"Be kind to my remains; and oh, defendAgainst your judgment, your departed friend!Let not the invidious foe, my fame pursue!The world I served, and only injured you!"
"Be kind to my remains; and oh, defendAgainst your judgment, your departed friend!Let not the invidious foe, my fame pursue!The world I served, and only injured you!"
The second paper was to the secretary of state in London; declaring on the word of a dying man, that he only suspected, under whose protection he was.
That he believed, none of all who attended him in his asylum, but the one romantic friend who brought him there, knew they were harbouring an outlawed man. He therefore wrote this, on the truth of an accountable being, ready to be called into the presence of his Creator; to exonerate all, and every one, who had granted him protection in these his last hours, from any implication of disloyalty against the existing government of England: though, with his last breath, he would say, "Long live King James!""Cornelia," continued the Pastor, "has been an unwearied watch in his apartment. She is now reposing with her maid, in a room adjoining to his, while he sleeps; and this is his third night of undisturbed rest."
To invade those hours of genial slumber, was the last thing to which Louis could have been brought to consent. But neither he, nor his uncle, felt any thing dormitive in their faculties, while conversing on a subject so dear to both their hearts; to the one, a restored friend; to the other, a redeemed fellow creature.
During these precious vigils, Mr. Athelstone learnt from his nephew, the true object of the Marquis Santa Cruz's visit to England. It was not merely a private mission to the Spanish embassador in London; but to give his personal sanction to the attachment of his son to Alice; and to use his influence with the Pastor and Mrs. Coningsby,to accord their consent to the marriage.
"Which we shall readily grant," replied his uncle, "for the hearts the Almighty hath joined together in innocence and virtue, let no man put asunder! And that He has done so by an awful covenant between the Marquis's family and ours, is distinctly marked by the mutually shedding of their blood for each other, in the terrible fields of Barbary."
Mr. Athelstone dwelt with the tenderness of a parent, on the fading health of Lady Marcella; and while he eulogized her benevolent care of Louis during his wounded state at Ceuta, he could not refrain from expressing a regret that so much active virtue should be intended for the living tomb of a convent.
"And yet," added the venerable man, "there are excellent divines of our own church, who tell us, that a vestal life is an angel's life. Being unmingled with the world, it is ready to converse withGod; and, by not feeling the warmth of indulged nature, it flames out with holy fires, till it burns like the seraphim; the most ecstasied order of beatified spirits!"
"Is that your sentiment, Sir?" inquired Louis, looking down; and quelling the palpitation of his heart.
"No, Louis; my opinion of an angel's life, both on earth, and in heaven, is, that it must be one of ministry. And that cannot be fulfilled, by retiring to a solitude beyond the stars; or immuring one's-self below them, in monasteries and loneliness."
"Then, to covet one, likely to be so immured," replied Louis, with a mournful smile, "is not a very mortal sin!"
This remark put his uncle to painful silence. He understood its import, though he had never before suspected the possibility of its existence. The moment he heard it, he wondered that he should not have foreseen the birth of such a sentiment, in such a character as Louis, forsuch a mind as Lady Marcella's. And, in the moment of apprehending this affection, being also aware, that it was awakened only for disappointment, he paused, and fixed his benign eyes on his nephew. The venerable man, had in early youth, once known to love, and to resign its object; and, now remembering something of the pangs he had so long forgotten, he exclaimed, "alas! alas! I was not prepared for this!"
Louis took his hand with the enthusiasm of a manly heart re-illumining his momentarily saddened countenance.
"But I am, my uncle!" said he, "and when she, who alone I ever truly loved, has indeed uttered the fatal vow; I will do my best, to reconcile your plan of ministry, with that of Bishop Taylor's celibacy: and, so tread in the steps of my revered Pastor, to the end of my days!"
He put his uncle's hand to his lips, toconceal the sigh that would have ended the sentence.
