“Well then,” said Sir Philip, “come along with me.” He took the youth by the hand, and led him into another parlour, leaving his friends in great surprise, what this young man’s errand could be; John Wyatt told them all that he knew relating to Edmund’s birth, character, and situation.
When Sir Philip had seated his young friend, he listened in silence to the surprising tale he had to tell him. Edmund told him briefly the most remarkable circumstances of his life, from the time when he first saw and liked him, till his return from France; but from that era, he related at large every thing that had happened, recounting every interesting particular, which was imprinted on his memory in strong and lasting characters. Sir Philip grew every moment more affected by the recital; sometimes he clasped his hands together, he lifted them up to heaven, he smote his breast, he sighed, he exclaimed aloud; when Edmund related his dream, he breathed short, and seemed to devour him with attention; when he described the fatal closet, he trembled, sighed, sobbed, and was almost suffocated with his agitation. But when he related all that passed between his supposed mother and himself, and finally produced the jewels, the proofs of his birth, and the death of his unfortunate mother, he flew to him, he pressed him to his bosom, he strove to speak, but speech was for some minutes denied. He wept aloud; and, at length, his words found their way in broken exclamations.
“Son of my dearest friend! Dear and precious relic of a noble house! child of Providence! the beloved of heaven! welcome! thrice welcome to my arms! to my heart! I will be thy parent from henceforward, and thou shalt be indeed my child, my heir! My mind told me from the first moment I beheld thee, that thou wert the image of my friend! my heart then opened itself to receive thee, as his offspring. I had a strange foreboding that I was to be thy protector. I would then have made thee my own; but heaven orders things for the best; it made thee the instrument of this discovery, and in its own time and manner conducted thee to my arms. Praise be to God for his wonderful doings towards the children of men! every thing that has befallen thee is by his direction, and he will not leave his work unfinished; I trust that I shall be his instrument to do justice on the guilty, and to restore the orphan of my friend to his rights and title. I devote myself to this service, and will make it the business of my life to effect it.”
Edmund gave vent to his emotions, in raptures of joy and gratitude. They spent several hours in this way, without thinking of the time that passed; the one enquiring, the other explaining, and repeating, every particular of the interesting story.
At length they were interrupted by the careful John Wyatt, who was anxious to know if any thing was likely to give trouble to his master.
“Sir,” said John, “it grows dark—do you want a light?”
“We want no light but what heaven gives us,” said Sir Philip; “I knew not whether it was dark or light.”
“I hope,” said John, “nothing has happened, I hope your honour has heard no bad tidings; I—I—I hope no offence.”
“None at all,” said the good knight; “I am obliged to your solicitude for me; I have heard some things that grieve me, and others that give me great pleasure; but the sorrows are past, and the joys remain.”
“Thank God!” said John; “I was afraid something was the matter to give your honour trouble.”
“I thank you, my good servant! You see this young gentleman; I would have you, John, devote yourself to his service; I give you to him for an attendant on his person, and would have you show your affection to me by your attachment to him.”
“Oh, Sir!” said John in a melancholy voice, “what have I done to be turned out of your service?”
“No such matter, John,” said Sir Philip; “you will not leave my service.”
“Sir,” said John, “I would rather die than leave you.”
“And, my lad, I like you too well to part with you; but in serving my friend you will serve me. Know, that this young man is my son.”
“Your son, sir!” said John.
“Not my natural son, but my relation; my son by adoption, my heir!”
“And will he live with you, sir?”
“Yes, John; and I hope to die with him.”
“Oh, then, I will serve him with all my heart and soul; and I will do my best to please you both.”
“I thank you, John, and I will not forget your honest love and duty. I have so good an opinion of you, that I will tell you of some things concerning this gentleman that will entitle him to your respect.”
“‘Tis enough for me,” said John, “to know that your honour respects him, to make me pay him as much duty as yourself.”
“But, John, when you know him better, you will respect him still more; at present, I shall only tell you what he is not; for you think him only the son of Andrew Twyford.”
“And is he not?” said John.
“No, but his wife nursed him, and he passed for her son.”
“And does old Twyford know it, sir?”
“He does, and will bear witness to it; but he is the son of a near friend of mine, of quality superior to my own, and as such you must serve and respect him.”
“I shall, to be sure, sir; but what name shall I call him?”
“You shall know that hereafter; in the mean time bring a light, and wait on us to the other parlour.”
When John was withdrawn, Sir Philip said, “That is a point to be considered and determined immediately; It is proper that you should assume a name till you can take that of your father; for I choose you should drop that of your foster-father; and I would have you be called by one that is respectable.”
“In that, and every other point, I will be wholly governed by you, sir,” said Edmund.
“Well then, I will give you the name of Seagrave; I shall say that you are a relation of my own; and my mother was really of that family.”
John soon returned, and attended them into the other parlour; Sir Philip entered, with Edmund in his hand.
“My friends,” said he, “this gentleman is Mr. Edward Seagrave, the son of a dear friend and relation of mine. He was lost in his infancy, brought up by a good woman out of pure humanity, and is but lately restored to his own family. The circumstances shall be made known hereafter; In the meantime, I have taken him under my care and protection, and will use all my power and interest to see him restored to his fortune, which is enjoyed by the usurper who was the cause of his expulsion, and the death of his parents. Receive him as my relation, and friend; Zadisky, do you embrace him first. Edmund, you and this gentleman must love each other for my sake; hereafter you will do it for your own.[”] They all rose; each embraced and congratulated the young man.
Zadisky said, “Sir, whatever griefs and misfortunes you may have endured, you may reckon them at an end, from the hour you are beloved and protected by Sir Philip Harclay.”
“I firmly believe it, sir,” replied Edmund; “and my heart enjoys, already, more happiness than I ever yet felt, and promises me all that I can wish in future; his friendship is the earnest Heaven gives me of its blessings hereafter.”
They sat down to supper with mutual cheerfulness; and Edmund enjoyed the repast with more satisfaction than he had felt a long time. Sir Philip saw his countenance brighten up, and looked on him with heart-felt pleasure.
“Every time I look on you,” said he, “reminds me of your father; you are the same person I loved twenty-three years ago—I rejoice to see you under my roof. Go to your repose early, and to-morrow we will consult farther.”
Edmund withdrew, and enjoyed a night of sweet undisturbed repose.
