“Oh, Bernard, how can I ever requite thee?” cried Hildebrand, seizing his hand, and grasping it earnestly. “Should we get the land, ’twill be my first joy to see thee lord of it; and my children, an’ I ever have any, shall hold thee as their father.”
“Wilt thou wed, then?” inquired Bernard, at the same time looking steadfastly in his face.
“I fear to tell thee,” answered Hildebrand.
“No, no!” cried Bernard, shaking his head mournfully, “I will avenge no more! The Lord hath visited his servant; and my heart, which used to burn so, as if the memories of martyrdoms were themselves fires, hath won the refreshing savour of peace. Thou shalt have her!”
“Who?” cried Hildebrand. “Evaline de Neville?”
Hildebrand was silent for a brief space. His joy arrested his speech; for in Bernard’s assent to his marriage with Evaline, he conceived that the greatest obstacle to their union, even at an early period, was now removed. Yet, at that very moment, events were in progress, in the hidden course of Providence, which were to render all his hopes a perfect mockery.
When he was sufficiently composed to speak, he failed not to reveal to Bernard, without disguise or reservation, all that was passing in his heart. Bernard entered into his every sympathy; and thus, though they were only speculating on the future, the time passed in the liveliest intercourse, till Hildebrand rose to depart.
So much time had been occupied in replying to Sir Walter Raleigh’s letter, and walking to Lantwell, that it was past noon when he had arrived at Bernard’s lodging, and, the season being winter, it was now quite dark. He still hoped, however, to arrive at the Grange while the night was early; and having taken leave of Bernard, he set out with more than his average speed, and bent his steps straight homewards.
Though he had just heard so much to exhilarate him, he was not, on the whole, free from melancholy. As he began to calculate with more confidence on ultimately winning Evaline, his thoughts would, in spite of himself, turn to other images, and involuntarily remind him of Donna Inez. Had he nothing to reproach himself with in his acquaintance with that lady? On putting the question to his conscience, he sought, though almost without his own perception, to evade it, and to laugh at the compunctious qualms which it excited. What cavalier of the age would treat such a gallantry seriously but himself? Regarded in its very worst light, it was no more than a momentary peccadillo; and Inez, no doubt, had by this time quite forgotten it herself, and him also.