Mr. Athelstone thought it best to pass immediately from a subject on which hope could have no footing; and he proposed, that as heaven had seen it good to spare the life of Duke Wharton, their next object was to preserve him from the knowledge of the government, until he were sufficiently recovered to pass beyond seas. To effect this concealment with the least mystery, he recommended entrusting the Marchioness and her family with what had happened. Don Garcia, the physician, would be bound to keep the secret, on account of the Duke's power in the Spanish court; and then he might be removed to Lindisfarne, as part of the travelling suite. In that remote place, he would be attended by Don Garcia; and might await his convalescence without much alarm for his personal safety.Louis highly approved of these suggestions; and settled, that as soon as he had seen Wharton in the morning, he would return to Alnwick, and make the necessary arrangements with the Marchioness.
Towards dawn, the Pastor dropt asleep in his great chair, and Louis was left to his meditations. He too well remembered the distressed, and almost reproachful looks, with which the mother of Marcella had regarded him, when he so quiescently permitted her daughter to hurry forward to the danger of her health; and also, the uncomplaining perseverance of Marcella, for the two first days; and the unselfed, and almost indignant firmness with which she bore the third. There was something in these remembrances, which, while they overpowered him with regretful shame at his seeming ingratitude, yet awakened a countless train of recollections that flowed like balm into his soul. With his lips, heforeswore all hope of Marcella; but there was a subtle something in the bottom of his heart, that would not allow him to feel that he must absolutely seek the resignation he professed.
He ruminated on the consolations he had received at her hands when he lay in sickness and in sorrow; on the gentle virtues, which, like silent rills, only betraying their hidden course by a brighter green above, shewed their foundation in the beautiful composure of her character. Her tender cares had been as unremitting as efficient; and made her influence be felt throughout his whole soul, even as the atmosphere that surrounded him; soft, balmy, and inspiring!
Louis knew not that he loved her, till he believed he took his last leave of her, on the steps of the altar in the chapel of Ceuta. He knew not how he loved her, till the burthen of his friend's delinquency was taken from his heart; and its first spring was to pour the rapture ofthe conviction into her pure bosom. He would not, however, acknowledge to himself, that he thought she loved him. But he felt it in every nerve of his body, in the dearest recesses of his soul, in every heaven-directed aspiration of his grateful spirit.
"And, in heaven alone," cried he, "will it be mutually imparted, and enjoyed!"
The morning's sun witnessed the agitated, though happy meeting between Louis and Cornelia, while their venerable uncle was gone to prepare the awakened invalid for the entrance of his friend. Much circumlocution was not suffered to precede a re-union, after which the Duke panted, as if it were the earnest of all his future good. Louis was not less eager to forgive, and be forgiven; and to throw himself on the breast of the man he had always loved, (whether in admiration, or in forbearance;) with at last the sanction of the best guardians of his youth and virtue.
When he was told he might approach the chamber; the permission, and theclasp of Wharton's arms around his body, seemed the action of one instant. Mr. Athelstone closed the door on the friends, and left them alone. The gallant heart of the Duke, and the soul of Louis melted at once into one stream of mingling tenderness; and, sweet were those manly tears. They were as the "Pool of Bethesda;" whence each arose strengthened; and restored to a friendship, deathless as their souls.
All was recapitulated; all was explained. And Wharton now stood before his friend, without a shadow, without a mystery. But in the deep and intricate enfoldment of the snares which lurked in the gay assemblies of the Hotel d'Ettrees, Louis often shuddered in the depths of his heart.
"I found you there;" continued Wharton; "I doubted, and I tried you! But like the light, you pass through the impurest objects without defilement!—Yet, when you are a father, de Montemar, never advise your sons to make a similar experiment."
"Never! never!" returned Louis, with every agonized recollection in his voice.
The Duke resumed; and as he, in like manner, unwound the devious clew of policy, and shewed him all its labyrinths, and gins, and hidden places—where
"The toad beds with the viper; and darknessWeds with murder, to do the work of hell!"
"The toad beds with the viper; and darknessWeds with murder, to do the work of hell!"
The spirit of Louis mourned within him, that such paths had been those of his friend; that in those trackless wildernesses his beloved father had perished.
"But it was to kill the Minotaur, I entered his den!" replied Wharton.
"Yes," answered Louis, "but you did not escape the taint of his breath!—Let me thank Heaven, I was so soon beaten from the same ground!"
