"The good lord! Oh, now I understand," interrupted Jackeymo, and his brow cleared. "Ah, if _he_ were in England! But you will let us know when he comes?"
"Certainly. Now, tell me, Giacomo, is this Count really unprincipled and dangerous? Remember, I know him not personally."
"He has neither heart, head, nor conscience."
"That makes him dangerous to men; but to women, danger comes from other qualities. Could it be possible, if he obtained any interview with the Signora, that he could win her affections?"
Jackeymo crossed himself rapidly, and made no answer.
"I have heard that he is still very handsome."
Randal resumed: "Enough; persuade the Padrone to come to town."
"That makes no difference; the safest place is always the largest city. Every where else a foreigner is in himself an object of attention and curiosity."
"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!"
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."
"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-humored 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."