The next morning Edmund arose in perfect health and spirits: he waited on his benefactor. They were soon after joined by Zadisky, who shewed great attention and respect to the youth, and offered him his best services without reserve. Edmund accepted them with equal respect and modesty; and finding himself at ease, began to display his amiable qualities. They breakfasted together; afterwards, Sir Philip desired Edmund to walk out with him.
As soon as they were out of hearing, Sir Philip said, “I could not sleep last night for thinking of your affairs; I laid schemes for you, and rejected them again. We must lay our plan before we begin to act. What shall be done with this treacherous kinsman! this inhuman monster! this assassin of his nearest relation? I will risk my life and fortune to bring him to justice. Shall I go to court, and demand justice of the king? or shall I accuse him of the murder, and make him stand a public trial? If I treat him as a baron of the realm, he must be tried by his peers; if as a commoner, he must be tried at the county assize; but we must shew reason why he should be degraded from his title. Have you any thing to propose?”
“Nothing, sir; I have only to wish that it might be as private as possible, for the sake of my noble benefactor, the Lord Fitz-Owen, upon whom some part of the family disgrace would naturally fall; and that would be an ill return for all his kindness and generosity to me.”
“That is a generous and grateful consideration on your part; but you owe still more to the memory of your injured parents. However, there is yet another way that suits me better than any hitherto proposed; I will challenge the traitor to meet me in the field; and, if he has spirit enough to answer my call, I will there bring him to justice; if not, I will bring him to a public trial.”
“No, sir,” said Edmund, “that is my province. Should I stand by and see my noble, gallant friend expose his life for me, I should be unworthy to bear the name of that friend whom you so much lament. It will become his son to vindicate his name, and revenge his death. I will be the challenger, and no other.”
“And do you think he will answer the challenge of an unknown youth, with nothing but his pretensions to his name and title? Certainly not. Leave this matter to me; I will think of a way that will oblige him to meet me at the house of a third person who is known to all the parties concerned, and where we will have authentic witnesses of all that passes between him and me. I will devise the time, place, and manner, and satisfy all your scruples.”
Edmund offered to reply; but Sir Philip bad him be silent, and let him proceed in his own way.
He then led him over his estate, and shewed him every thing deserving his notice; he told him all the particulars of his domestic economy, and they returned home in time to meet their friends at dinner.
They spent several days in consulting how to bring Sir Walter to account, and in improving their friendship and confidence in each other. Edmund endeared himself so much to his friend and patron, that he declared him his adopted son and heir before all his friends and servants, and ordered them to respect him as such. He every day improved their love and regard for him, and became the darling of the whole family.
After much consideration, Sir Philip fixed his resolutions, and began to execute his purposes. He set out for the seat of the Lord Clifford, attended by Edmund, M. Zadisky, and two servants. Lord Clifford received them with kindness and hospitality.
Sir Philip presented Edmund to Lord Clifford and his family, as his near relation and presumptive heir; They spent the evening in the pleasures of convivial mirth and hospitable entertainment. The next day Sir Philip began to open his mind to Lord Clifford, informing him that both his young friend and himself had received great injuries from the present Lord Lovel, for which they were resolved to call him to account; but that, for many reasons, they were desirous to have proper witnesses of all that should pass between them, and begging the favour of his Lordship to be the principal one. Lord Clifford acknowledged the confidence placed in him; and besought Sir Philip to let him be the arbitrator between them. Sir Philip assured him, that their wrongs would not admit of arbitration, as he should hereafter judge; but that he was unwilling to explain them further till he knew certainly whether or not the Lord Lovel would meet him; for, if he refused, he must take another method with him.
Lord Clifford was desirous to know the grounds of the quarrel; but Sir Philip declined entering into particulars at present, assuring him of a full information hereafter. He then sent M. Zadisky, attended by John Wyatt, and a servant of Lord Clifford, with a letter to Lord Lovel; the contents were as follow:—
“My Lord Lovel,—Sir Philip Harclay earnestly desires to see you at the house of Lord Clifford, where he waits to call you to account for the injuries done by you to the late Arthur Lord Lovel, your kinsman; If you accept his demand, he will make the Lord Clifford a witness and a judge of the cause; if not, he will expose you publicly as a traitor and a coward. Please to answer this letter, and he will acquaint you with the time, place, and manner of the meeting.
“PHILIP HARCLAY.”
Zadisky presented the letter to Lord Lovel, informing him that he was the friend of Sir Philip Harclay. He seemed surprised and confounded at the contents; but, putting on an haughty air, “I know nothing,” said he, “of the business this letter hints at; but wait a few hours, and I will give you an answer.” He gave orders to treat Zadisky as a gentleman in every respect, except in avoiding his company; for the Greek had a shrewd and penetrating aspect, and he observed every turn of his countenance. The next day he came and apologized for his absence, and gave him the answer; sending his respects to the Lord Clifford. The messengers returned with all speed, and Sir Philip read the answer before all present.
“Lord Lovel knows not of any injuries done by him to the late Arthur Lord Lovel, whom he succeeded by just right of inheritance; nor of any right Sir Philip Harclay has, to call to account a man to whom he is barely known, having seen him only once, many years ago, at the house of his uncle, the old Lord Lovel: Nevertheless, Lord Lovel will not suffer any man to call his name and honour into question with impunity; for which reason he will meet Sir Philip Harclay at any time, place, and in what manner he shall appoint, bringing the same number of friends and dependents, that justice may be done to all parties.
“LOVEL.”
“‘Tis well,” said Sir Philip; “I am glad to find he has the spirit to meet me; he is an enemy worthy of my sword.”
Lord Clifford then proposed that both parties should pass the borders, and obtain leave of the warden of the Scottish marches to decide the quarrel in his jurisdiction, with a select number of friends on both sides. Sir Philip agreed to the proposal; and Lord Clifford wrote in his own name to ask permission of the Lord Graham, that his friends might come there; and obtained it, on condition that neither party should exceed a limited number of friends and followers.
Lord Clifford sent chosen messengers to Lord Lovel, acquainting him with the conditions, and appointing the time, place, and manner of their meeting, and that he had been desired to accept the office of judge of the field. Lord Lovel accepted the conditions, and promised to be there without fail. Lord Clifford notified the same to Lord Graham, warden of the marches, who caused a piece of ground to be inclosed for the lists, and made preparations against the day appointed.
In the interim, Sir Philip Harclay thought proper to settle his worldly affairs. He made Zadisky acquainted with every circumstance of Edmund’s history, and the obligation that lay upon him to revenge the death of his friend, and see justice done to his heir. Zadisky entered into the cause with an ardour that spoke the affection he bore to his friend.
