Harper's New Monthly Magazine, No. XXVI, July 1852, Vol. V. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ It was a cold moonlit night. Young idlers of his own years and rank passed him by, on their way from the haunts of social pleasure. They were yet in the first fair holiday of life. Life's holiday had gone from him forever. Graver men, in the various callings of masculine labor – professions, trade, the state – passed him also. Their steps might be sober, and their faces careworn; but no step had the furtive stealth of his – no face the same contracted, sinister, suspicious gloom. Only once, in a lonely thoroughfare, and on the opposite side of the way, fell a foot-fall, and glanced an eye, that seemed to betray a soul in sympathy with Randal Leslie's.

      And Randal, who had heeded none of the other passengers by the way, as if instinctively, took note of this one. His nerves crisped at the noiseless slide of that form, as it stalked on from lamp to lamp, keeping pace with his own. He felt a sort of awe, as if he had beheld the wraith of himself; and ever, as he glanced suspiciously at the arranger, the stranger glanced at him. He was inexpressibly relieved when the figure turned down another street and vanished.

      That man was a felon, as yet undetected. Between him and his kind there stood but a thought – a vail air-spun, but impassable, as the vail of the Image at Sais.

      And thus moved and thus looked Randal Leslie, a thing of dark and secret mischief – within the pale of the law, but equally removed from man by the vague consciousness that at his heart lay that which the eyes of man would abhor and loathe. Solitary amidst the vast city, and on through the machinery of Civilization, went the still spirit of Intellectual Evil.

      CHAPTER XI

      Early the next morning Randal received two notes – one from Frank, written in great agitation, begging Randal to see and propitiate his father, whom he feared he had grievously offended; and then running off, rather incoherently, into protestations that his honor as well as his affections were engaged irrevocably to Beatrice, and that her, at least, he could never abandon.

      And the second note was from the Squire himself – short, and far less cordial than usual – requesting Mr. Leslie to call on him.

      Randal dressed in haste, and went at once to Limmer's hotel.

      He found the Parson with Mr. Hazeldean, and endeavoring in vain to soothe him. The Squire had not slept all night, and his appearance was almost haggard.

      "Oho! Mr. young Leslie," said he, throwing himself back in his chair as Randal entered – "I thought you were a friend – I thought you were Frank's adviser. Explain, sir; explain."

      "Gently, my dear Mr. Hazeldean," said the Parson. "You do but surprise and alarm Mr. Leslie. Tell him more distinctly what he has to explain."

      Squire. – "Did you or did you not tell me or Mrs. Hazeldean, that Frank was in love with Violante Rickeybockey?"

      Randal (as in amaze). – "I! Never, sir! I feared, on the contrary, that he was somewhat enamored of a very different person. I hinted at that possibility. I could not do more, for I did not know how far Frank's affections were seriously engaged. And indeed, sir, Mrs. Hazeldean, though not encouraging the idea that your son could marry a foreigner and a Roman Catholic, did not appear to consider such objections insuperable, if Frank's happiness were really at stake."

      Here the poor Squire gave way to a burst of passion, that involved, in one tempest, Frank, Randal, Harry herself, and the whole race of foreigners, Roman Catholics, and women. While the Squire himself was still incapable of hearing reason, the Parson, taking aside Randal, convinced himself that the whole affair, so far as Randal was concerned, had its origin in a very natural mistake; and that while that young gentleman had been hinting at Beatrice, Mrs. Hazeldean had been thinking of Violante. With considerable difficulty he succeeded in conveying this explanation to the Squire, and somewhat appeasing his wrath against Randal. And the Dissimulator, seizing his occasion, then expressed so much grief and astonishment at learning that matters had gone as far as the Parson informed him – that Frank had actually proposed to Beatrice, been accepted, and engaged himself, before even communicating with his father; he declared so earnestly, that he could never conjure such evil – that he had had Frank's positive promise to take no step without the sanction of his parents; he professed such sympathy with the Squire's wounded feelings, and such regret at Frank's involvement, that Mr. Hazeldean at last yielded up his honest heart to his consoler – and gripping Randal's hand, said, "Well, well, I wronged you – beg your pardon. What now is to be done?"

      "Why, you can not consent to this marriage – impossible," replied Randal; "and we must hope therefore to influence Frank, by his sense of duty."

      "That's it," said the Squire; "for I'll not give way. Pretty pass things have come to, indeed! A widow too, I hear. Artful jade – thought, no doubt, to catch a Hazeldean of Hazeldean. My estates go to an outlandish Papistical set of mongrel brats! No, no, never!"

      "But," said the Parson, mildly, "perhaps we may be unjustly prejudiced against this lady. We should have consented to Violante – why not to her? She is of good family?"

      "Certainly," said Randal.

      "And good character?"

      Randal shook his head, and sighed. The Squire caught him roughly by the arm – "Answer the Parson!" cried he, vehemently.

      "Indeed, sir, I can not speak ill of the character of a woman, who may, too, be Frank's wife; and the world is ill-natured, and not to be believed. But you can judge for yourself, my dear Mr. Hazeldean. Ask your brother whether Madame di Negra is one whom he would advise his nephew to marry."

      "My brother!" exclaimed the Squire furiously. "Consult my distant brother on the affairs of my own son!"

      "He is a man of the world," put in Randal.

      "And of feeling and honor," said the Parson, "and, perhaps, through him, we may be enabled to enlighten Frank, and save him from what appears to be the snare of an artful woman."

      "Meanwhile," said Randal, "I will seek Frank, and do my best with him. Let me go now – I will return in an hour or so."

      "I will accompany you," said the Parson.

      "Nay, pardon me, but I think we two young men can talk more openly without a third person, even so wise and kind as you."

      "Let Randal go," growled the Squire. And Randal went.

      He spent some time with Frank, and the reader will easily divine how that time was employed. As he left Frank's lodgings, he found himself suddenly seized by the Squire himself.

      "I was too impatient to stay at home and listen to the Parson's prosing," said Mr. Hazeldean, nervously. "I have shaken Dale off. Tell me what has passed. Oh! don't fear – I'm a man, and can bear the worst."

      Randal drew the Squire's arm within his, and led him into the adjacent park.

      "My dear sir," said he, sorrowfully, "this is very confidential what I am about to say. I must repeat it to you, because without such confidence, I see not how to advise you on the proper course to take. But if I betray Frank, it is for his good, and to his own father: – only do not tell him. He would never forgive me – it would for ever destroy my influence over him."

      "Go on, go on," gasped the Squire; "speak out. I'll never tell the ungrateful boy that I learned his secrets from another."

      "Then," said Randal, "the secret of his entanglement with Madame di Negra is simply this – he found her in debt – nay, on the point of being arrested – "

      "Debt! – arrested! Jezabel!"

      "And in paying СКАЧАТЬ