"This proposal," replied Mrs. Blond, in some confusion, "requires consideration; but my answer shall be sincere."
Mr. Talton urged no farther; and preparations were commenced for the marriages of Sir Henry and Frederick; when, one morning, a servant hastily entered, and announced the arrival of a messenger from Cornwall.
"From Cornwall!" exclaimed Sir Henry. "Good God! what can this mean? Some fatal accident, I am afraid, has befallen my mother! Show the messenger up, this instant."
The servant obeyed, and an elderly countryman entered the room. He advanced with an humble bow to Sir Henry, and, in simple language, informed him, he rented the principal part of the Cornwall estate, belonging to Lady Corbet; who was then at the old Mansion-house, confined by a fractured arm; and as the surgeon who attended her, apprehended she was in danger, he thought it requisite to acquaint Sir Henry; more especially as Lady Corbet, who, he acknowledged, was sometimes delirious, had once expresseda wish to see him and a gentleman of the name of Talton.
"I will immediately go to Cornwall," said Sir Henry. "The attentions of a son may soothe the anguish which oppresses her. And you, Mr. Talton—will you accompany me?—My mother may be worse than she is represented."
"I will readily accompany you, Sir Henry," said Mr. Talton. "If I have ceased to regard Lady Corbet with affection, I do not forget the sentiments I once entertained."
Orders were accordingly given to prepare for their departure, when Sir Henry anxiously inquired the particulars of theaccident which had befallen his mother.
Lady Corbet, who, on quitting the Hall, had designed proceeding to France, altered her resolution before she reached Pembroke; and, crossing the Channel, went to her estate in Cornwall, where she was soon after joined by Mallet, and where she proposed to remain, deeming herself secure from the knowledge of Mr. Talton, till she should learn his farther proceedings; and whence, if she found it necessary, she could instantly fly the kingdom.
Mallet had been with her about a week, the tenant informed Sir Henry, when a disagreement had arisen, whichoccasioned his abrupt departure. That Lady Corbet had appeared very much agitated, and at last commanded a chaise to be prepared, to convey her to Plymouth; for which place she set out, but had not proceeded more than half a mile, when, by the carelessness of the driver, the chaise was overturned, and her arm severely injured. Lady Corbet was brought, by some country-people, back to the mansion-house, and a surgeon sent for, who on examining the limb, declared there was a necessity to amputate it; but Lady Corbet peremptorily refused to submit to the operation, and desired him to set the bone, which had been broken in three separate places. He obeyed; but a fever immediately followed; and, as he had every apprehension of a mortificationensuing, he had desired the farmer to hasten and acquaint Sir Henry.
Sir Henry's countenance assumed a more pallid hue at this relation; impatiently he inquired if the horses were ready: and on Mrs. Howard anxiously urging him to take some refreshment before he commenced his journey, he wrung her hand, saying, "I feel your affectionate care, my dear aunt; but at this moment my heart is too much oppressed to let me think of refreshments. Even now—may not my mother be expiring: ere she forgives—or knows how dear she still is to the heart of—her Henry."
Louise regarded Sir Henry some moments,with an expressive countenance—"Let me too, my brother, accompany you. My humble affection will not be rejected, and the approving blessing of a mother may yet reward the years of anxious solicitude, I have experienced."
"You could not, my dear girl," answered Sir Henry, "support the fatigue of travelling, at the rate I wish to go. Yet follow us—Harland will escort you." Harland readily consented, and a chaise was prepared, in which they departed, in less than an hour after Sir Henry.
In the mean time, Sir Henry and Mr. Talton travelled with the utmost expedition to Llaugharne, and, crossing the Channel, proceeded towards the ancientseat of Lady Corbet. They were received by Mrs. Brown, the tenant's wife, who informed them the surgeon's fears were verified; a mortification had commenced, and Lady Corbet, at last sensible of her danger, had, that morning, desired Sir Henry and Louise might be sent for. Though prepared for this intelligence, Sir Henry was still affected on receiving it; he, however, struggled with his feelings, and requested she would inform his mother of his arrival, and his wish to see her, if her spirits were equal to the interview. She soon returned, and conducted him to her apartment. The surgeon and a female attendant were stationed by the bed, on which, supported by pillows, was extended the still beautiful Lady Corbet. The fever's hectic glow had succeeded the light bloomof health on her cheek; and the wild lustre of her eye plainly showed reason retained not its full powers. Sir Henry sprung to embrace her, and in a voice softened by tenderness and grief, breathed a prayer for the continuance of her existence.
