“Now, don’t be hard,” grinned Braham, as, without a minute’s loss of time, he drew out the requisite slips of paper, and held them, when ready, for the Viscount to sign. “Look at the risk I run,” he added, as he took a fresh clip of ink, and held the pen to his lordship, placing the writing-table by the bedside, ready to his hand.
“Take them, and make much of them. You came down meaning to make a good bargain out of me, and I hope you are satisfied?”
“Quite—thanks, my lord,” laughed the Jew, as he placed the bills in his pocket-book. “Never mind, my lord; you will settle down soon, and cease kite-flying; but mind this: three months only, and then—no mercy!”
“Good morning,” said the Viscount, shortly; and unwilling to display his rage, he turned round in bed, and dragged the clothes over his shoulders.
“Good morning, my lord,” said the Jew, with a grin of triumph; but the hour of success had not yet arrived for either: incubation was proceeding apparently in the most satisfactory manner, but until Isa Gernon’s hand was his, Lord Maudlaine’s prospect of getting out of debt was small indeed.
A Night’s Adventure.
“Surely my heart would have told me, and the nature within me have revolted from such a sense of passionate love, had his cruel, his base words been true,” said Brace Norton, as he stood one evening by Merland Park palings, watching the lights fade one by one at the Castle; for the hour was late, and, reckless and wretched, the young man had strolled down from the Hall, to have his evening cigar, as he had told his anxious-eyed mother, but really to take a last farewell of the casket which contained his treasure.
“I cannot give her up, mother,” he had said to her, sadly. “I am not ashamed to tell you how dearly I love her, and shall continue to love her, even while all hope is at an end for me. But I cannot help it. We do not make ourselves. They talk of schooling, or ruling, one’s heart, but what poor idiot could first have said that! He must have been heartless himself, and never have known what it is to love.”
And what could Mrs Norton say? She could but recall the past, and the long bitter years she herself had had before she enjoyed the fruition of her love. She lamented, grieved for the unfortunate attachment, but her heart yearned towards the sweet girl. All the old affection of her nature which she had felt for the mother was now given freely to the child. But she had never been made the receptacle of her son’s full confidence; there was one thing, one bitter sentence whispered—nay, hissed in his ear, by Sir Murray Gernon, that the young man never again suffered to pass his lips, as, after long battling with self, he felt convinced it was untrue.