vice of the Duke.
For about half an hour more their conversation was protracted in the
same strain, and then Wilton took his leave, telling the prisoner
that he feared he should not be able to visit him on the following
day. The Duke pressed him much to do so; but when he heard that every
spare moment of Wilton's time was to be devoted to his service, he
readily agreed, for that object, to lose the consolation of seeing
him.
According to his promise, Wilton sped as fast as possible to Beaufort
House; and though the brief conversation which ensued between him and
Laura was mingled with much that was sad, yet the very fact of being
together--of pouring out every thought of the heart to each other--of
consulting with each other upon the welfare of one who was now an
object of the deepest interest to both--was in itself a happiness, to
Wilton powerful and intense; to Laura, sweet, soothing, and
supporting. During the short time that Wilton stayed, the
conversation turned entirely upon the Duke. At that moment, and with
but little cheering hope to give, Wilton could not mingle the subject
of his own feelings with the sadder ones which brought him thither.
Love, indeed, pervaded every word he spoke; love, indeed, gave its
colouring to all his feelings and to all his thoughts; but that very
love was of a kind which prevented him from making it the subject of
discourse at such an hour as that. Nor was his visit long, for it was
now dark; and after one whole day, which he knew had been spent in
anxiety, care, and fatigue, and after a night which he likewise knew
had gone by in sorrow and anguish, he felt that Laura would require
repose, and hoped, though but faintly, that she would obtain it.
He left her, then, in less than an hour, and took his way homeward,
meditating over what might be done for the Duke, but seeing no hope,
no chance, but in the exertions of the Earl of Byerdale, or the
merciful interposition of the Duke of Shrewsbury. He was not without
hope that the Earl would exert himself; though when he asked his own
mind the question, "Upon what motives, and to what effect, will the
Earl exert himself?" he was obliged to pause in doubt--ay, and in
suspicion. He could not divest his own heart of a conviction that the
Earl was acting insincerely; that there was some object in view which
it was impossible for him to divine; some purpose more than mere
kindness to a relation whom he had never known or acknowledged for so
many years of their mutual life.