"I little thought, Harry," she said, after an internal struggle, "ever to have beholden you again: but retributive justice has overtaken me, and I must submit to my fate!—But where is Louise?" she impatiently continued. "Does she despise the sufferings of a mother; or didst thou enviously wish to deprive her of a blessing?"
"Ah, my mother," answered Sir Henry, "stab not my heart by such a supposition;—in a few hours Louise will be here."
"And in a few hours," repeated Lady Corbet, with energy, "I may be numbered with the dead!"
"I do not apprehend your dissolution so soon as that," said the surgeon; "although I thought it my duty to tell you there are no longer any hopes of your recovery. Yet I would wish you not to increase your fever by too much exertion in speaking."
"Peace, dotard!" exclaimed Lady Corbet, angrily. "Without thou couldest bid me live!—But no—no—I must die: there are indeed no hopes for me!—Let me see Talton—they told me he was here." Her attendant hastened to desire his presence, and the surgeon renewinghis request that she might be kept quiet, and as composed as possible, retired; promising to return in the evening. Mr. Talton obeyed the summons. On his approach, Lady Corbet said: "Thou art come then to behold her, who would have injured thee to the utmost—had it been in her power! Rejoice then in my fall—exult over my ashes—and, in the torments I now endure, be fully revenged!"
"Far be revenge from my heart," replied Talton: "to pity and relieve are its dictates; but never to triumph over the fallen or afflicted!"
"Well—well!" said Lady Corbet, with quickness, "I believe thee! Though were revenge thy wish, thou hast it—inits utmost extent! Mallet,—the ungrateful Mallet, has deserted me!—Struck with Louise, and her behaviour on the evening of his detection, he wished the restoration of her fortune; but instead of requesting, he commanded it! Had he entreated—pleaded her claim to maternal attention and justice, I think I should have complied! But, unused to commands, I peremptorily refused him: and, in return, he threatened, by the law's aid, to force me to a restitution of my aunt's fortune! Rendered furious by this insolence, I forbade him my sight; and, without seeking to mitigate my anger, he departed for France. Unable to endure his absence, when my passion abated, I determined on following him; but fate forbade it, and, by means of a menial wretch, has torn the fascinatingjoys of life from my grasp, and hurled destruction on my head!" She burst into tears. "All will soon be over, Harry!—I rejoiced when Corbet died: he loved you—and was beloved: but no one will sorrow or weep for me!"
"Yes—yes, my mother!" said Sir Henry, "I will sorrow and weep for thee too!"
"Lay me not, I charge you, Harry," she wildly continued, "by Corbet—my ashes must not mingle with his. No, no—in the vault by my father—there I shall rest in peace!" She sunk exhausted on her pillow. Sir Henry anxiously watched the changes of her countenance, whilst Mr. Talton, with pity, contemplated the wretched situation of a woman, he once thought the most perfect of her sex.
A broken slumber shed a partial oblivion over her senses, and for some hours relieved her from the tortures of remembrance. She awoke more collected, and impatiently inquired if Louise were arrived? The rattling of a carriage round the spacious court, announced her approach, and in a few minutes the agitated Louise was pressed to the bosom of her mother!
"Welcome, Louise!" murmured Lady Corbet.—"Child of affection, though thou hast never been regarded as such—yet I love thee now, Louise.—And art thou the husband of my child?" she continued to Harland.—"Then I will say thou too art welcome. Poor thou marriedst my Louise; I therefore believe thou dostlove her; and let not the remembrance of her mother ever induce thee to slight or contemn her. Mine was the vice—be mine the shame: if aught can ever be reflected from Louise! But no—no; the virtues of my Louise, like the beams of the morning, shall rise superior to the darkness of her parents actions!—Dark, indeed!" she repeated, with a convulsive sigh.—"For we deserted thy infant innocence! Yet forgive me, Louise—curse not my memory; I will make thee rich amends for the injuries I have done thee!"
"Name not injuries, my mother;" sobbed Louise; "all is rewarded by this moment of affection! My love, my duty shall prove me worthy of it."
"I shall not experience them," said Lady Corbet, wildly. "The icy finger of death has marked the hour of my existence!"
"Not so—my mother," replied Louise, attempting to speak with cheerfulness. "My hand shall minister to thy wants; my arm support thee; affection will teach me the means of relieving thy anguish; and in the bosom of her Louise, my mother shall yet find peace and happiness!"
