"It once seemed to me possible," said the count, reluctantly; "but since
I have been in England, I think not. The recent revolution in France,
the democratic spirit rising in Europe, tend to throw back the cause of
a proscribed rebel. England swarms with revolutionists; my cousin's
residence in this country is in itself suspicious. The suspicion is
increased by his strange seclusion. There are many Italians here who
would aver that they had met with him, and that he was still engaged in
revolutionary projects."

"Aver--untruly?"

"/Ma foi/, it comes to the same thing; 'les absents ont toujours tort.'
I speak to a man of the world. No; without some such guarantee for his
faith as his daughter's marriage with myself would give, his recall is
improbable. By the heaven above us, it shall be impossible!" The count
rose as he said this,--rose as if the mask of simulation had fairly
fallen from the visage of crime; rose tall and towering, a very image of
masculine power and strength, beside the slight, bended form and sickly
face of the intellectual schemer. And had you seen them thus confronted
and contrasted, you would have felt that if ever the time should come
when the interest of the one would compel him openly to denounce or
boldly to expose the other, the odds were that the brilliant and
audacious reprobate would master the weaker nerve but superior wit of
the furtive traitor. Randal was startled; but rising also, he said
carelessly,

"What if this guarantee can no longer be given; what if, in despair of
return, and in resignation to his altered fortunes, your cousin has
already married his daughter to some English suitor?"