“Why,” said he, “would you not suffer me to engage this traitor? Yourlife is of too much consequence to be staked against his; but thoughI trust that the justice of your cause must succeed, yet, if it shouldhappen otherwise, I vow to revenge you; he shall never go back from usboth. However, my hope and trust is, to see your arm the minister ofjustice.”Sir Philip then sent for a lawyer and made his will, by which heappointed Edmund his chief heir, by the name of Lovel, alias Seagrave,alias Twyford; he ordered that all his old friends, soldiers, andservants, should be maintained in the same manner during their lives;he left to Zadisky an annuity of an hundred a year, and a legacy of twohundred pounds; one hundred pounds to a certain monastery; the same sumto be distributed among disbanded soldiers, and the same to the poor andneedy in his neighbourhood.
He appointed Lord Clifford joint executor with Edmund, and gave his will into that nobleman’s care, recommending Edmund to his favour and protection.
“If I live,” said he, “I will make him appear to be worthy of it; if I die, he will want a friend. I am desirous your lordship, as a judge of the field, should be unprejudiced on either side, that you may judge impartially. If I die, Edmund’s pretensions die with me; but my friend Zadisky will acquaint you with the foundation of them. I take these precautions, because I ought to be prepared for every thing; but my heart is warm with better hopes, and I trust I shall live to justify my own cause, as well as that of my friend, who is a person of more consequence than he appears to be.”
Lord Clifford accepted the trust, and expressed the greatest reliance upon Sir Philip’s honour and veracity.
While these preparations were making for the great event that was to decide the pretensions of Edmund, his enemies at the Castle of Lovel were brought to shame for their behaviour to him.
The disagreement between Wenlock and Markham had by degrees brought on an explanation of some parts of their conduct. Father Oswald had often hinted to the Baron, Wenlock’s envy of Edmund’s superior qualities, and the artifices by which he had obtained such an influence with Sir Robert, as to make him take his part upon all occasions. Oswald now took advantage of the breach between these two incendiaries, to persuade Markham to justify himself at Wenlock’s expence, and to tell all he knew of his wickedness; at length, he promised to declare all he knew of Wenlock’s conduct, as well in France as since their return, when he should be called upon; and, by him, Oswald was enabled to unravel the whole of his contrivances, against the honour, interest, and even life of Edmund.
He prevailed on Hewson, and Kemp, his associate, to add their testimony to the others. Hewson confessed that he was touched in his conscience, when he reflected on the cruelty and injustice of his behaviour to Edmund, whose behaviour towards him, after he had laid a snare for his life, was so noble and generous, that he was cut to the heart by it, and had suffered so much pain and remorse, that he longed for nothing so much as an opportunity to unburden his mind; but the dread of Mr. Wenlock’s anger, and the effects of his resentment, had hitherto kept him silent, always hoping there would come a time, when he might have leave to declare the whole truth.
Oswald conveyed this information to the Baron’s ear, who waited for an opportunity to make the proper use of it. Not long after, the two principal incendiaries came to an open rupture, and Markham threatened Wenlock that he would shew his uncle what a serpent he had harboured in his bosom. The Baron arrested his words, and insisted upon his telling all he knew; adding,—
“If you speak the truth, I will support you; but if you prove false, I will punish you severely. As to Mr. Wenlock, he shall have a fair trial; and, if all the accusations I have heard are made good, it is high time that I should put him out of my family.”
The Baron, with a stern aspect, bade them follow him into the great hall; and sent for all the rest of the family together.
He then, with great solemnity, told them he was ready to hear all sides of the question. He declared the whole substance of his informations, and called upon the accusers to support the charge. Hewson and Kemp gave the same account they had done to Oswald, offering to swear to the truth of their testimony; several of the other servants related such circumstances as had come to their knowledge. Markham then spoke of every thing, and gave a particular account of all that had passed on the night they spent in the east apartment; he accused himself of being privy to Wenlock’s villany, called himself fool and blockhead for being the instrument of his malignant disposition, and asked pardon of his uncle for concealing it so long.
The Baron called upon Wenlock to reply to the charge; who, instead of answering, flew into a passion, raged, swore, threatened, and finally denied every thing. The witnesses persisted in their assertions. Markham desired leave to make known the reason why they were all afraid of him.
“He gives it out,” said he, “that he is to be my lord’s son-in-law; and they, supposing him to stand first in his favour, are afraid of his displeasure.”
“I hope,” said the Baron, “I shall not be at such a loss for a son-in-law, as to make choice of such a one as him; he never but once hinted at such a thing, and then I gave him no encouragement. I have long seen there was something very wrong in him; but I did not believe he was of so wicked a disposition; It is no wonder that princes should be so frequently deceived, when I, a private man, could be so much imposed upon within the circle of my own family. What think you, son Robert?”
“I, sir, have been much more imposed on; and I take shame to myself on the occasion.”
“Enough, my son,” said the Baron; “a generous confession is only a proof of growing wisdom. You are now sensible, that the best of us are liable to imposition. The artifices of this unworthy kinsman have set us at variance with each other, and driven away an excellent youth from this house, to go I know not whither; but he shall no longer triumph in his wickedness; he shall feel what it is to be banished from the house of his protector. He shall set out for his mother’s this very day; I will write to her in such a manner as shall inform her that he has offended me, without particularising the nature of his faults; I will give him an opportunity of recovering his credit with his own family, and this shall be my security against his doing further mischief. May he repent, and be forgiven.
“Markham deserves punishment, but not in the same degree.”
“I confess it,” said he, “and will submit to whatever your lordship shall enjoin.”
“You shall only be banished for a time, but he for ever. I will send you abroad on a business that shall put you in a way to do credit to yourself, and service to me. Son Robert, have you any objection to my sentence?”
“My Lord,” said he, “I have great reason to distrust myself; I am sensible of my own weakness, and your superior wisdom, as well as goodness; and I will henceforward submit to you in all things.”
The Baron ordered two of his servants to pack up Wenlock’s clothes and necessaries, and to set out with him that very day; he bade some others keep an eye upon him lest he should escape; As soon as they were ready, my Lord wished him a good journey, and gave him a letter for his mother. He departed without saying a word, in a sullen kind of resentment, but his countenance shewed the inward agitations of his mind.
As soon as he was gone, every mouth was opened against him; a thousand stories came out that they never heard before; The Baron and his sons were astonished that he should go on so long without detection. My lord sighed deeply at the thoughts of Edmund’s expulsion, and ardently wished to know what was become of him.