"Peace and happiness!" repeated Lady Corbet, franticly. "Oh, torture me not, by placing to my view blessings I must never enjoy! In thy bosom, peace and happiness may dwell, but not for me! Even now the grave is open to receive me,and all beyond is horror! Thee, I have injured—Corbet and his son—Ellenor too,—Blond and Eliza—shall point the finger of condemnation at me, and say—'Not one good action marked her life!'—Oh, let me live—Off with this fractured limb—Tear me to atoms: let me but live to atone for my crimes!—The account is too dark to answer before the Judge I have offended!"
Louise shrunk aghast from her frantic mother, who, with convulsive eagerness, attempted to tear the bandages from her arm.
Sir Henry endeavoured to restrain her.—"This must not be, my mother, you hasten the dissolution you so much dread."
"Hence, audacious boy!" she angrily exclaimed. "Darest thou lay the hand of violence on thy parent! Now, indeed, thou meritest the hatred I have shown thee! Yet stay—stay: let me not add another sin to the number of my account! I believe thou lovest me, thou hast oft evinced it. Yet, not to thee can I fly for consolation; the injuries I have done thee, are too numerous, and alone sufficient to overwhelm me with perdition!"
Mr. Talton drew her fevered hand from Sir Henry's, and gently pressing it, said, "Raise your heart in prayer, Lady Corbet, and seek for consolation in the mercy of Heaven!"
"Can I form a prayer—or ask a blessing," said Lady Corbet, "when every action of my life is marked with vice? No, no—there is no mercy for me—I never afforded it!"
"Lay your crimes at the feet of your Saviour," replied Mr. Talton, solemnly: "remember, he died for the sinner: and the first tear shed, of true repentance, restores you to the bosom of your God!"
The frenzied eye of Lady Corbet rested with piercing keenness on that of Talton. "Repentance!" she ejaculated. "Oh, if that will avail me, deeply indeed will I repent. Yet save me—save me: let me not die! I will be patient—calm. But send for the surgeon; I no longer dread amutilated frame: and it may not yet be too late to preserve existence!"
Sir Henry hastily rose—"I will seek the surgeon this instant——"
"Not you, Harry!" cried Lady Corbet, extending her hand to detain him. "Quit not my sight.—Little as I have loved you through life, I wish not at this moment to be deserted. Yet, send for the surgeon—and be quick; let me but live, and I will atone for all!"
Harland perceiving Sir Henry's distress sent a servant, who soon returned with the surgeon. On being informed of Lady Corbet's determination, he shook his head, saying—"It is now, I amafraid, too late. Had she submitted to the operation at first—all had been well."
Anxiously Sir Henry watched the intelligence of his eye, as he examined her arm, and with a sigh received the account. It was, indeed, not only too late to amputate the limb; but her state was such, that the succeeding day would be the utmost limit of her existence!
A groan burst from the bosom of the wretched patient, who, in agonized frenzy, alternately entreated the surgeon to save her, and implored the mercy of Heaven. Medicine was administered to compose her, which, in some degree, had the effect; and the remainder of the day and followingnight passed in broken slumber and prayer.
The ensuing morning, on awaking, she perceived Sir Henry and Louise kneeling by her bed; and, regarding them some moments, with a tremulous voice said—"And dost thou, Harry, kneel to Heaven, to intercede for thy guilty parent?—Oh God! accept his prayers, though mine be rejected! and for each ill I have—and would have done him, shower a blessing on his head! But I must be quick. Reason totters, and life beats uncertain at my heart. Talton—Harland—come hither. Pursue not Mallet. The wealth he has taken—let him retain! Let Louise's fortune be restored, and the rest of my property equally divided between her and herbrother—except my picture; which, Talton, I would wish you to have; and, when you view the resemblance, let pity draw a veil over my vices, and waft a prayer to Heaven—they may there be forgiven!—Pray for me, my gentle Louise!—Harry, forgive thy mother. Leave me not whilst a symptom of life remains; bear with my wanderings, and whilst I have sense to give it—receive a last blessing!"
—Life, however, was not so near its close, though it fluctuated in its channels. Repeated faintings prepared them for the last awful moment. Sir Henry and Louise, as Lady Corbet had requested, never left her; and evening was fast closing as she faintly grasped the hand ofSir Henry—drew him nearer to her, and, sighing a broken prayer—expired on the bosom of Louise!—
A piercing scream from Louise as she sunk insensible by the side of her mother, roused Mr. Talton and Harland from a serious reflexion on the object before them. The Lieutenant gently raised and conveyed her to an adjoining room, where, by the assistance of Mrs. Brown, life soon returned. He attempted not to restrain the first effusions of filial sorrow; the heart of Louise, he knew, was the seat of sensibility; but fortitude and religionwere likewise its inmates. In the latter she found a resource; and he had soon the satisfaction of seeing her features impressed with a mild though sad serenity.
