secure her aid, except
by working on a passion so turbulent as to confound her judgment. Such
a passion he recognized in jealousy. He had once doubted if Harley were
the object of her love; yet, after all, was it not probable? He knew,
at least, of no one else to suspect. If so, he had but to whisper,
"Violante is your rival. Violante removed, your beauty may find its
natural effect; if not, you are an Italian, and you will be at least
avenged." He saw still more reason to suppose that Lord L'Estrange was
indeed the one by whom he could rule Beatrice, since, the last time
he had seen her, she had questioned him with much eagerness as to the
family of Lord Lansmere, especially as to the female part of it. Randal
had then judged it prudent to avoid speaking of Violante, and feigned
ignorance; but promised to ascertain all particulars by the time he next
saw the marchesa. It was the warmth with which she had thanked him that
had set his busy mind at work to conjecture the cause of her curiosity
so earnestly aroused, and to ascribe that cause to jealousy. If Harley
loved Violante (as Randal himself had before supposed), the little of
passion that the young man admitted to himself was enlisted in aid
of Peschiera's schemes. For though Randal did not love Violante, he
cordially disliked L'Estrange, and would have gone as far to render that
dislike vindictive, as a cold reasoner, intent upon worldly fortunes,
will ever suffer mere hate to influence him.

"At the worst," thought Randal, "if it be not Harley, touch the chord of
jealousy, and its vibration will direct me right."

Thus soliloquizing, he arrived at Madame di Negra's.

Now, in reality the marchesa's inquiries as to Lord Lansmere's family
had their source in the misguided, restless, despairing interest with
which she still clung to the image of the young poet, whom Randal had
no reason to suspect. That interest had become yet more keen from the
impatient misery she had felt ever since she had plighted herself
to another. A wild hope that she might yet escape, a vague regretful
thought that she had been too hasty in dismissing Leonard from her
presence,--that she ought rather to have courted his friendship, and
contended against her unknown rival,--at times drew her wayward mind
wholly from the future to which she had consigned herself. And, to
do her justice, though her sense of duty was so defective, and the
principles which should have guided her conduct were so