“Pray, young sir, what may be the offending which required such earnest supplication to be pardoned?”
“An impertinent question,” I replied.
“Repeat it,” he continued, as he fixed his eye steadily on mine.
“I inquired whether Miss Hartley had not been designed to take the veil, that for so long a period of her life she had lived the inmate of a convent.”
“It was a silly and a harmless question,” he answered drily. “Know you not that it is customary in catholic countries to entrust the daughters of the noblest families to religious communities for instruction? Well, Isidora, the pardon may be granted: for it is, possibly, the last offending he shall perpetrate or you forgive. Come, my girl, dinner has been ordered two hours earlier than usual, to enable Mr. O’Halloran to proceed this evening on his route. This may sound inhospitable, sir, but it is necessary. Isidora, let us look upon that lake, and these mountains: we look upon them for the last time!”
I started. What did all this mean? I looked at Mr. Hartley, but his face wore the same expression it always did; and if on the tablet of memory the past and present were fast careering, the volume was sealed to me. Dinner was served: it was a hurried and unsocial meal; and when the cloth was lifted, Isidora left the room.
“Drink, sir,” said the host—“time flies; and in half an hour you will be on the road, and I preparing for a longer journey. Those pistols on the table are yours. Fearing lest they had suffered by the night air, I had them discharged and cleaned.” He got up, took the weapons, and examined them critically. “From the cypher, I presume them to have been your father’s.” He sprang the ramrods—“Clean and effective,” he said. “In travelling, there are two things I never delegate to another—my horse and my weapons. The first I see attended to before myself; and the second, I take especial care shall not be found wanting when required. You will find ammunition in that drawer, and I beg you to excuse me for five minutes.”
When he was gone, I reloaded my pistols—filled another glass of wine—wondered what the devil would come next—heard the door open—looked round, and saw mine host leading his fair daughter in.
“Isidora,” he said, “comes to bid you farewell. I overheard you ask pardon for some imaginary offending, and she will confirm it. My love, give the gentleman that ring.”
In deep confusion, the blushing girl pulled a jewel from her finger.