Sir Henry and Mr. Talton, in the mean time, silently retired to pay that tribute to the memory of Lady Corbet, she had not altogether merited; but, to Sir Henry, the last moments of her life had atoned for her preceding conduct: nor could Mr. Talton retain a spark of resentment for her ungenerous behaviour to himself: over her actions he drew the veil of oblivion, and gave a sigh and tear of pity to the untimely close of her existence.
The next morning he conferred with Sir Henry, and, at his desire, undertookthe care of the funeral. As Lady Corbet had requested, her remains were conveyed to Holly seat, and deposited in the vault, by her father. Mr. Talton, Sir Henry, and Harland attended; nor would Louise be debarred from paying this final mark of respect to her mother; and a last tear fell on her coffin, as she silently preferred a prayer, that, with her ashes, the remembrance of her vices might be for ever buried from the world!
With minds depressed from the scenes they had so lately witnessed, they were reconveyed to Corbet Hall, where, to the surprise of Sir Henry, he was informed the Captain and Frederick were at Sir Arthur Howard's.
Two days, indeed, after he set out for Cornwall, Frederick received a letter from Lady Howard, to acquaint him with the death of his brother, who, in hunting, had been thrown from his horse, and killed on the spot: and, as the violence of Sir Arthur's grief, at this untimely loss of his favourite son, had brought on a severe illness, she had written to request his immediate presence, with that of the Captain.
They accordingly took a hasty leave of their friends, and returned with the messenger to Howard Hall, where they were received by Lady Howard, and an affecting interview took place between her and her son: nor was the Captain unwelcomed; she had ever felt for him the affection of a sister; but, as duty washer first consideration, yielded to the imperious commands of her husband, that he should from that time be regarded as an alien to the family.
Sir Arthur, she informed them, was still confined to his bed; the violence of his grief, which they at first apprehended would have destroyed his reason, had exhausted itself; and he was then sunk into a gloomy sorrow, which threatened to retain a longer influence on his mind; the arrival of the Captain and Frederick (now the heir to his title and estates), she, however, hoped, would not only rouse him from an unavailing grief, but be the means of effecting a perfect reconciliation between them.
Lady Howard was right. The attentions of his brother and son proved highly gratifying to Sir Arthur, who, in a few days, consented to rejoin his family.
The long-neglected Frederick now appeared to gain an interest in his heart; though a sigh oft swelled his bosom at the recollection of the deceased Arthur: but, the rising gloom was ever carefully dispelled by the lively Theodosia, to whom, since the death of his son, he had behaved with an unwonted show of affection.
Six weeks passed, when the Captain proposed returning to Corbet Hall; and, knowing the anxiety which preyed on Frederick's mind, respecting Ellen, he took anopportunity to mention his engagement with her, to Sir Arthur: who, contrary to his expectation, readily gave his consent to their union. When a boy, he said, he had been intimate with her father, who once saved his life; and as her family was good, indeed noble, he would wave the consideration of the fortune Frederick, as his heir, had a right to expect with a wife. He could not, however, he added, consent to his leaving him entirely; he should pass at least half his time, till his marriage, with him. To this, Frederick cheerfully agreed, and, a few days after, returned with the Captain, to Sir Henry's.
During their absence, Mr. Talton had so far improved his suit, that Mrs. Blond consented again to enter the marriagestate. The late Sir Henry, she frankly told him, was the only man she had ever loved. The virtues and amiable disposition of Blond had merited her esteem and sincerest friendship; those she had still to give, but nothing farther: her affections were buried in the tomb of Corbet. The gift, he felt, was still too valuable to be rejected; and he doubted not he yet might realize the scenes of domestic happiness he had formerly planned.
As the marriages of Sir Henry and Frederick had been deferred, on account of the decease of Lady Corbet and young Arthur, it was agreed that, at the time again appointed for that ceremony, Mrs. Blond should likewise yield her hand toMr. Talton. Edward sighed as he heard these arrangements; and the Captain, with concern, perceived his increasing dejection at his unsuccessful inquiry after the fair Unknown, for whom he had in vain searched the greatest part of Caermarthen. He then declared his intention of going to Oxford; to inquire if perchance any of his acquaintance had seen her since he quitted the University? The Captain could not oppose his determination, and as Louise and Harland were going to London, to St. Ledger's, they accompanied him to Oxfordshire, having promised Sir Henry to return to Wales, before the time appointed for the marriages.
