"Then," said Randal, "the secret of his entanglement with Madame di Negra
is simply this: he found her in debt--nay, on the point of being
arrested--"

"Debt! arrested! Jezebel!"

"And in paying the debt himself, and saving her from arrest, he conferred
on her the obligation which no woman of honour could accept save from an
affianced husband. Poor Frank!--if sadly taken in, still we must pity
and forgive him!"

Suddenly, to Randal's great surprise, the squire's whole face brightened
up.

"I see, I see!" he exclaimed, slapping his thigh. "I have it, I have it!
'T is an affair of money! I can buy her off. If she took money from
him--the mercenary, painted baggage I--why, then, she'll take it from me.
I don't care what if costs--half my fortune--all! I'd be content never
to see Hazeldean Hall again, if I could save my son, my own son, from
disgrace and misery; for miserable he will be, when he knows he has
broken my heart and his mother's. And for a creature like that! My boy,
a thousand hearty thanks to you. Where does the wench live? I'll go to
her at once." And as he spoke, the squire actually pulled out his
pocketbook, and began turning over and counting the bank-notes in it.

Randal at first tried to combat this bold resolution on the part of the
squire; but Mr. Hazeldean had seized on it with all the obstinacy of his
straightforward English mind. He cut Randal's persuasive eloquence off
in the midst.