Sir Robert took the opportunity of coming to an explanation with his brother William; he took shame to himself for some part of his past behaviour. Mr. William owned his affection to Edmund, and justified it by his merit and attachment to him, which were such that he was certain no time or distance could alter them. He accepted his brother’s acknowledgement, as a full amends for all that had passed, and begged that henceforward an entire love and confidence might ever subsist between them. These new regulations restored peace, confidence, and harmony, in the Castle of Lovel.
At length, the day arrived for the combatants to meet. The Lord Graham, with twelve followers gentlemen, and twelve servants, was ready at the dawn of day to receive them.
The first that entered the field, was Sir Philip Harclay, knight, armed completely, excepting his head-piece; Hugh Rugby, his esquire, bearing his lance; John Barnard, his page, carrying his helmet and spurs; and two servants in his proper livery. The next came Edmund, the heir of Lovel, followed by his servant John Wyatt; Zadisky, followed by his servant.
At a short distance came the Lord Clifford, as judge of the field, with his esquire, two pages, and two livery-servants; followed by his eldest son, his nephew, and a gentleman his friend, each attended by one servant; He also brought a surgeon of note to take care of the wounded.
The Lord Graham saluted them; and, by his order, they took their places without the lists, and the trumpet sounded for the challenger. It was answered by the defendant, who soon after appeared, attended by three gentlemen his friends, with each one servant, beside his own proper attendants.
A place was erected for the Lord Clifford, as judge of the field; he desired Lord Graham would share the office, who accepted it, on condition that the combatants should make no objection, and they agreed to it with the greatest courtesy and respect. They consulted together on many points of honour and ceremony between the two combatants.
They appointed a marshal of the field, and other inferior officers, usually employed on these occasions. The Lord Graham sent the marshal for the challenger, desiring him to declare the cause of his quarrel before his enemy. Sir Philip Harclay then advanced, and thus spoke:
“I, Philip Harclay, knight, challenge Walter, commonly called Lord Lovel, as a base, treacherous, and bloody man, who, by his wicked arts and devices, did kill, or cause to be killed, his kinsman, Arthur Lord Lovel, my dear and noble friend. I am called upon, in an extraordinary manner, to revenge his death; and I will prove the truth of what I have affirmed at the peril of my life.”
Lord Graham then bade the defendant answer to the charge. Lord Lovel stood forth before his followers, and thus replied:
“I, Walter, Baron of Lovel, do deny the charge against me, and affirm it to be a base, false, and malicious accusation of this Sir Philip Harclay, which I believe to be invented by himself, or else framed by some enemy, and told to him for wicked ends; but, be that as it may, I will maintain my own honour, and prove him to be a false traitor, at the hazard of my own life, and to the punishment of his presumption.”
Then said the Lord Graham, “will not this quarrel admit of arbitration?”
“No,” replied Sir Philip; “when I have justified this charge, I have more to bring against him. I trust in God and the justice of my cause, and defy that traitor to the death!”
Lord Clifford then spoke a few words to Lord Graham, who immediately called to the marshal, and bade him open the lists, and deliver their weapons to the combatants.
While the marshal was arranging the combatants and their followers, Edmund approached his friend and patron; he put one knee to the ground, he embraced his knees with the strongest emotions of grief and anxiety. He was dressed in complete armour, with his visor down; his device was a hawthorn, with a graft of the rose upon it, the motto—This is not my true parent; but Sir Philip bade him take these words—E fructu arbor cognoscitur.
Sir Philip embraced the youth with strong marks of affection. “Be composed, my child!” said he; “I have neither guilt, fear, nor doubt in me; I am so certain of success, that I bid you be prepared for the consequence.”
Zadisky embraced his friend, he comforted Edmund, he suggested every thing that could confirm his hopes of success.
The marshal waited to deliver the spear to Sir Philip; he now presented it with the usual form.
“Sir, receive your lance, and God defend the right!”
Sir Philip answered, “Amen!” in a voice that was heard by all present.
He next presented his weapon to Lord Lovel with the same sentence, who likewise answered “Amen!” with a good courage. Immediately the lists were cleared, and the combatants began to fight.
They contended a long time with equal skill and courage; at length Sir Philip unhorsed his antagonist. The judges ordered, that either he should alight, or suffer his enemy to remount; he chose the former, and a short combat on foot ensued. The sweat ran off their bodies with the violence of the exercise. Sir Philip watched every motion of his enemy, and strove to weary him out, intending to wound, but not to kill him, unless obliged for his own safety.
He thrust his sword through his left arm, and demanded, whether he would confess the fact? Lord Lovel enraged, answered, he would die sooner. Sir Philip then passed the sword through his body twice, and Lord Lovel fell, crying out that he was slain.
“I hope not,” said Sir Philip, “for I have a great deal of business for you to do before you die: confess your sins, and endeavour to atone for them, as the only ground to hope for pardon.”
Lord Lovel replied, “You are the victor, use your good fortune generously!”
Sir Philip took away his sword, and then waved it over his head, and beckoned for assistance. The judges sent to beg Sir Philip to spare the life of his enemy.
“I will,” said he, “upon condition that he will make an honest confession.”
Lord Lovel desired a surgeon and a confessor.
“You shall have both,” said Sir Philip; “but you must first answer me a question or two. Did you kill your kinsman or not?”
“It was not my hand that killed him,” answered the wounded man.
“It was done by your own order, however? You shall have no assistance till you answer this point.”
“It was,” said he, “and Heaven is just!”
“Bear witness all present,” said Sir Philip; “he confesses the fact!”
He then beckoned Edmund, who approached.
“Take off your helmet,” said he; “look on that youth, he is the son of your injured kinsman.”
“It is himself!” said the Lord Lovel, and fainted away.
Sir Philip then called for a surgeon and a priest, both of which Lord Graham had provided; the former began to bind up his wounds, and his assistants poured a cordial into his mouth. “Preserve his life, if it be possible,” said Sir Philip; “for much depends upon it.”
He then took Edmund by the hand, and presented him to all the company. “In this young man,” said he, “you see the true heir of the house of Lovel! Heaven has in its own way made him the instrument to discover the death of his parents. His father was assassinated by order of that wicked man, who now receives his punishment; his mother was, by his cruel treatment, compelled to leave her own house; she was delivered in the fields, and perished herself in seeking a shelter for her infant. I have sufficient proofs of every thing I say, which I am ready to communicate to every person who desires to know the particulars. Heaven, by my hand, has chastised him; he has confessed the fact I accuse him of, and it remains that he make restitution of the fortune and honours he hath usurped so long.”