In the mean while, preparations were forwarded for that occasion. Frederick,as his father had desired, passed a considerable part of his time at Howard Hall. Sir Arthur's regard for him appeared daily to increase, and on Frederick expressing a wish that he would honour the nuptials with his presence, he instantly complied; and, with Lady Howard and Theodosia, accompanied him to Sir Henry's. The arrival of Harland and Louise, with the St. Ledger family, added to the pleasure of their society. Edward only was absent, who continued a fruitless search, till the day preceding that fixed for the union of his friends, when he arrived, so apparently ill, that the Captain began to be seriously alarmed.
Edward endeavoured to rally his spirits; and on Sir Henry and Frederick's joininghim, to chide his long desertion, with forced cheerfulness, answered their good-humoured reproaches, and prepared to attend them to the drawing-room. The Captain introduced him to their several friends; but on presenting Theodosia, Edward, with exulting transports, exclaimed—"O God, my father! it is my unknown——it is——"
"Theodosia, the daughter of Sir Arthur Howard," interrupted the Captain, with vivacity. Sir Arthur, hearing his name, advanced, and instantly recognised Edward, to whom he proffered his hand, and, reminding him of the accident at Oxford, renewed his thanks for the service he had rendered his daughter.
"Your thanks, I am afraid, Sir Arthur," said the Captain, with a smile, "will not sufficiently recompense my son for that evening's adventure. He loves your daughter, and has for some months been seeking her. You know my fortune; if, on a farther acquaintance, you approve him for a son-in-law, he shall have half at his marriage, the remainder at the decease of myself and his mother."
Sir Arthur paused a moment—but the offer was too advantageous to be rejected, and he readily acceded to it.
"But what says Theodosia?" asked the Captain. "Without her consent, ours are of no effect."
"Her consent!" repeated Sir Arthur. "She shall consent! Let her refuse if she dare: I will not again be fooled!"
Theodosia attempted not to reply; the deepest confusion oppressed her; yet she withdrew not her hand from Edward, but with a timid interceding glance, raised her eyes to her father. The flush of anger was fast crimsoning the cheek of Sir Arthur, at the idea of her not according with the proposal of her uncle, when Lady Howard joined them, and tenderly taking the hand of her daughter, said—"Have some consideration, Sir Arthur, to the delicacy of my girl. Disobedience to a father she truly loves, is, I am certain, far from her heart or wishes; but on this subject, unprepared as she was, noanswer could be so proper as her silence. Your nephew has sincere friends in his cause, and, aided by time, need not despair of success."
To her mother, Theodosia had mentioned the attention of Edward, when at Oxford, and their subsequent interview in Wales; pourtraying him in such favourable colours, and dwelling on each word and incident with such pleasure and minuteness, as showed he had made no inconsiderable impression on her heart.
She now directed a look of grateful acknowledgment to Lady Howard, for the relief she had afforded her, whilst Sir Arthur, in a milder tone, replied: "Well—well, Madam, you may be right; butyou know I do not like to be trifled with."
This discovery, as unexpected as pleasing, added to the happiness of every individual; nor was Edward long in obtaining a confession; her affections were too nearly interested in his favour, to let duty have the merit of her compliance with the wishes of her father.
At last the morn so ardently expected, arrived! The tenants of Sir Henry, who the same day attained his one-and-twentieth year, assembled on the lawn, and proceeded with them to church, where Sir Henry, Mr. Talton, and Frederick, received the hands of their destined brides. Nor would old Thomas be denied the gratificationof attending his master on this occasion, at which no one more sincerely rejoiced: he appeared to have shaken off the infirmities of age; and after the ceremony, joining the tenants, conducted them back to the lawn, where a noble banquet, by order of their generous landlord, added to the pleasure of the peasantry; and a rural ball concluded the day, in which Sir Henry and his friends did not disdain to join.
For three weeks the Hall and Mr. Talton's house were proclaimed open as the hearts of their owners; and at the expiration of that time, the whole party proceeded to the seat of Sir Arthur, where he yielded to the solicitations of Edward, and resigned the hand of Theodosia. The liberalityof the Captain on this occasion awakened the generosity of his brother, and Howard Hall for some weeks vied with the hospitable mansions of Corbet and Talton. Sir Arthur did more—he insisted on resigning the family seat to Frederick and Ellen; himself retiring, with his Lady, to a smaller one he possessed within less than a mile, where, as he said, he could daily visit or be visited by them.