"No;" replied the Duke, "the politics of Europe are only to be redeemedfrom Machiavelian villanies, by honest men turning their talents to fulfil the trust, of which those talents are the warrant."
"But then the mode of warfare!" rejoined Louis, "all the evil passions are aroused; and who would enlist with such leaders?"
"Reverse the order, and make them your followers!" replied Wharton. "Man must be ruled by our knowledge of his nature. To the noble, give noble stimulus; to the base, the scourge. You must take the world as you find it; use it according to its own worthlessness, and not by the measure of yourself. To talk of virtue to some statesmen, would be casting our pearls before swine! And, we should certainly share the mud in which the hogs would trample them. To act virtuously is our command; and obedience will work its way. Your uncle reads us a parable to this effect?"
"He does, Wharton!" replied Louis,pressing his friend's hand; "But he also reads—Let not thy good be evil spoken of!and, has it not been too much the case with thine?"
"Granted!" returned the Duke, "What has been, shall not be again. And, if God grant me life," continued he, "you shall hear of me, to the satisfaction of your heart, and to the confusion of my enemies!"
The spirit of Wharton seemed in such vigour during this lengthened interview, that it embraced every subject that could interest Louis or himself; and readily fell in with Mr. Athelstone's project of his accompanying the family of Santa Cruz, to Lindisfarne.
"And will those holy walls open to receive me?" asked the Duke; "de Montemar, I have not seen the rocks of Lindisfarne, since I forced you into its waves! It is not my interest to woo your Cornelia on that spot."
"Take her then, to the mountains ofGenoa!" replied Louis. He had not, before mentioned his knowledge, that it was Wharton who preserved his father from assassination in those mountains; and, the reference now, shot such a hope into the breast of the Duke, that catching the hand of his friend to its beating pulse, he exclaimed:—
"Be you my advocate with that unsullied being! Oh! how different from the meretricous syrens who beguiled me of my youth—who made me doubt all of her sex's mold, till I beheld her! Her sentiments, language, and manners, are like her frame; made in the image of man, but possessing every softening grace of female nature. Four years ago, little did I know the treasure that islet contained; else I would have leapt the rock, by your side:—And, what a waste of life, might then have been spared me!"
This avowal from Wharton enraptured his friend. His former Duchess, (a wife, only in name,) had been long dead; andLouis would have been glad that Cornelia had been his sister; that the bonds which might unite them, could have been nearer to himself; he expressed this with animation; and the Duke as earnestly replied:—
"My dearest Louis! Is not kinsman, brother, cousin, all comprised in the precious name of friend? Intercede as such, for me, with your beloved cousin: and she will not then silence the pleadings of her own generous bosom. I am too well-read in woman, not to see she does not hate me. And I also see she can reject the thing she loves—when she doubts its worthiness!"
"Cornelia, could never love, what she thought unworthy;" replied Louis, "therefore, my friend, repose in that faith, till we meet again!"
Ferdinand had just left with his sister, a few hasty lines which had preceded Louis from Morewick, when the writer himself entered, likeMaia's sonbreathing hope and happiness, into the room where the Marchioness was preparing breakfast.
"Whatever your secret may be, it is a pleasant one!" cried she, "your countenance is a brilliant herald."
That of Marcella's (as she was dismissing her maids from the adjoining apartment where she had just finished dressing) was blanched, pale as the trembling hand which closed upon the unread letter.
"Oh," sighed she, to herself; "would to God, that I had never left Spain—or never seen this land!"What were Louis's answers to her mother, or her brother (who both spoke at once) she did not hear. The pulses of her head beat almost audibly, and seemed to exclude all other sounds from reaching her ears. She was separated from the room by a slight door only, which, standing ajar, discovered his figure to her as it animatedly moved to and fro, as with similar energy, but in a lowered voice, he imparted his secret to her mother and brother.
Ferdinand came in; and finding her thrown back into her chair, he gently touched her arm; and entreating her to allow him to lead her into the breakfast room; added, if she still felt too fatigued to be anxious to pursue her journey; he was sure she would think otherwise, presently; for de Montemar was come back, and had much to tell her!
