"Mr. Avenel," said Harley, slowly, recovering himself from the abstraction with which he had listened to d.i.c.k's earlier sentences, "I fear I do not quite understand you; but I have no other interest in the next election for the borough of Lansmere than as may serve one whom, whatever be your politics, you must acknowledge to be--"

"A humbug!"

"Mr. Avenel, you cannot mean the person I mean. I speak of one of the first statesmen of our time,--of Mr. Audley Egerton, of--"

"A stiff-necked, pompous--"

"My earliest and dearest friend."

The rebuke, though gently said, sufficed to silence d.i.c.k for a moment; and when he spoke again, it was in an altered tone.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord, I am sure. Of course, I can say nothing disrespectful of your friend,--very sorry that he is your friend. In that case, I am almost afraid that nothing is to be done. But Mr. Audley Egerton has not a chance.

"Let me convince you of this." And d.i.c.k pulled out a little book, bound neatly in red.

"Canva.s.s book, my Lord. I am no aristocrat. I don't pretend to carry a free and independent const.i.tuency in my breeches' pocket. Heaven forbid!

But as a practical man of business, what I do is done properly. Just look at this book.

"Well kept, eh? Names, promises, inclinations, public opinions, and private interests of every individual Lansmere elector! Now, as one man of honour to another, I show you this book, and I think you will see that we have a clear majority of at least eighty votes as against Mr.

Egerton."

"That is your view of the question," said Harley, taking the book and glancing over the names catalogued and ticketed therein. But his countenance became serious as he recognized many names familiar to his boyhood as those of important electors on the Lansmere side, and which he now found transferred to the hostile. "But surely there are persons here in whom you deceive yourself,--old friends of my family, stanch supporters of our party."

"Exactly so. But this new question has turned all old things topsy-turvy. No relying on any friend of yours. No reliance except in this book!" said d.i.c.k, slapping the red cover with calm but ominous emphasis.

"Now, what I want to propose is this: Don't let the Lansmere interest be beaten; it would vex the old earl,--go to his heart, I am sure."

Harley nodded.

"And the Lansmere interest need not be beaten, if you'll put up another man instead of this red-tapist. (Beg pardon.) You see I only want to get in one man, you want to get in another. Why not? Now, there 's a smart youth,--connection of Mr. Egerton's,--Randal Leslie. I have no objection to him, though he is of your colours. Withdraw Mr. Egerton, and I 'll withdraw my second man before it comes to the poll; and so we shall halve the borough slick between us. That's the way to do business,--eh, my Lord?"

"Randal Leslie! Oh, you wish to bring in Mr. Leslie? But he stands with Egerton, not against him."

"Ah," said d.i.c.k, smiling as if to himself, "so I hear; and we could bring him in over Egerton without saying a word to you. But all our family respect yours, and so I have wished to do the thing handsome and open. Let the earl and your party be content with young Leslie."

"Young Leslie has spoken to you?"

"Not as to my coming here. Oh, no, that's a secret,--private and confidential, my Lord. And now, to make matters still more smooth, I propose that my man shall be one to your Lordship's own heart. I find you have been very kind to my nephew; does you credit, my Lord,--a wonderful young man, though I say it. I never guessed there was so much in him. Yet all the time he was in my house, he had in his desk the very sketch of an invention that is now saving me from ruin,--from positive ruin,--Baron Levy, the King's Bench, and almighty smash! Now, such a young man ought to be in parliament. I like to bring forward a relation,--that is, when he does one credit; 't is human nature and sacred ties--one's own flesh and blood; and besides, one hand rubs the other, and one leg helps on the other, and relations get on best in the world when they pull together; that is, supposing that they are the proper sort of relations, and pull one on, not down. I had once thought of standing for Lansmere myself,--thought of it very lately. The country wants men like me, I know that; but I have an idea that I had better see to my own business. The country may, or may not, do without me, stupid old thing that she is! But my mill and my new engines--there is no doubt that they cannot do without me. In short, as we are quite alone, and, as I said before, there 's no kind of necessity for that sort of humbug which exists when other people are present, provide elsewhere for Mr.

Egerton, whom I hate like poison,--I have a right to do that, I suppose, without offence to your Lordship,--and the two younkers, Leonard Fairfield and Randal Leslie, shall be members for the free and independent borough of Lansmere!"

"But does Leonard wish to come into parliament?"

"No, he says not; but that's nonsense. If your Lordship will just signify your wish that he should not lose this n.o.ble opportunity to raise himself in life, and get something handsome out of the nation, I'm sure he owes you too much to hesitate,--'specially when 't is to his own advantage. And besides, one of us Avenels ought to be in parliament; and if I have not the time and learning, and so forth, and he has, why, it stands to reason that he should be the man. And if he can do something for me one day--not that I want anything--but still a baronetcy or so would be a compliment to British Industry, and be appreciated as such by myself and the public at large,--I say, if he could do something of that sort, it would keep up the whole family; and if he can't, why, I'll forgive him."