Edmund kneeled, and with uplifted hands returned thanks to Heaven, that his noble friend and champion was crowned with victory. The lords and gentlemen gathered round them, they congratulated them both; while Lord Lovel’s friends and followers were employed in taking care of him. Lord Clifford took Sir Philip’s hand.
“You have acted with so much honour and prudence, that it is presumptuous to offer you advice; but what mean you to do with the wounded man?”
“I have not determined,” said he; “I thank you for the hint, and beg your advice how to proceed.”
“Let us consult Lord Graham,” replied he.
Lord Graham insisted upon their going all to his castle: “There,” said he, “you will have impartial witnesses of all that passes.” Sir Philip was unwilling to give so much trouble. The Lord Graham protested he should be proud to do any service to so noble a gentleman. Lord Clifford enforced his request, saying, it was better upon all accounts to keep their prisoner on this side the borders till they saw what turn his health would take, and to keep him safely till he had settled his worldly affairs.
This resolution being taken, Lord Graham invited the wounded man and his friends to his castle, as being the nearest place where he could be lodged and taken proper care of, it being dangerous to carry him further. They accepted the proposal with many acknowledgements; and, having made a kind of litter of boughs, they all proceeded to Lord Graham’s castle, where they put Lord Lovel to bed, and the surgeon dressed his wounds, and desired he might be kept quiet, not knowing at present whether they were dangerous or not.
About an hour after, the wounded man complained of thirst; he asked for the surgeon, and enquired if his life was in danger? The surgeon answered him doubtfully. He asked—
“Where is Sir Philip Harclay?”
“In the castle.”
“Where is that young man whom he calls the heir of Lovel?”
“He is here, too.”
“Then I am surrounded with my enemies. I want to speak to one of my own servants, without witnesses; let one be sent to me.”
The surgeon withdrew, and acquainted the gentlemen below. “He shall not speak to any man,” said Sir Philip, “but in my presence.” He went with him into the sick man’s room. Upon the sight of Sir Philip, he seemed in great agitation.
“Am I not allowed to speak with my own servant?” said he.
“Yes, sir, you may; but not without witnesses.”
“Then I am a prisoner, it seems?”
“No, not so, sir; but some caution is necessary at present. But compose yourself, I do not wish for your death.”
“Then why did you seek it? I never injured you.”
“Yes, you have, in the person of my friend, and I am only the instrument of justice in the hand of Heaven; endeavour to make atonement while life is spared to you. Shall I send the priest to you? perhaps he may convince you of the necessity of restitution, in order to obtain forgiveness of your sins.”
Sir Philip sent for the priest and the surgeon, and obliged the servant to retire with him. “I leave you, sir, to the care of these gentlemen; and whenever a third person is admitted, I will be his attendant; I will visit you again within an hour.”
He then retired, and consulted his friends below; they were of opinion that no time should be lost. “You will then,” said he, “accompany me into the sick man’s apartment in an hour’s time.”
Within the hour, Sir Philip, attended by Lord Clifford and Lord Graham, entered the chamber. Lord Lovel was in great emotion; the priest stood on one side of the bed, the surgeon on the other; the former exhorted him to confess his sins, the other desired he might be left to his repose. Lord Lovel seemed in great anguish of mind; he trembled, and was in the utmost confusion. Sir Philip intreated him, with the piety of a confessor, to consider his soul’s health before that of his body. He then asked Sir Philip, by what means he knew that he was concerned in the death of his kinsman?
“Sir,” replied he, “it was not merely by human means this fact was discovered. There is a certain apartment in the Castle of Lovel, that has been shut up these one and twenty years, but has lately been opened and examined into.”
“O Heaven!” exclaimed he, “then Geoffry must have betrayed me!”
“No, sir, he has not; it was revealed in a very extraordinary manner to that youth whom it most concerns.”
“How can he be the heir of Lovel?”
“By being the son of that unfortunate woman, whom you cruelly obliged to leave her own house, to avoid being compelled to wed the murderer of her husband: we are not ignorant, moreover, of the fictitious funeral you made for her. All is discovered, and you will not tell us any more than we know already; but we desire to have it confirmed by your confession.”
“The judgments of Heaven are fallen upon me!” said Lord Lovel. “I am childless, and one is arisen from the grave to claim my inheritance.”
“Nothing, then, hinders you to do justice and make restitution; it is for the ease of your conscience; and you have no other way of making atonement for all the mischief you have done.”
“You know too much,” said the criminal, “and I will relate what you do not know.”
“You may remember,” proceeded he, “that I saw you once at my uncle’s house?”
“I well remember it.”
“At that time my mind was disturbed by the baleful passion of envy; it was from that root all my bad actions sprung.”
“Praise be to God!” said the good priest; “he hath touched your heart with true contrition, and you shew the effect of his mercies; you will do justice, and you will be rewarded by the gift of repentance unto salvation.”
Sir Philip desired the penitent to proceed.
“My kinsman excelled me in every kind of merit, in the graces of person and mind, in all his exercises, and in every accomplishment. I was totally eclipsed by him, and I hated to be in his company; but what finished my aversion, was his addressing the lady upon whom I had fixed my affections. I strove to rival him there, but she gave him the preference that, indeed, was only his due; but I could not bear to see, or acknowledge, it.
“The most bitter hatred took possession of my breast, and I vowed to revenge the supposed injury as soon as opportunity should offer. I buried my resentment deep in my heart, and outwardly appeared to rejoice at his success. I made a merit of resigning my pretensions to him, but I could not bear to be present at his nuptials; I retired to my father’s seat, and brooded over my revenge in secret. My father died this year, and soon after my uncle followed him; within another year my kinsman was summoned to attend the king on his Welch expedition.
“As soon as I heard he was gone from home, I resolved to prevent his return, exulting in the prospect of possessing his title, fortune, and his lady. I hired messengers, who were constantly going and coming to give me intelligence of all that passed at the castle; I went there soon after, under pretence of visiting my kinsman. My spies brought me an account of all that happened; one informed me of the event of the battle, but could not tell whether my rival was living or dead; I hoped the latter, that I might avoid the crime I meditated. I reported his death to his Lady, who took it very heavily.
“Soon after a messenger arrived with tidings that he was alive and well, and had obtained leave to return home immediately.
