It is necessary to go somewhat back in the course of this narrative, and account to the reader for the disappearance of Violante.

It may be remembered that Peschiera, scared by the sudden approach of Lord L’Estrange, had little time for further words to the young Italian, than those which expressed his intention to renew the conference, and press for her decision. But the next day, when he re-entered the garden, secretly and stealthily, as before, Violante did not appear. And after watching round the precincts till dusk, the count retreated, with an indignant conviction that his arts had failed to enlist on his side either the heart or the imagination of his intended victim. He began now to revolve and to discuss with Levy the possibilities of one of those bold and violent measures, which were favoured by his reckless daring and desperate condition. But Levy treated with such just ridicule any suggestion to abstract Violante by force from Lord Lansmere’s house, so scouted the notions of nocturnal assault, with the devices of scaling windows and rope-ladders, that the count reluctantly abandoned that romance of villany so unsuited to our sober capital, and which would no doubt have terminated in his capture by the police, with the prospect of committal to the House of Correction.

Levy himself found his invention at fault, and Randal Leslie was called into consultation. The usurer had contrived that Randal’s schemes of fortune and advancement were so based upon Levy’s aid and connivance, that the young man, with all his desire rather to make instruments of other men, than to be himself their instrument, found his superior intellect as completely a slave to Levy’s more experienced craft, as ever subtle Genius of air was subject to the vulgar Sorcerer of earth.

His acquisition of the ancestral acres, his anticipated seat in parliament, his chance of ousting Frank from the heritage of Hazeldean, were all as strings that pulled him to and fro, like a puppet in the sleek, filbert-nailed fingers of the smiling showman, who could exhibit him to the admiration of a crowd, or cast him away into dust and lumber.

Randal gnawed his lip in the sullen wrath of a man who bides his hour of future emancipation, and lent his brain to the hire of the present servitude, in mechanical acquiescence. The inherent superiority of the profound young schemer became instantly apparent over the courage of Peschiera and the practised wit of the baron.

“Your sister,” said Randal, to the former, “must be the active agent in the first and most difficult part of your enterprise. Violante cannot be taken by force from Lord Lansmere’s,—she must be induced to leave it with her own consent. A female is needed here. Woman can best decoy woman.”

“Admirably said,” quoth the count; “but Beatrice has grown restive, and though her dowry, and therefore her very marriage with that excellent young Hazeldean, depend on my own alliance with my fair kinswoman, she has grown so indifferent to my success that I dare not reckon on her aid. Between you and me, though she was once very eager to be married, she now seems to shrink from the notion; and I have no other hold over her.”

“Has she not seen some one, and lately, whom she prefers to poor Frank?”

“I suspect that she has; but I know not whom, unless it be that detested L’Estrange.”

“Ah, well, well. Interfere with her no further yourself, but have all in readiness to quit England, as you had before proposed, as soon as Violante be in your power.”

“All is in readiness,” said the count. “Levy has agreed to purchase a famous sailing-vessel of one of his clients. I have engaged a score or so of determined outcasts, accustomed to the sea,—Genoese, Corsicans, Sardinians, ex-Carbonari of the best sort,—no silly patriots, but liberal cosmopolitans, who have iron at the disposal of any man’s gold. I have a priest to perform the nuptial service, and deaf to any fair lady’s ‘No.’ Once at sea, and wherever I land, Violante will lean on my arm as Countess of Peschiera.”

“But Violante,” said Randal, doggedly, determined not to yield to the disgust with which the count’s audacious cynicism filled even him—“but Violante cannot be removed in broad daylight at once to such a vessel, nor from a quarter so populous as that in which your sister resides.”

“I have thought of that too,” said the count; “my emissaries have found me a house close by the river, and safe for our purpose as the dungeons of Venice.”

“I wish not to know all this,” answered Randal, quickly; “you will instruct Madame di Negra where to take Violante.—my task limits itself to the fair inventions that belong to intellect; what belongs to force is not in my province. I will go at once to your sister, whom I think I can influence more effectually than you can; though later I may give you a hint to guard against the chance of her remorse. Meanwhile as, the moment Violante disappears, suspicion would fall upon you, show yourself constantly in public surrounded by your friends. Be able to account for every hour of your time—”

“An alibi?” interrupted the ci-devant solicitor.

“Exactly so, Baron. Complete the purchase of the vessel, and let the count man it as he proposes. I will communicate with you both as soon as I can put you into action. To-day I shall have much to do; it will be done.”

As Randal left the room, Levy followed him.

“What you propose to do will be well done, no doubt,” quoth the usurer, linking his arm in Randal’s; “but take care that you don’t get yourself into a scrape, so as to damage your character. I have great hopes of you in public life; and in public life character is necessary,—that is, so far as honour is concerned.”

“I damage my character!—and for a Count Peschiera!” said Randal, opening his eyes. “I! What do you take me for?”

The baron let go his hold.

“This boy ought to rise very high,” said he to himself, as he turned back to the count.