"Avenel," said Harley, with that familiar and gracious charm of manner which few ever could resist, "Avenel, if as a great personal favour to myself--to me your fellow-townsman (I was born at Lansmere)--if I asked you to forego your grudge against Audley Egerton, whatever that grudge be, and not oppose his election, while our party would not oppose your nephew's, could you not oblige me? Come, for the sake of dear Lansmere, and all the old kindly feelings between your family and mine, say 'yes, so shall it be.'"

Richard Avenel was almost melted. He turned away his face; but there suddenly rose to his recollection the scornful brow of Audley Egerton, the lofty contempt with which he, then the worshipful Mayor of Screwstown, had been shown out of the minister's office-room; and the blood rushing over his cheeks, he stamped his foot on the floor, and exclaimed angrily, "No; I swore that Audley Egerton should smart for his insolence to me, as sure as my name be Richard Avenel; and all the soft soap in the world will not wash out that oath. So there is nothing for it but for you to withdraw that man, or for me to defeat him. And I would do so, ay,--and in the way that could most gall him,--if it cost me half my fortune. But it will not cost that," said d.i.c.k, cooling, "nor anything like it; for when the popular tide runs in one's favour, 't is astonishing how cheap an election may be. It will cost him enough though, and all for nothing,--worse than nothing. Think of it, my Lord."

"I will, Mr. Avenel. And I say, in my turn, that my friendship is as strong as your hate; and that if it costs me, not half, but my whole fortune, Audley Egerton shall come in without a shilling of expense to himself, should we once decide that he stand the contest."

"Very well, my Lord,--very well," said d.i.c.k, stiffly, and drawing on his kid gloves; "we'll see if the aristocracy is always to ride over the free choice of the people in this way. But the people are roused, my Lord. The March of Enlightenment is commenced, the Schoolmaster is abroad, and the British Lion--"

"n.o.body here but ourselves, my dear Avenel. Is not this rather what you call--humbug?"

d.i.c.k started, stared, coloured, and then burst out laughing, "Give us your hand again, my Lord. You are a good fellow, that you are. And for your sake--"

"You'll not oppose Egerton?"

"Tooth and nail, tooth and nail!" cried d.i.c.k, clapping his hands to his ears, and fairly running out of the room.

There pa.s.sed over Harley's countenance that change so frequent to it,--more frequent, indeed, to the gay children of the world than those of consistent tempers and uniform habits might suppose. There is many a man whom we call friend, and whose face seems familiar to us as our own; yet, could we but take a glimpse of him when we leave his presence, and he sinks back into his chair alone, we should sigh to see how often the smile on the frankest lip is but a bravery of the drill, only worn when on parade.

What thoughts did the visit of Richard Avenel bequeath to Harley? It were hard to define them.

In his place, an Audley Egerton would have taken some comfort from the visit, would have murmured, "Thank Heaven! I have not to present to the world that terrible man as my brother-in-law." But probably Harley had escaped, in his revery, from Richard Avenel altogether. Even as the slightest incident in the daytime causes our dreams at night, but is itself clean forgotten, so the name, so the look of the visitor, might have sufficed but to influence a vision, as remote from its casual suggester as what we call real life is from that life much more real, that we imagine, or remember, in the haunted chambers of the brain. For what is real life? How little the things actually doing around us affect the springs of our sorrow or joy; but the life which our dulness calls romance,--the sentiment, the remembrance, the hope, or the fear, that are never seen in the toil of our hands, never heard in the jargon on our lips,--from that life all spin, as the spider from its entrails, the web by which we hang in the sunbeam, or glide out of sight into the shelter of home.

"I must not think," said Harley, rousing himself with a sigh, "either of past or present. Let me hurry on to some fancied future. 'Happiest are the marriages,' said the French philosopher, and still says many a sage, 'in which man asks only the mild companion, and woman but the calm protector.' I will go to Helen."

He rose; and as he was about to lock up his escritoire, he remembered the papers which Leonard had requested him to read. He took them from their deposit, with a careless hand, intending to carry them with him to his father's house. But as his eye fell upon the characters, the hand suddenly trembled, and he recoiled some paces, as if struck by a violent blow. Then, gazing more intently on the writing, a low cry broke from his lips. He reseated himself, and began to read.

CHAPTER XI.

Randal--with many misgivings at Lord L'Estrange's tone, in which he was at no loss to detect a latent irony--proceeded to Norwood. He found Riccabocca exceedingly cold and distant; but he soon brought that sage to communicate the suspicions which Lord L'Estrange had instilled into his mind, and these Randal was as speedily enabled to dispel. He accounted at once for his visits to Levy and Peschiera. Naturally he had sought Levy, an acquaintance of his own,--nay, of Audley Egerton's,--but whom he knew to be professionally employed by the count. He had succeeded in extracting from the baron Peschiera's suspicious change of lodgment from Mivart's Hotel to the purlieus of Leicester Square; had called there on the count, forced an entrance, openly accused him of abstracting Violante; high words had pa.s.sed between them,--even a challenge. Randal produced a note from a military friend of his, whom he had sent to the count an hour after quitting the hotel. This note stated that arrangements were made for a meeting near Lord's Cricket Ground, at seven o'clock the next morning. Randal then submitted to Riccabocca another formal memorandum from the same warlike friend, to the purport that Randal and himself had repaired to the ground, and no count had been forthcoming. It must be owned that Randal had taken all suitable precautions to clear himself. Such a man is not to blame for want of invention, if he be sometimes doomed to fail.