“I instantly dispatched my two emissaries to intercept him on the way. He made so much haste to return, that he was met within a mile of his own castle; he had out-rode his servants, and was alone. They killed him, and drew him aside out of the highway. They then came to me with all speed, and desired my orders; it was then about sunset. I sent them back to fetch the dead body, which they brought privately into the castle: they tied it neck and heels, and put it into a trunk, which they buried under the floor in the closet you mentioned. The sight of the body stung me to the heart; I then felt the pangs of remorse, but it was too late; I took every precaution that prudence suggested to prevent the discovery; but nothing can be concealed from the eye of Heaven.
“From that fatal hour I have never known peace, always in fear of something impending to discover my guilt, and to bring me to shame; at length I am overtaken by justice. I am brought to a severe reckoning here, and I dread to meet one more severe hereafter.”
“Enough,” said the priest; “you have done a good work, my son! trust in the Lord; and, now this burden is off your mind, the rest will be made easy to you.”
Lord Lovel took a minute’s repose, and then went on.
“I hope by the hint you gave, Sir Philip, the poor lady is yet alive?”
“No, sir, she is not; but she died not till after she brought forth a son, whom Heaven made its instrument to discover and avenge the death of both his parents.”
“They are well avenged!” said he. “I have no children to lament for me; all mine have been taken from me in the bloom of youth; only one daughter lived to be twelve years old; I intended her for a wife for one of my nephews, but within three months I have buried her.” He sighed, wept, and was silent.
The gentlemen present lifted up their hands and eyes to Heaven in silence.
“The will of Heaven be obeyed!” said the priest. “My penitent hath confessed all; what more would you require?”
“That he make atonement,” said Sir Philip; “that he surrender the title and estate to the right heir, and dispose of his own proper fortune to his nearest relations, and resign himself to penitence and preparation for a future state. For this time I leave him with you, father, and will join my prayers with yours for his repentance.”
So saying, he left the room, and was followed by the Barons and the surgeon; the priest alone remaining with him. As soon as they were out of hearing, Sir Philip questioned the surgeon concerning his patient’s situation; who answered, that at present he saw no signs of immediate danger, but he could not yet pronounce that there was none.
“If he were mortally wounded,” said he, “he could not be so well, nor speak so long without faintness; and it is my opinion that he will soon recover, if nothing happens to retard the cure.”
“Then,” said Sir Philip, “keep this opinion from him; for I would suffer the fear of death to operate on him until he hath performed some necessary acts of justice. Let it only be known to these noblemen, upon whose honour I can rely, and I trust they will approve my request to you, sir.”
“I join in it,” said Lord Clifford, “from the same motives.”
“I insist upon it,” said Lord Graham; “and I can answer for my surgeon’s discretion.”
“My lords,” said the surgeon, “you may depend on my fidelity; and, after what I have just heard, my conscience is engaged in this noble gentleman’s behalf, and I will do every thing in my power to second your intentions.”
“I thank you, sir,” said Sir Philip, “and you may depend on my gratitude in return. I presume you will sit up with him to-night; if any danger should arise, I desire to be called immediately; but, otherwise, I would suffer him to rest quietly, that he may be prepared for the business of the following day.”
“I shall obey your directions, sir; my necessary attendance will give me a pretence not to leave him, and thus I shall hear all that passes between him and all that visit him.”
“You will oblige me highly,” said Sir Philip, “and I shall go to rest with confidence in your care.”
The surgeon returned to the sick man’s chamber, Sir Philip and the Barons to the company below: they supped in the great hall, with all the gentlemen that were present at the combat. Sir Philip and his Edmund retired to their repose, being heartily fatigued; and the company staid to a late hour, commenting upon the action of the day, praising the courage and generosity of the noble knight, and wishing a good event to his undertaking.
Most of Lord Lovel’s friends went away as soon as they saw him safely lodged, being ashamed of him, and of their appearance in his behalf; and the few that stayed were induced by their desire of a further information of the base action he had committed, and to justify their own characters and conduct.
The next morning Sir Philip entered into consultation with the two Barons, on the methods he should take to get Edmund received, and acknowledged, as heir of the house of Lovel. They were all of opinion, that the criminal should be kept in fear till he had settled his worldly affairs, and they had resolved how to dispose of him. With this determination they entered his room, and enquired of the surgeon how he had passed the night. He shook his head, and said but little.
Lord Lovel desired that he might be removed to his own house. Lord Graham said, he could not consent to that, as there was evident danger in removing him; and appealed to the surgeon, who confirmed his opinion. Lord Graham desired he would make himself easy, and that he should have every kind of assistance there.
Sir Philip then proposed to send for the Lord Fitz-Owen, who would see that all possible care was taken of his brother-in-law, and would assist him in settling his affairs. Lord Lovel was against it; he was peevish and uneasy, and desired to be left with only his own servants to attend him. Sir Philip quitted the room with a significant look; and the two Lords endeavoured to reconcile him to his situation. He interrupted them. “It is easy for men in your situation to advise, but it is difficult for one in mine to practise; wounded in body and mind, it is natural that I should strive to avoid the extremes of shame and punishment; I thank you for your kind offices, and beg I may be left with my own servants.”
“With them, and the surgeon, you shall,” said Lord Graham; and they both retired.
Sir Philip met them below. “My lords,” said he, “I am desirous that my Lord Fitz-Owen should be sent for, and that he may hear his brother’s confession; for I suspect that he may hereafter deny, what only the fear of death has extorted from him; with your permission I am determined to send messengers to-day.”
They both expressed approbation, and Lord Clifford proposed to write to him, saying, a letter from an impartial person will have the more weight; I will send one of my principal domestics with your own. This measure being resolved upon, Lord Clifford retired to write, and Sir Philip to prepare his servants for instant departure. Edmund desired leave to write to father Oswald, and John Wyatt was ordered to be the bearer of his letter. When the Lord Clifford had finished his letter, he read it to Sir Philip and his chosen friends, as follows:—
“RIGHT HON. MY GOOD LORD,—I have taken upon me to acquaint your Lordship, that there has been a solemn combat at arms between your brother-in-law, the Lord Lovel, and Sir Philip Harclay, Knt. of Yorkshire. It was fought in the jurisdiction of the Lord Graham, who, with myself, was appointed judge of the field; it was fairly won, and Sir Philip is the conqueror. After he had gained the victory he declared at large the cause of the quarrel, and that he had revenged the death of Arthur Lord Lovel his friend, whom the present Lord Lovel had assassinated, that he might enjoy his title and estate. The wounded man confessed the fact; and Sir Philip gave him his life, and only carried off his sword as a trophy of his victory. Both the victor and the vanquished were conveyed to Lord Graham’s castle, where the Lord Lovel now lies in great danger. He is desirous to settle his worldly affairs, and to make his peace with God and man. Sir Philip Harclay says there is a male heir of the house of Lovel, for whom he claims the title and estate; but he is very desirous that your Lordship should be present at the disposal of your brother’s property that of right belongs to him, of which your children are the undoubted heirs. He also wants to consult you in many other points of honour and equity. Let me intreat you, on the receipt of this letter, to set out immediately for Lord Graham’s castle, where you will be received with the utmost respect and hospitality. You will hear things that will surprise you as much as they do me; you will judge of them with that justice and honour that speaks your character; and you will unite with us in wondering at the ways of Providence, and submitting to its decrees, in punishing the guilty, and doing justice to the innocent and oppressed. My best wishes and prayers attend you and your hopeful family. My lord, I remain your humble servant,
“CLIFFORD.”
