"May dislike you (he has his whims), but he loves me; and though for no
other human being but you would I ask Harley L'Estrange a favour, yet for
you I will," said Egerton, betraying, for the first time in that
dialogue, a visible emotion,--"for you, a Leslie, a kinsman, however
remote, to the wife from whom I received my fortune! And despite all my
cautions, it is possible that in wasting that fortune I may have wronged
you. Enough: you have now before you the two options, much as you had at
first; but you have at present more experience to aid you in your choice.
You are a man, and with more brains than most men; think over it well,
and decide for yourself. Now to bed, and postpone thought till the
morrow. Poor Randal, you look pale!"

Audley, as he said the last words, put his hand on Randal's shoulder,
almost with a father's gentleness; and then suddenly drawing himself up,
as the hard inflexible expression, stamped on that face by years,
returned, he moved away and resettled to Public Life and the iron box.




CHAPTER XVIII.

Early the next day Randal Leslie was in the luxurious business-room of
Baron Levy. How unlike the cold Doric simplicity of the statesman's
library! Axminster carpets, three inches thick; /portieres a la
Francaise/ before the doors; Parisian bronzes on the chimney-piece; and
all the receptacles that lined the room, and contained title-deeds and
postobits and bills and promises to pay and lawyer-like japan boxes, with
many a noble name written thereon in large white capitals--"making ruin