on't talk of him. Whether his conduct be good or ill is my affair,"
resumed the poor father, with a testy voice--jealous alike of Audley's
praise or blame of his rebellious son. Then he rose a moment, and made
a strong gulp, as if for air; and laying his broad brown hand on his
brother's shoulder, said, "Randal Leslie tells me you are wise,--a
consummate man of the world. No doubt you are so. And Parson Dale tells
me that he is sure you have warm feelings,--which I take to be a strange
thing for one who has lived so long in London, and has no wife and no
child, a widower, and a member of parliament,--for a commercial city,
too. Never smile; it is no smiling matter with me. You know a foreign
woman, called Negra or Negro; not a blackymoor, though, by any
means,--at least on the outside of her. Is she such a woman as a plain
country gentleman would like his only son to marry--ay or no?"

"No, indeed," answered Audley, gravely; "and I trust your son will
commit no action so rash. Shall I see him, or her? Speak, my dear
William. What would you have me do?"

"Nothing; you have said enough," replied the squire, gloomily; and his
head sank on his breast.

Audley took his hand, and pressed it fraternally. "William," said the
statesman, "we have been long estranged; but I do not forget that when
we last met, at--at Lord Lansmere's house, and when I took you aside,
and said, 'William, if I lose this election, I must resign all chance of
public life; my affairs are embarrassed. I would not accept money from
you,--I would seek a profession, and you can help me there,' you divined
my meaning, and said, 'Take orders; the Hazeldean living is just vacant.
I will get some one to hold it till you are ordained.' I do not forget
that. Would that I had thought earlier of so serene an escape from all
that then tormented me! My lot might have been far happier."

The squire eyed Audley with a surprise that broke forth from his more
absorbing emotions. "Happier! Why, all things have prospered with you;
and you are rich enough now; and--you shake your head. Brother, is it
possible! do you want money? Pooh, not accept money from your mother's
son!--stuff!" Out came the squire's pocketbook. Audley put it gently
aside.

"Nay," said he, "I have enough for myself; but since you seek and speak
with me thus affectionately, I will ask you one favour. Should I die
before I can provide for my wife's kinsman, Randal Leslie, as I could
wish, will you s