreamed of the possibility of a stronger affection. They had naturally and easily glided into the views of Lord and Lady Leaton, and had at length plighted their hands, in perfect good faith, if not with the passionate love of which neither young heart had as yet any experience. One of the conditions of the betrothal was, that upon his marriage with the heiress, Malcolm Montrose should assume the name and arms of Leaton. It was also hoped that, in the event of the death of Lord Leaton, his son-in-law might obtain the reversion of the title.
It was soon after this solemn betrothal, that took place in the spring of 185–, that Malcolm Montrose took leave of his friends, and left England for an extended tour of the Continent.
Up to this time the life of Lord Leaton and his family had been one of unbroken sunshine. From this time the clouds began to darken around them.
On the day succeeding the departure of Malcolm, Lord Leaton received a letter from India, informing him of the death of his younger brother, who had left England many years previous to seek his fortune under the burning sun of Hindostan. The large fortune he had apparently found was the love of a beautiful native girl, whom he had secretly married, and who, in ten months after, in the same hour, made him a widower and the father of a female infant—the little Eudora, who, under her father’s care, had managed to grow up even in that deadly climate. But now that father had fallen a victim to the fatal fever of the country, and his daughter Eudora was left destitute.
Lord Leaton had been too long separated from his brother to feel keenly his death; his fraternal affection took a more practical turn than grief; he lost no time in procuring a proper messenger to send out to India for the purpose of bringing back his niece, who, as the only child of his sole brother, was, after Agatha, the heiress-presumptive of his estates.
As soon as Lord Leaton had despatched his messenger, he set out with his family to visit Paris. They took the first floor of a handsome house in a fashionable quarter of the city; but the circumstance of their being in mourning for Lord Leaton’s brother caused them to live in great retirement.
This was about the time that the concerted revolution in the Papal States had been discovered and suppressed, and when some of the noblest Romans had fallen on the scaffold, and others had been driven into exile. Among those whose fate excited the liveliest sympathy were the Prince and Princess Pezzilini. The prince fell gloriously in the cause of civil and religious liberty, and the princess was said to have perished in the flames when the Palace Pezzilini was burned by the mob. This was the common talk of Paris when Lord Leaton and his family arrived there.
It was within a few days after their settlement in their apartments, that the attention of Lord and Lady Leaton was attracted by a lady who frequently passed them on the grand staircase. She was a tall, fine-formed, fair woman, of great beauty, clothed in mourning, and wearing the aspect of the profoundest sorrow. No one could have seen her without becoming interested—no one could have passed her without a backward glance. She was sometimes attended by a stout, dark-complexioned, middle-aged man, whose manner towards her seemed half way between that of a good uncle and a faithful and trusted domestic.
The feminine curiosity of Lady Leaton had been so much excited by this mysterious lady and her strange attendant, that she had at length inquired about her of the old portress of the house. And it was from that garrulous personage Lady Leaton learned to her astonishment that the beautiful stranger was no other than the Princess Pezzilini, who had not perished in the burning Palace of Pezzilini, but who had made her escape with the assistance of a faithful servant, Antonio Mario, who, for her better security, had circulated the report of her death, while he bore her off to France. She was now living on the fourth floor of that house, in great poverty and seclusion, attended only by her faithful servant, Antonio Mario.