"Yes, sir, a person just arrived in a post-chaise," replied the sergeant.
"We must have order, Sir Robert," continued Leyton, his powerful voice rising above the din; "there is much more to be done! Clear the room of your men, sergeant. They are not wanted here--but stay, I will speak with Mr. Haveland;" and he went out, followed by the sergeant and some half-dozen of the dragoons, who had accompanied their non-commissioned officer into the room.
Leyton soon returned; but the precautions he had gone to enforce were vain. The person who had arrived in the chaise, proved to be a somewhat disreputable clergyman from a distant parish. Young Richard Radford was not taken; another fate awaited him. A man, indeed, on horseback, was seen to approach the grounds of Radford Hall towards eleven o'clock; but the lights, that were apparent through many windows, seemed to startle him, as he rode along the road. He paused for a moment, and gazed, and then advanced more slowly; but the eagerness of the small guard at that point, perhaps, frustrated their object, for it is not certain to this day who the person was. When he again halted, and seemed to hesitate, they dashed out after him; but instantly setting spurs to his horse, he galloped off into the woods; and knowing the country better than they did, he was soon lost to their pursuit.
In the meantime, the result of the search in Mr. Radford's house was made known, in a formal manner, to the party assembled in the small drawing-room. Abundant evidence was found of his having been implicated in all the most criminal parts of the late smuggling transactions; and the business of the night concluded, by an order to remand him, to be brought before the bench of magistrates on the following day; for Sir Robert Croyland declined to commit him on his own responsibility.
"He has preferred a charge against me," he said, in the same firm tone he had lately assumed--"let us see whether he will sustain it to-morrow."
Before all was concluded, it was near midnight; and then every one rose to depart. Mr. Croyland eagerly asked for Edith, saying he would convey her home in his carriage; but Leyton interposed, replying, "We will bring her to you in a moment, my dear friend.--Sir Robert, it may be as well that you and I should seek Miss Croyland alone. I think I saw her maid below."
"Certainly," answered her father, "let us go, my dear Henry, for it is growing very late."
Mr. Croyland smiled, saying, "Well, well, so be it;" and the other two left the room. They found Edith, after some search, seated in the dining hall. She looked pale and anxious; but the expression of Leyton's face relieved her of her worst apprehensions--not that it was joyful; for there was a touch of sadness in it; but she knew that his aspect could not be such, if her father's life were in any real danger.
Leyton advanced towards her at once, even before her father, took her hand in his, and kissed it tenderly. "I told you, dearest Edith," he said, "that I would bring you aid; and I have, thank God, been able to redeem that promise; but now I have another task to perform. Your father's safety is placed beyond doubt--his innocence made clear; and your happiness, beloved one, is not sacrificed. The chance of endangering that happiness was the only cause of my not doing what, perhaps, you desired for his sake--what I do now. Sir Robert Croyland, I did wrong in years long past--in boyhood and the intemperance of youthful love and hope--by engaging your daughter to myself by vows, which she has nobly though painfully kept. As an atonement to you, as a satisfaction to my own sense of right, I now, as far as in me lies, set her free from those engagements, leaving to her own self how she will act, and to you how you will decide. Edith, beloved, you are free, as far as I can make you so; and, Sir Robert, I ask your forgiveness for the wrong act I once committed."
Edith Croyland turned somewhat pale, and looked at her father earnestly; but Sir Robert did not answer for a moment.--Was it that he hesitated?--No; but there was an oppressive weight at his heart, when he thought of all that he had done--all that he had inflicted, not only on the man before him, but on others guiltless of all offence, which seemed almost to stop its beating. But at length, he took Edith's hand and put it in Leyton's, saying, in a low, tremulous voice, "She is yours, Henry--she is yours; and, oh, forgive the father for the daughter's sake!"