she receives me, how far the count has overstated the effect
he pretends to have produced. You can give me also a letter to Lady
Lansmere, to prevent your daughter coming hither. Oh, sir, do not reason
with me. Have indulgence for my lover's fears. Believe that I advise for
the best. Have I not the keenest interest to do so?"

Like many a man who is wise enough with pen and paper before him, and
plenty of time wherewith to get up his wisdom, Riccabocca was flurried,
nervous, and confused when that wisdom was called upon for any ready
exertion. From the tree of knowledge he had taken grafts enough to
serve for a forest; but the whole forest could not spare him a handy
walking-stick. The great folio of the dead Machiavelli lay useless
before him,--the living Machiavelli of daily life stood all puissant by
his side. The Sage was as supple to the Schemer as the Clairvoyant is to
the Mesmerist; and the lean slight fingers of Randal actually dictated
almost the very words that Riccabocca wrote to his child and her
hostess.

The philosopher would have liked to consult his wife; but he was ashamed
to confess that weakness. Suddenly he remembered Harley, and said, as
Randal took up the letters which Riccabocca had indited,

"There, that will give us time; and I will send to Lord L'Estrange and
talk to him."

"My noble friend," replied Randal, mournfully, "may I entreat you not
to see Lord L'Estrange until at least I have pleaded my cause to your
daughter,--until, indeed, she is no longer under his father's roof?"

"And why?"

"Because I presume that you are sincere when you deign to receive me as
a son-in-law, and because I am sure that Lord L'Estrange would hear with
distaste of your disposition in my favour. Am I not right?"

Riccabocca was silent.

"And though his arguments would fail with a man of your honour and
discernment, they might have more effect on the young mind of your
child. Think, I beseech you, the more she is set against me, the more
accessible she may be to the arts of Peschiera. Speak not, therefore, I
implore you, to Lord L'Estrange till Violante has accepted my hand, or
at least until she is again under your charge; otherwise take back your
letter,--it would be of no avail."

"Perhaps you are right. Certainly Lord L'Estrange is prejudiced against
you; or rather, he thinks too much of what I have been, too little of
what I am."

"Who can see you, and not do so? I pardon him." After kissing the h