“I will see to this. Rely on it that if Peschiera has discovered you, I will learn it. Nay, I will hasten from you in order to commence inquiry.” “I can not detain you. May I think that we have now an interest in common?” “O, indeed yes; but—but—your daughter! how can I dream that one so beautiful, so peerless, will confirm the hope you have extended to me?” “The daughter of an Italian is brought up to consider that it is a father’s right to dispose of her hand?” “But the heart?” “_Cospetto!_” said the Italian, true to his infamous notions as to the sex, “the heart of a girl is like a convent—the holier the cloister, the more charitable the door.” Chapter XII. Randal had scarcely left the house, before Mrs. Riccabocca, who was affectionately anxious in all that concerned Violante, rejoined her husband. “I like the young man very well,” said the sage—“very well indeed. I find him just what I expected from my general knowledge of human nature; for as love ordinarily goes with youth, so modesty usually accompanies talent. He is young, _ergo_ he is in love; he has talent, _ergo_ he is modest—modest and ingenuous.” “And you think not in any way swayed by interest in his affections?” “Quite the contrary; and to prove him the more, I have not said a word as to the worldly advantages which, in any case, would accrue to him from an alliance with my daughter. In any case; for if I regain my country, her fortune is assured; and if not, I trust” (said the poor exile, lifting his brow with stately and becoming pride) “that I am too well aware of my child’s dignity as well as my own, to ask any one to marry her to his own worldly injury.” “Eh! I don’t quite understand you, Alphonso. To be sure, your dear life is insured for her marriage portion; but—” “_Pazzie_—stuff!” said Riccabocca, petulantly; “her marriage portion would be as nothing to a young man of Randal’s birth and prospects. I think not of that. But listen; I have never consented to profit by Harley L’Estrange’s friendship for me; my scruples would not extend to my son-in-law. This noble friend has not only high rank, but considerable influence—influence with the government—influence with Randal’s patron—who, between ourselves, does not seem to push the young man as he might do; I judge by what Randal says. I should write, therefore, before any thing was settled, to L’Estrange, and I should say to him simply, ‘I never asked you to save me from penury, but I do ask you to save a daughter of my house from humiliation. I can give to her no dowry; can her husband owe to my friend that advance in an honorable career—that opening to energy and talent—which is more than a dowry to generous ambition?’ ” “Oh, it is in vain you would disguise your rank!” cried Jemima, with enthusiasm; “it speaks in all you utter, when your passions are moved.” The Italian did not seem flattered by that eulogy. “Pish!” said he, “there you are! rank again!”