Every one present expressed the highest approbation of this letter. Sir Philip gave orders to John Wyatt to be very circumspect in his behaviour, to give Edmund’s letter privately to father Oswald, and to make no mention of him, or his pretensions to Lovel Castle.
Lord Clifford gave his servant the requisite precautions. Lord Graham added a note of invitation, and sent it by a servant of his own. As soon as all things were ready, the messengers set out with all speed for the Castle of Lovel.
They stayed no longer by the way than to take some refreshment, but rode night and day till they arrived there.
Lord Fitz-Owen was in the parlour with his children; Father Oswald was walking in the avenue before the house, when he saw three messengers whose horses seemed jaded, and the riders fatigued, like men come a long journey. He came up, just as the first had delivered his message to the porter. John Wyatt knew him; he dismounted, and made signs that he had something to say to him; he retired back a few steps, and John, with great dexterity, slipped a letter into his hand. The father gave him his blessing, and a welcome.
“Who do you come from?” said he aloud.
“From the Lords Graham and Clifford to the Lord Fitz-Owen; and we bring letters of consequence to the Baron.”
Oswald followed the messengers into the hall; a servant announced their arrival. Lord Fitz-Owen received them in the parlour; Lord Clifford’s servant delivered his master’s letter, Lord Graham’s his, and they said they would retire and wait his Lordship’s answer. The Baron ordered them some refreshment. They retired, and he opened his letters. He read them with great agitations, he struck his hand upon his heart, he exclaimed, “My fears are all verified! the blow is struck, and it has fallen upon the guilty!”
Oswald came in a minute after.
“You are come in good time,” said the Baron. “Read that letter, that my children may know the contents.”
He read it, with faultering voice, and trembling limbs. They were all in great surprise. William looked down, and kept a studied silence. Sir Robert exclaimed—
“Is it possible? can my uncle be guilty of such an action?”
“You hear,” said the Baron, “he has confessed it!”
“But to whom?” said Sir Robert.
His father replied, “Lord Clifford’s honour is unquestionable, and I cannot doubt what he affirms.”
Sir Robert leaned his head upon his hand, as one lost in thought; at length he seemed to awake.
“My Lord, I have no doubt that Edmund is at the bottom of this business. Do you not remember that Sir Philip Harclay long ago promised him his friendship? Edmund disappears; and, soon after, this man challenges my Uncle. You know what passed here before his departure; He has suggested this affair to Sir Philip, and instigated him to this action. This is the return he has made for the favours he has received from our family, to which he owes every thing!”
“Softly, my son!” said the Baron; “let us be cautious of reflecting upon Edmund; there is a greater hand in this business. My conjecture was too true; It was in that fatal apartment that he was made acquainted with the circumstances of Lord Lovel’s death; he was, perhaps, enjoined to reveal them to Sir Philip Harclay, the bosom friend of the deceased. The mystery of that apartment is disclosed, the woe to the guilty is accomplished! There is no reflection upon any one; Heaven effects its purposes in its own time and manner. I and mine are innocent; let us worship, and be silent!”
“But what do you propose to do?” said Sir Robert.
“To return with the messengers,” answered the Baron. “I think it highly proper that I should see your Uncle, and hear what he has to say; my children are his heirs; in justice to them, I ought to be acquainted with every thing that concerns the disposal of his fortune.”
“Your Lordship is in the right,” answered Sir Robert, “it concerns us all. I have only to ask your permission to bear you company.”
“With all my heart,” said the Baron; “I have only to ask of you in return, that you will command yourself, and not speak your mind hastily; wait for the proofs before you give judgment, and take advice of your reason before you decide upon any thing; if you reflect upon the past, you will find reason to distrust yourself. Leave all to me, and be assured I will protect your honour and my own.”
“I will obey you in all things, my lord; and will make immediate preparation for our departure.” So saying, he left the room.
As soon as he was gone, Mr. William broke silence.
“My Lord,” said he, “if you have no great objection, I beg leave also to accompany you both.”
“You shall, my son, if you desire it; I think I can see your motives, and your brother’s also; your coolness will be a good balance to his warmth; you shall go with us. My son Walter shall be his sister’s protector in our absence, and he shall be master here till we return.”
“I hope, my dear father, that will not be long; I shall not be happy till you come home,” said the fair Emma.
“It shall be no longer, my dearest, than till this untoward affair is settled.”
The Baron desired to know when the messengers were expected to return. Oswald took this opportunity to retire; he went to his own apartment, and read the letter, as follows:—
“The Heir of Lovel, to his dear and reverend friend, father Oswald.
“Let my friends at the Castle of Lovel know that I live in hopes one day to see them there. If you could by any means return with the messengers, your testimony would add weight to mine; perhaps you might obtain permission to attend the Baron; I leave it to you to manage this. John Wyatt will inform you of all that has passed here, and that hitherto my success has outrun my expectation, and, almost, my wishes. I am in the high road to my inheritance; and trust that the Power who hath conducted me thus far, will not leave his work unfinished. Tell my beloved William, that I live, and hope to embrace him before long. I recommend myself to your holy prayers and blessing, and remain your son and servant, Edmund.”
Oswald then went to the messengers; he drew John Wyatt to a distance from the rest, and got the information he wanted. He stayed with him till he was sent for by the Baron, to whom he went directly, and prevented his questions, by saying, “I have been talking with the messengers; I find they have travelled night and day to bring the letters with all speed; they only require one night’s rest, and will be ready to set out with you to-morrow.”
