why, then, she'll take it from
me. I don't care what if costs--half my fortune--all! I'd be content
never to see Hazeldean Hall again, if I could save my son, my own son,
from disgrace and misery; for miserable he will be, when he knows he has
broken my heart and his mother's. And for a creature like that! My boy,
a thousand hearty thanks to you. Where does the wench live? I'll go
to her at once." And as he spoke, the squire actually pulled out his
pocketbook, and began turning over and counting the bank-notes in it.

Randal at first tried to combat this bold resolution on the part of the
squire; but Mr. Hazeldean had seized on it with all the obstinacy of his
straightforward English mind. He cut Randal's persuasive eloquence off
in the midst.

"Don't waste your breath! I've settled it; and if you don't tell me
where she lives, 't is easily found out, I suppose."

Randal mused a moment. "After all," thought he, "why not? He will be
sure so to speak as to enlist her pride against himself, and to irritate
Frank to the utmost. Let him go."

Accordingly he gave the information required; and, insisting with great
earnestness on the squire's promise not to mention to Madame di Negra
his knowledge of Frank's pecuniary aid (for that would betray Randal
as the informant); and satisfying himself as he best might with the
squire's prompt assurance, "that he knew how to settle matters, without
saying why or wherefore, as long as he opened his purse wide enough,"
he accompanied Mr. Hazeldean back into the streets, and there left
him,--fixing an hour in the evening for an interview at Limmer's,
and hinting that it would be best to have that interview without the
presence of the parson.

"Excellent good man," said Randal, "but not with sufficient knowledge of
the world for affairs of this kind, which you understand so well."

"I should think so," quoth the squire, who had quite recovered his
good-humour. "And the parson is as soft as buttermilk. We must be firm
here,--firm, sir." And the squire struck the end of his stick on the
pavement, nodded to Randal, and went on to May Fair as sturdily and as
confidently as if to purchase a prize cow at a cattle-show.

CHAPTER XII.

"Bring the light nearer," said John Burley,--"nearer still."

Leonard obeyed, and placed the candle on a little table by the sick
man's bedside.

Burley's mind was partially wandering; but there was method in his
madness. Horace Walpole said that "h