"He has told you, and my mother;" said she, "and that is enough. I shall soon have no interests in this world!" butthe last, was only murmured to herself. However she rose; and leaning on her brother, walked steadily and serenely into the next room.
Louis stood opposite to the door at which she entered.
"Were I a Catholic, sweet saint!" said he, inwardly; " how would I worship thee!" and his head bent with the sentiment, upon his breast.
She bowed calmly to him.
"My child," said the Marchioness, "we are to pass this day at Morewick; where you will meet Mr. Athelstone, and Miss Coningsby."
"And am I to witness their nuptials?" cried Marcella to herself; "but even that I will endure!" And forcing a smile, which gleamed like a moon-beam on a flowery grave, she answered,—"Just where you please, madam." And took her seat.
The Marchioness turned from her to Louis; and observing the deep and penetrating tenderness with which he regarded her; she drew near her son, and while a tear started in her eye, whispered him. "Surely your father may consider of his daughter's happiness too long; and withhold the dove of promise, till there be no resting place for its foot."
Ferdinand saw his mother was affected; and making an excuse to attend her, to consult with Don Garcia respecting their proceeding, he took her from the room.
Marcella was now left alone with Louis. She sat like a cold statue. His joyous heart was overclouded at once; and with a slow step he approached her. Her eyes were cast down, and fixed on her clasped hands, in which she still held the letter. At that moment all his love, and all the agonies of her displeasure, were apparent in his countenance. She looked up; and received its full import direct upon her heart. The confusion in her's, the gasp with which she recalled her eyes, and covered them with her hand,proclaimed her whole secret to Louis; and wrested from him all his own; but not a word could find utterance on either side. He was at her feet on his knees, and with the hem of her garment pressed to his lips.
But how different was the sentiment which then rendered him speechless, from the tumultuous emotion which arrested him in the same position before Countess Altheim! There his spirit was divided against itself. His reason doubted the admiration of his senses; and a racking indecision checked his wishes and his lips. Here his whole soul consented to the perfect love, with which the virtues of Marcella had possessed his heart. The passion that she inspired was like herself; a sacred flame, and lit for immortality: and Louis avowed its imperishable nature to himself, even while he struggled for words, to foreswear it at the feet of the future nun for ever.
Marcella's faculties, so lately possessedwith the idea of his devotion to Cornelia, were all amazement. Surprised out of herself, by the look she had momentarily seen; and immediately feeling him at her feet; she became so overwhelmed by her own consciousness, and his irrepressible emotions, that she shook, almost to the parting of soul and body.
"Pardon me, lady Marcella!" cried he, "pardon my first and my last disclosure of a sentiment, which as it has no hope, I trust, has no sacrilege! But to love all that is pure and noble in idea; and not to love its living image was impossible to me. You confirmed me in the virtue I might have deserted! You consoled me when the world had abandoned me! You have even now, exerted yourself beyond your strength, in compassion to a desperate haste for which I durst not assign a cause. This last goodness leaves me no longer master of myself. It has precipitated me to the avowal of a sentiment, which in my breast, shallnever know a second object. The hour that consigns you to a cloister, seals my heart for ever."
This was spoken with agitated rapidity; but no answer was returned. Marcella felt her own tenderness for him was no longer a secret to him:—She had betrayed it herself! and her horror at this conviction, overwhelmed all other considerations. She attempted to rise, he did not venture to withold her.
"Have I offended you, Lady Marcella," cried he, "past all pardon?"
She had arrived at the door of the inner room, when he repeated the demand, with an anguish of expression she could not mistake. Turning round, she faulteringly replied.—
"I have offended, past all hope of my own pardon!"
Louis was springing forward. She saw the movement, though with still down-cast eyes; and putting out her hand,with an air of vestal reserve, decisively, but gently pronounced,—
"No more." And disappeared into the room.
The emotions in his breast were inexplicable to himself. He was awe-struck, by her manner. His sentence of perpetual silence was in those words!—And yet the flood of happiness which burst over his whole heart, at the conviction her first moments of confusion inspired, would not be driven back.
