Jackeymo crossed himself rapidly, and made no answer. "I have heard that he is still very handsome." Jackeymo groaned. Randal resumed--"Enough; persuade the Padrone to come to town." "But if the Count is in town?" "That makes no difference; the safest place is always the largest city. Everywhere else a foreigner is in himself an object of attention and curiosity." "True." "Let your master, then, come to London. He can reside in one of the suburbs most remote from the Count's haunts. In two days I will have found him a lodging and write to him. You trust to me now?" "I do indeed--I do, Excellency. Ah, if the Signorina were married, we would not care!" "Married! But she looks so high!" "Alas! not now--not here!" Randal sighed heavily. Jackeymo's eyes sparkled. He thought he had detected a new motive for Randal's interest--a motive to an Italian the most natural, the most laudable of all. "Find the house, Signior--write to the Padrone. He shall come. I'll talk to him. I can manage him. Holy San Giacomo, bestir thyself now--'tis long since I troubled thee!" Jackeymo strode off through the fading trees, smiling and muttering as he went. The first dinner-bell rang, and, on entering the drawing-room, Randal found Parson Dale and his wife, who had been invited in haste to meet the unexpected visitor. The preliminary greetings over, Mr Dale took the opportunity afforded by the Squire's absence to inquire after the health of Mr Egerton. "He is always well," said Randal. "I believe he is made of iron." "His heart is of gold," said the Parson. "Ah!" said Randal, inquisitively, "you told me you had come in contact with him once, respecting, I think, some of your old parishioners at Lansmere?" The Parson nodded, and there was a moment's silence. "Do you remember your battle by the Stocks, Mr Leslie?" said Mr Dale, with a good-humoured laugh. "Indeed, yes. By the way, now you speak of it, I met my old opponent in London the first year I went up to it." "You did!--where?" "At a literary scamp's--a cleverish man called Burley." "Burley! I have seen some burlesque verses in Greek by a Mr Burley." "No doubt, the same person. He has disappeared--gone to the dogs, I dare say. Burlesque Greek is not a knowledge very much in power at present." "Well, but Leonard Fairfield?--you have seen him since?" "No." "Nor heard of him?" "No!--have you?" "Strange to say, not for a long time. But I have reason to believe that he must be doing well." "You surprise me! Why?" "Because, two years ago, he sent for his mother. She went to him." "Is that all?" "It is enough; for he would not have sent for her if he could not maintain her." Here the Hazeldeans entered, arm-in-arm, and the fat butler announced dinner.