“‘Tis well,” said the Baron; “we will set out as soon as they are ready.”
“My Lord,” said Oswald, “I have a favour to beg of you; it is, that I may attend you; I have seen the progress of this wonderful discovery, and I have a great desire to see the conclusion of it; perhaps my presence may be of service in the course of your business.”
“Perhaps it may,” said the Baron; “I have no objection, if you desire to go.”
They then separated, and went to prepare for their journey.
Oswald had a private interview with Joseph, whom he informed of all that he knew, and his resolution to attend the Baron in his journey to the north.
“I go,” said he, “to bear witness in behalf of injured innocence. If it be needful, I shall call upon you; therefore hold yourself in readiness in case you should be sent for.”
“That I will,” said Joseph, “and spend my last remains of life and strength, to help my young lord to his right and title. But do they not begin to suspect who is the heir of Lovel?”
“Not in the least,” said Oswald; “they think him concerned in the discovery, but have no idea of his being interested in the event.”
“Oh, father!” said Joseph, “I shall think every day a week till your return; but I will no longer keep you from your repose.”
“Good night,” said Oswald; “but I have another visit to pay before I go to rest.”
He left Joseph, and went on tip-toe to Mr. William’s room, and tapped at his door. He came and opened it. “What news, father?”
“Not much; I have only orders to tell you that Edmund is well, and as much your friend as ever.”
“I guessed,” said William, “that we should hear something of him. I have still another guess.”
“What is that, my child?”
“That we shall see or hear of him where we are going.”
“It is very likely,” said Oswald; “and I would have you be prepared for it;—I am confident we shall hear nothing to his discredit.”
“I am certain of that,” said William, “and I shall rejoice to see him; I conclude that he is under the protection of Sir Philip Harclay.”
“He is so,” said Oswald; “I had my information from Sir Philip’s servant, who is one of the messengers, and was guide to the others in their way hither.”
After some farther conversation they separated, and each went to his repose.
The next morning the whole party set out on their journey; they travelled by easy stages on account of the Baron’s health, which began to be impaired, and arrived in health and spirits at the castle of Lord Graham, where they were received with the utmost respect and kindness by the noble master.
The Lord Lovel had recovered his health and strength as much as possible in the time, and was impatient to be gone from thence to his own house. He was surprised to hear of the arrival of his brother and nephews, and expressed no pleasure at the thoughts of seeing them. When Sir Philip Harclay came to pay his respects to Baron Fitz-Owen, the latter received him with civility, but with a coldness that was apparent. Sir Robert left the room, doubting his resolution. Sir Philip advanced, and took the Baron by the hand.
“My Lord,” said he, “I rejoice to see you here. I cannot be satisfied with the bare civilities of such a man as you. I aspire to your esteem, to your friendship, and I shall not be happy till I obtain them. I will make you the judge of every part of my conduct, and where you shall condemn me, I will condemn myself.”
The Baron was softened, his noble heart felt its alliance with its counterpart, but he thought the situation of his brother demanded some reserve towards the man who sought his life; but, in spite of himself, it wore off every moment. Lord Clifford related all that had passed, with the due regard to Sir Philip’s honour; he remarked how nobly he concealed the cause of his resentment against the Lord Lovel till the day of combat, that he might not prepossess the judges against him. He enlarged on his humanity to the vanquished, on the desire he expressed to have justice done to his heirs; finally, he mentioned his great respect for the Lord Fitz-Owen, and the solicitude he shewed to have him come to settle the estate of the sick man in favour of his children. Lord Clifford also employed his son to soften Sir Robert, and to explain to him every doubtful part of Sir Philip’s behaviour.
After the travellers had taken some rest, the Lord Graham proposed that they should make a visit to the sick man’s chamber. The lords sent to acquaint him they were coming to visit him, and they followed the messenger. The Lord Fitz-Owen went up to the bedside; he embraced his brother with strong emotions of concern. Sir Robert followed him; then Mr. William.
Lord Lovel embraced them, but said nothing; his countenance shewed his inward agitations. “Lord Fitz-Owen first broke silence.
“I hope,” said he, “I see my brother better than I expected?”
Lord Lovel bit his fingers, he pulled the bed-clothes, he seemed almost distracted; at length he broke out—
“I owe no thanks to those who sent for my relations! Sir Philip Harclay, you have used ungenerously the advantage you have gained over me! you spared my life, only to take away my reputation. You have exposed me to strangers, and, what is worse, to my dearest friends; when I lay in a state of danger, you obliged me to say any thing, and now you take advantage of it, to ruin me in my friends’ affection. But, if I recover, you may repent it!”
Sir Philip then came forward.
“My Lords, I shall take no notice of what this unhappy man has just now said; I shall appeal to you, as to the honourable witnesses of all that has passed; you see it was no more than necessary. I appeal to you for the motives of my treatment of him, before, at, and after our meeting. I did not take his life, as I might have done; I wished him to repent of his sins, and to make restitution of what he unjustly possesses. I was called out to do an act of justice; I had taken the heir of Lovel under my protection, my chief view was to see justice done to him;—what regarded this man was but a secondary motive. This was my end, and I will never, never lose sight of it.”
Lord Lovel seemed almost choaked with passion, to see every one giving some mark of approbation and respect to Sir Philip. He called out—
“I demand to know who is this pretended heir, whom he brings out to claim my title and fortune?”
“My noble auditors,” said Sir Philip, “I shall appeal to your judgment, in regard to the proofs of my ward’s birth and family; every circumstance shall be laid before you, and you shall decide upon them.
“Here is a young man, supposed the son of a peasant, who, by a train of circumstances that could not have happened by human contrivance, discovers not only who were his real parents, but that they came to untimely deaths. He even discovers the different places where their bones are buried, both out of consecrated ground, and appeals to their ashes for the truth of his pretensions. He has also living proofs to offer, that will convince the most incredulous. I have deferred entering into particulars, till the arrival of Baron Fitz-Owen. I know his noble heart and honourable character, from one that has long been an eye-witness of his goodness; such is the opinion I have of his justice, that I will accept him as one of the judges in his brother’s cause. I and my ward will bring our proofs before him, and the company here present; in the course of them, it will appear that he is the best qualified of any to judge of them, because he can ascertain many of the facts we shall have occasion to mention. I will rest our cause upon their decision.”
Lord Graham applauded Sir Philip’s appeal, affirming his own impartiality, and calling upon Lord Clifford and his son, and also his own nephews who were present. Lord Clifford said—