"I, then, much alarmed," continued Randal, "hastened to Baron Levy, who informed me that the count had written him word that he should be for some time absent from England. Rushing thence, in despair, to your friend Lord L'Estrange, I heard that your daughter was safe with you.

And though, as I have just proved, I would have risked my life against so notorious a duellist as the count, on the mere chance of preserving Violante from his supposed designs, I am rejoiced to think that she had no need of my unskilful arm. But how and why can the count have left England after accepting a challenge? A man so sure of his weapon, too,--reputed to be as fearless of danger as he is blunt in conscience.

Explain,--you who know mankind so well,--explain. I cannot." The philosopher could not resist the pleasure of narrating the detection and humiliation of his foe, the wit, ingenuity, and readiness of his friend. So Randal learned, by little and little, the whole drama of the preceding night. He saw, then, that the exile had all reasonable hope of speedy restoration to rank and wealth. Violante, indeed; would be a brilliant prize,--too brilliant, perhaps, for Randal, but not to be sacrificed without an effort. Therefore wringing convulsively the hand of his meditated father-in-law, and turning away his head as if to conceal his emotions, the ingenuous young suitor faltered forth that now Dr. Riccabocca was so soon to vanish into the Duke di Serrano, he--Randal Leslie of Rood, born a gentleman, indeed, but of fallen fortunes--had no right to claim the promise which had been given to him while a father had cause to fear for a daughter's future; with the fear ceased the promise. Alight Heaven bless father and daughter both!

This address touched both the heart and honour of the exile. Randal Leslie knew his man. And though, before Randal's visit, Riccabocca was not quite so much a philosopher but what he would have been well pleased to have found himself released, by proof of the young man's treachery, from an alliance below the rank to which he had all chance of early restoration, yet no Spaniard was ever more tenacious of plighted word than this inconsistent pupil of the profound Florentine. And Randal's probity being now clear to him, he repeated, with stately formalities, his previous offer of Violante's hand.

"But," still falteringly sighed the provident and far-calculating Randal--"but your only child, your sole heiress! Oh, might not your consent to such a marriage (if known before your recall) jeopardize your cause? Your lands, your princ.i.p.alities, to devolve on the child of an humble Englishman! I dare not believe it. Ah, would Violante were not your heiress!"

"A n.o.ble wish," said Riccabocca, smiling blandly, "and one that the Fates will realize. Cheer up; Violante will not be my heiress."

"Ah," cried Randal, drawing a long breath--"ah, what do I hear?"

"Hist! I shall soon a second time be a father. And, to judge by the unerring researches of writers upon that most interesting of all subjects, parturitive science, I shall be the father of a son. He will, of course, succeed to the t.i.tles of Serrano. And Violante--"

"Will have nothing, I suppose?" exclaimed Randal, trying his best to look overjoyed till he had got his paws out of the trap into which he had so incautiously thrust them.

"Nay, her portion by our laws--to say nothing of my affection--would far exceed the ordinary dower which the daughters of London merchants bring to the sons of British peers. Whoever marries Violante, provided I regain my estates, must submit to the cares which the poets a.s.sure us ever attend on wealth."

"Oh!" groaned Randal, as if already bowed beneath the cares, and sympathizing with the poets.

"And now, let me present you to your betrothed." Although poor Randal had been remorselessly hurried along what Schiller calls the "gamut of feeling," during the last three minutes, down to the deep chord of despair at the abrupt intelligence that his betrothed was no heiress after all; thence ascending to vibrations of pleasant doubt as to the unborn usurper of her rights, according to the prophecies of parturitive science; and lastly, swelling into a concord of all sweet thoughts at the a.s.surance that, come what might, she would be a wealthier bride than a peer's son could discover in the matrimonial Potosi of Lombard Street,--still the tormented lover was not there allowed to repose his exhausted though ravished soul. For, at the idea of personally confronting the destined bride--whose very existence had almost vanished from his mind's eye, amidst the golden showers that it saw falling divinely round her--Randal was suddenly reminded of the exceeding bluntness with which, at their last interview, it had been his policy to announce his suit, and of the necessity of an impromptu falsetto suited to the new variations that tossed him again to and fro on the merciless gamut. However, he could not recoil from her father's proposition, though, in order to prepare Riccabocca for Violante's representation, he confessed pathetically that his impatience to obtain her consent and baffle Peschiera had made him appear a rude and presumptuous wooer. The philosopher, who was disposed to believe one kind of courtship to be much the same as another, in cases where the result of all courtships was once predetermined, smiled benignly, patted Randal's thin cheek, with a "Pooh, pooh, pazzie!" and left the room to summon Violante.