Another month, however, elapsed before they thought of separating; and then with an unanimous promise of frequently visiting each other.
Harland and his Louise returned to Harland Hill, where, a few months after,she made him the exulting father of a lovely boy. This circumstance endeared her not only more to him, but to his parents; at whose request he relinquished the service, and consented to reside with them. The amiable manners of Louise had imperceptibly softened the impatience and harshness of his temper, and his increasing tenderness as a husband and father, fully justified her in the choice she had made.
Captain Howard purchased an estate near Sir Henry and Mr. Talton's; and in the society and affection of his Ellenor found an ample recompence for the years of unhappiness he had experienced on her account. Edward and Theodosia, at his desire, consented to reside beneathhis paternal roof: whilst Sir Arthur, who since the death of his son had shown an unusual urbanity of disposition, again regarded him with fraternal kindness, which was returned with the sincerest friendship by the Captain.
Time softened the sorrow of the worthy Booyers for the loss of Hannah; and, though he ever dwelt on her memory with tenderness, he no longer felt those poignant emotions, the remembrance or mention of her would at one time have occasioned. Frederick, with a delicacy equal to his regard, presented him with an estate adjoining Howard Hall, which produced him an easy competence: from the happiness of Ellen he derived his own, and in her children found a source of amusement for his declining age.
Mr. Talton was justified in his choice of Mrs. Blond; nor had either of them cause to regret the day on which they were united. So far from deeming her remembrance of Corbet or Blond a slight to himself, he would join her in the praise he thought justly due to their merits. This behaviour increased the regard of his wife; and if a sigh sometimes obtruded for their unhappy fate, the recollection of Talton never failed to restore her cheerfulness.
For Mrs. St. Ledger (the once unfortunate Sister Françoise), Louise retained the sincerest regard; whilst the friendship of that amiable woman fully recompensed her for the loss of her mother.—Three years after her marriage, the Marquis de Valois and his family returned to France,whither Harland attended his Louise, and they passed some months at the seat of that nobleman. On their return to England, in which they wereaccompaniedby the Marchioness and her daughters, they were surprised, on entering Abbeville, by the appearance of Mallet; his dress immediately informed them he was in the service of the French Monarch, though in the lowest rank. He as instantly recognized Louise, who, with mingled sensations of pleasure and grief, received his embrace. He had, on quitting England, proceeded to Paris, where the gaming-table soon despoiled him of the wealth he had obtained from Lady Corbet. He then for some time gained a precarious livelihood, by practising those wiles by which himself had been defrauded;but being detected, was obliged to fly, and as a last resource for the preservation of existence, had taken up a musket. These adventures, glossed over with the title of misfortunes, fully awakened the pity of Harland, who readily complied with the wish of Louise, to settle an annuity on him for life; he would have urged his return to England, but Mallet declared his resolution never to revisit his native country. He had, he said, since the death of Lady Corbet, entered into other engagements, which he by no means wished to break, though he declared himself extremely willing to quit the army. They accordingly procured his discharge, and presenting him with a sum of money for immediate use, he set out for the south of France, where he proposedto fix his residence, whilst Harland and Louise continued their way toward England, where the society of her friends soon obliterated the painful remembrance of an unworthy parent.
Old Thomas, at his earnest solicitation, still continued with Sir Henry; who, feeling himself indebted to that faithful servant for the restoration of his fortune, would have made him independent: but no consideration could induce him to accept of any reward which should separate him from his master; with whom he begged he might pass the remainder of his days. Sir Henry yielded to his wish; and by every indulgence strove to requite the services he had rendered him.
Sir Henry, satisfied with his own conduct, could look back on every action without regret, and to each succeeding day with confidence and pleasure. Revered by his dependants, and esteemed by all who knew him, he experienced the true delight of a benevolent heart; whilst in the affection of Eliza and his children, and the warm attachment of his friends, he found a recompence for the sorrows he had formerly known.
THE END.
Printed by C. Spilsbury, Angel-Court, Snowhill.
Transcriber's CorrectionsPage 2:Changed "desiraable" to "desirable".Page 33:Changed "escrutoire" to "escritoire".Page 111:Changed "bein" to "being".Page 134:Changed "scarely" to "scarcely".Page 243:Changed "accomcompanied" to "accompanied".
Transcriber's Corrections