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Count L'Estrange, still attired as Count L'Estrange, stood near a window overlooking the court-yard, and as the page salaamed and withdrew, he turned round, and greeted Sir Norman with his suavest air. "The appointed hour is passed, Sir Norman Kingsley, but that is partly your own fault. Your guide hither tells me that you stopped for some time at the house of a fortune-teller, known as La Masque.
"I am much older than you, but not old enough for such formal ceremony. Pray call me L'Estrange." "Thank you; and I should indeed like to speak to you as a friend. There is a thought on my mind which haunts me. I dare say it is foolish enough, but I am sure you will not laugh at me. You heard what Madame di Negra said to me last night.
He is the most plausible, dangerous rascal; and, for Heaven's sake! pray be warned by me, and let nothing entangle you into a POST-OBIT!" "Be re-assured, I am more accustomed to lend money than borrow it; and as to a post-obit, I have a foolish prejudice against such transactions." "Don't call it foolish, L'Estrange; I honour you for it.
Between you and me, though she was once very eager to be married, she now seems to shrink from the notion; and I have no other hold over her." "Has she not seen some one, and lately, whom she prefers to poor Frank?" "I suspect that she has; but I know not whom, unless it be that detested L'Estrange." "Ah, well, well.
"Lights in the drawing-rooms, it is growing dark." Lord L'Estrange followed the usurer upstairs; admired everything, pictures, draperies, Sevres china, to the very shape of the downy fauteuils, to the very pattern of the Tournay carpets.
No, still call me Helen you must always be to me a brother! Lord L'Estrange feels that; he said so to me when he told me that we were to meet again. He is so generous, so noble. Brother!" cried Helen, suddenly, and extending her hand, with a sweet but sublime look in her gentle face, "brother, we will never forfeit his esteem; we will both do our best to repay him! Will we not? say so!"
I allude to Lord L'Estrange." The parson started. "You know Lord L'Estrange? profligate, bad man, I fear." "Profligate! bad!" exclaimed Riccabocca.
"Ah," again ejaculated Lord L'Estrange, and his arm pressed heavily upon Leonard's. "So, somehow or other," continued the young author, falteringly, "I wished that if ever I won to a poet's fame, it might be to my own heart, at least, associated with this name of Nora; with her whom death had robbed of the fame that she might otherwise have won; with her who " He paused, greatly agitated.
One Roger L'Estrange, a younger son of a Norfolk family, had been condemned to be hanged in Smithfield for an underhand attempt to win the town of Lynn for the King; but he was reprieved, lay in Newgate for some years, and lived for sixty years longer, to be known, even in Queen Anne's time, as Sir Roger L'Estrange, the journalist.
"He's been here a spell lately," said Seth, "poking round; more for ill than for good, I reckon." He turned and quitted the room abruptly; and Fleda bethought her that she must go home while she had light enough. Nothing could be more obliging and respectful than the lion's letter was, in appearance; but there was death in the true intent. L'Estrange.
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