“No, no, O’Halloran--it was only to secure it. Hear me--a few minutes, and we part for ever. I am a woman--a lost one--but still my heart is not altogether callous. I saw you--you were young and unsuspicious, and became an easy victim. I watched the course of spoliation--you imagined that I lost money, and generously made me a recompense. Am I forgiven?” she added. “And _must I leave thee?_” “Not on my account, I trust,” responded a voice, deep as that of Lablache, at our elbow. We started--Adelaide hurried from the room--I remained, so did the stranger--Mr. Hartley! CHAPTER XVI. A SECOND DELIVERANCE. “_Stockwell_. So, so, you seem disordered, Mr. Belcour. Belcour. Disordered, sir! Why did I ever quit the soil in which I grew?” The West Indian. |For a minute the father of Isidora and I preserved a dignified silence. The stern displeasure his countenance evinced was not encouraging, and I looked the silliest young gentleman imaginable. The _contretemps_ of this evening visit was most provoking. I had never done the sentimental in my life but twice, and on both occasions Mr. Hartley had managed to drop in. Turning his dark and searching eye on mine, he drily inquired, “Whether it would be considered an impertinence on his part, if he asked who the lady might be whom he had very unintentionally put to flight?” I mentioned her name, not forgetting to announce also the nobility of her descent; but had it been in direct line from Charlemagne or the Conqueror, it would not have propitiated Mr. Hartley, if one could form any opinion from the inauspicious “humph!” with which he received the intelligence. “And, my good sir, how long have you known this interesting personage?” he continued. “Since my arrival in London,” I replied. “A marvellous short time to ripen friendship to such full maturity! And what event might have called forth that storm of sobs and kisses which I so unluckily interrupted?” A contemptuous sneer accompanied the inquiry that stung my pride, and I answered warmly, that “I considered that he had neither authority nor interest to pry into matters with which he was wholly unconcerned.” “No right, certainly,” he observed, “excepting that which former services may be fairly supposed to warrant.” “Mr. Hartley,” I replied, “I freely admit that I am indebted to you for hospitality, and also for deliverance from a disagreeable, and possibly a dangerous restraint; but surely one who rigidly interdicts inquiry into aught connected with himself, should also respect the secrets of another.” “I acknowledge the justice of your remark,” said my quondam host; “and the noble _demoiselle_, who hangs upon the neck of the acquaintance of a fortnight, discharging volleys of sighs, ‘hot as a furnace,’ shall remain incognita. You own yourself indebted to me for former obligations; you have now a power of returning them; and I come here to ask a favour.”