“Our former acquaintance,” said the Earl—
“Is of such ancient date, my lord—was of such short duration, and was connected with circumstances so exquisitely painful, that I think we may dispense with renewing it.”
So saying, the Antiquary turned away, and left the hut; but Lord Glenallan followed him into the open air, and, in spite of a hasty “Good morning, my lord,” requested a few minutes’ conversation, and the favour of his advice in an important matter.
“Your lordship will find many more capable to advise you, my lord, and by whom your intercourse will be deemed an honour. For me, I am a man retired from business and the world, and not very fond of raking up the past events of my useless life;—and forgive me if I say, I have particular pain in reverting to that period of it when I acted like a fool, and your lordship like”—He stopped short.
“Like a villain, you would say,” said Lord Glenallan—“for such I must have appeared to you.”
“My lord—my lord, I have no desire to hear your shrift,” said the Antiquary.
“But, sir, if I can show you that I am more sinned against than sinning— that I have been a man miserable beyond the power of description, and who looks forward at this moment to an untimely grave as to a haven of rest, you will not refuse the confidence which, accepting your appearance at this critical moment as a hint from Heaven, I venture thus to press on you.”
“Assuredly, my lord, I shall shun no longer the continuation of this extraordinary interview.”
“I must then recall to you our occasional meetings upwards of twenty years since at Knockwinnock Castle,—and I need not remind you of a lady who was then a member of that family.”
“The unfortunate Miss Eveline Neville, my lord; I remember it well.”