“I trust you will not,” said Lesley; “but as I must, for my own sake, be anxious to divide so heavy a responsibility with a capable assistant, allow me to say, that Lieutenant Taffril’s gun-brig is come into the roadstead, and he himself is now at old Caxon’s, where he lodges. I think you have the same degree of acquaintance with him as with me, and, as I am sure I should willingly have rendered you such a service were I not engaged on the other side, I am convinced he will do so at your first request.”
“At the thorn-tree, then, Mr. Lesley, at seven this evening—the arms, I presume, are pistols?”
“Exactly. M’Intyre has chosen the hour at which he can best escape from Monkbarns—he was with me this morning by five, in order to return and present himself before his uncle was up. Good-morning to you, Mr. Lovel.” And Lesley left the apartment.
Lovel was as brave as most men; but none can internally regard such a crisis as now approached, without deep feelings of awe and uncertainty. In a few hours he might be in another world to answer for an action which his calmer thought told him was unjustifiable in a religious point of view, or he might be wandering about in the present like Cain, with the blood of his brother on his head. And all this might be saved by speaking a single word. Yet pride whispered, that to speak that word now, would be ascribed to a motive which would degrade him more low than even the most injurious reasons that could be assigned for his silence. Every one, Miss Wardour included, must then, he thought, account him a mean dishonoured poltroon, who gave to the fear of meeting Captain M’Intyre the explanation he had refused to the calm and handsome expostulations of Mr. Lesley. M’Intyre’s insolent behaviour to himself personally, the air of pretension which he assumed towards Miss Wardour, and the extreme injustice, arrogance, and incivility of his demands upon a perfect stranger, seemed to justify him in repelling his rude investigation. In short, he formed the resolution which might have been expected from so young a man,—to shut the eyes, namely, of his calmer reason, and follow the dictates of his offended pride. With this purpose he sought Lieutenant Taffril.
The lieutenant received him with the good breeding of a gentleman and the frankness of a sailor, and listened with no small surprise to the detail which preceded his request that he might be favoured with his company at his meeting with Captain M’Intyre. When he had finished, Taffril rose up and walked through his apartment once or twice. “This is a most singular circumstance,” he said, “and really”—
“I am conscious, Mr. Taffril, how little I am entitled to make my present request, but the urgency of circumstances hardly leaves me an alternative.”
“Permit me to ask you one question,” asked the sailor;—“is there anything of which you are ashamed in the circumstances which you have declined to communicate.”
“Upon my honour, no; there is nothing but what, in a very short time, I trust I may publish to the whole world.”
“I hope the mystery arises from no false shame at the lowness of your friends perhaps, or connections?”
“No, on my word,” replied Lovel.