“He is a man of the world,” put in Randal. “And of feeling and honour,” said the Parson; “and, perhaps, through him, we may be enabled to enlighten Frank, and save him from what appears to be the snare of an artful woman.” “Meanwhile,” said Randal, “I will seek Frank, and do my best with him. Let me go now—I will return in an hour or so.” “I will accompany you,” said the Parson. “Nay, pardon me, but I think we two young men can talk more openly without a third person, even so wise and kind as you.” “Let Randal go,” growled the Squire. And Randal went. He spent some time with Frank, and the reader will easily divine how that time was employed. As he left Frank’s lodgings, he found himself suddenly seized by the Squire himself. “I was too impatient to stay at home and listen to the Parson’s prosing,” said Mr Hazeldean, nervously. “I have shaken Dale off. Tell me what has passed. Oh! don’t fear—I’m a man, and can bear the worst.” Randal drew the Squire’s arm within his, and led him into the adjacent park. “My dear sir,” said he, sorrowfully, “this is very confidential what I am about to say. I must repeat it to you, because without such confidence, I see not how to advise you on the proper course to take. But if I betray Frank, it is for his good, and to his own father;—only do not tell him. He would never forgive me—it would for ever destroy my influence over him.” “Go on, go on,” gasped the Squire; “speak out. I’ll never tell the ungrateful boy that I learned his secrets from another.” “Then,” said Randal, “the secret of his entanglement with Madame di Negra is simply this—he found her in debt—nay, on the point of being arrested—” “Debt!—arrested! Jezabel!” “And in paying the debt himself, and saving her from arrest, he conferred on her the obligation which no woman of honour could accept save from her affianced husband. Poor Frank!—if sadly taken in, still we must pity and forgive him!” Suddenly, to Randal’s great surprise, the Squire’s whole face brightened up. “I see, I see!” he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. “I have it—I have it. ’Tis an affair of money! I can buy her off. If she took money from him, the mercenary, painted baggage! why, then, she’ll take it from me. I don’t care what it costs—half my fortune—all! I’d be content never to see Hazeldean Hall again, if I could save my son, my own son, from disgrace and misery; for miserable he will be, when he knows he has broken my heart and his mother’s. And for a creature like that! My boy, a thousand hearty thanks to you. Where does the wretch live? I’ll go to her at once.” And as he spoke, the Squire actually pulled out his pocket-book and began turning over and counting the bank-notes in it. Randal at first tried to combat this bold resolution on the part of the Squire; but Mr Hazeldean had seized on it with all the obstinacy of his straightforward English mind. He cut Randal’s persuasive eloquence off in the midst.