"I feel," continued Lodore, after they were again in the street, "that if this meeting end fatally, I have no power to enforce my wishes and designs beyond the grave. The providence which has so strangely conducted the drama of my life, will proceed in its own way after the final catastrophe. I commit my daughter to a higher power than mine, secure that so much innocence and goodness must receive blessings, even in this ill-grained state of existence. You will see Mrs. Greville: she is a kind-hearted, humane woman, and will exert herself to console my child. Ethel—Miss Fitzhenry, I mean—must, as soon as is practicable, return to England. She will be received there by my sister, and remain with her till—till her fate be otherwise decided. We were on the point of sailing;—I have fitted up a cabin for her;—she might make the voyage in that very vessel. You, perhaps, will consult—though what claim have I on you?"
"A claim most paramount," interrupted Villiers eagerly,—"that of a countryman in a foreign land—of a gentleman vindicating his honour at the probable expense of life."
"Thank you!" replied Lodore;—"my heart thanks you—for my own sake, and for my daughter's—if indeed you will kindly render her such services as her sudden loss may make sadly necessary."
"Depend upon me;—though God grant she need them not!"
"For her sake, I say Amen!" said Lodore; "for my own—life is a worn-out garment—few tears will be shed upon my grave, except by Ethel."
"There is yet another," said Villiers with visible hesitation: "pardon me, if I appear impertinent; but at such a moment, may I not name Lady Lodore?"
"For her, indeed," answered the peer, "the event of this evening, if fatal to me, will prove fortunate: she will be delivered from a heavy chain. May she be happy in another choice! Are you acquainted with her?"
"I am, slightly—that is, not very intimately."
"If you meet her on your return to England," continued the noble;—"if you ever see Lady Lodore, tell her that I invoked a blessing on her with my latest breath—that I forgive her, and ask her forgiveness. But we are arrived. Remember Ethel."
"Yet one moment," cried Villiers;—"one moment of reflection, of calm! Is there no way of preventing this encounter?"