He was standing in this agitated state, when the Marchioness entered, followed by Ferdinand and Don Garcia. On perceiving that Marcella was not in the room, she expressed some alarm at her disappearance; and accompanied by the physician, hastened to seek her in the adjoining apartment.
Ferdinand glanced in the kindling face of his friend, and conjectured better than his mother. He drew near him."De Montemar," said he, in a lowered voice, "shall I guess your meditations?"
"No, Ferdinand, I would not extend my offence; and yet you have read me ill, if I have been able to hide it from you!"
"And who have you offended, my brother?" asked Ferdinand, drawing close to him, and in a tone so peculiar, that Louis's bounding heart beat against the side of his friend as he rapidly answered,
"Say not that word again, or you will undo me!"
"De Montemar," returned Ferdinand, "hope, as I have done, against possibilities!"
Louis's eyes demanded what he meant.
Ferdinand continued; "I dare not say more: my father's return will tell you the rest!"
"Your brother?" repeated Louis.
"My brother!" answered Ferdinand, and strained him to his breast.
Louis was now in air, in the dawninglight of paradise; nor were the interchanges produced by suspense, more than passing shadows, to the luminous hope that shone upon his soul.
He and Ferdinand took horse for the short ride to Morewick; and during their drive the Marchioness communicated to her daughter, all that Louis had confided to her, respecting the cause of his late eagerness to return thither. As Marcella listened to the history of his friendship for Duke Wharton; its trials, its sufferings; and now its triumph, in the reformation of his friend from all his errors, and final restoration as from the grave; her tears bore too true a witness to the interest with which she hearkened to every circumstance that related to him. She hardly allowed herself to breathe, during that part of the narrative where her mother particularly enlarged on Cornelia's cares of the Duke; and repeated the observation of Louis, that such cares seemed his friend's best sanative; for that he believed, if any two persons were fitted by Providence for each other, it was the nobly eccentric mind of Wharton, to the celestial harmony of his cousin's.
"She is my ruling planet, that I have found at last," said the Duke to his friend, "and her attraction will keep me in its orbit."
Marcella was too confounded by the last scene between her and Louis, to confess a word of what had passed; she had been even more ashamed to communicate her apprehensions to her anxious parent, concerning this boasted cousin of the Marquis de Montemar. Therefore she now looked down, believing the fulness of her secret yet unknown to all but to its object, and gladly would she have died, rather than be conscious to the degradation of that hour.
She knew that her father had obtained from the Pope, a dispensation from his vow, relative to immuring her in a convent; and she did not doubt that Louis had been told the same in their first meeting at Harwich.
Though she had pined in thought, from the hour of her losing sight of him; and felt how hard it was to do, what she most inconsistently wished to accomplish, to make monastic vows, when her heart lingered after an earthly image!—yet, though the canker preyed inwardly, she knew not the extent of her love, till she found its fangs of jealousy, when she first heard him speak of Cornelia being at Morewick, and that he must hasten to rejoin her. His conduct during their last day's journey to Alnwick, filled her with all the tortures of passion; for not until then, had she known, by the reverse and the disappointment, the incipient hope which had lurked at the bottom of her heart,—that she was not indifferent to him!
Louis in the last interview at the inn in Alnwick, had avowed something ofthis sentiment, but the circumstances overwhelmed her; and wishing to forget the whole for ever, she did not even make a remark to her mother on what she imparted.
Louis and Ferdinand having preceded the carriage half an hour, they stood with Mr. Athelstone under the porch of the hall, to receive the travellers.
Marcella's eye instantly fell on the silver-headed Pastor of Lindisfarne. He seemed to stand, like the benignant saint of Patmos, venerable in years, and reverend in the spirit of holiness. He saluted the cheek of the animated Marchioness; but when he put out his hand to support the advancing steps of Marcella, her knees obeyed the impulse of her heart, and she bent before him, kissing his sacred hand.
"Bless you! bless you, my child!" said he, laying his other hand upon her head. Louis's ready heart could not bear the sight of such a recognition, without a sensibility he feared to shew; and he vanished into the recesses of the hall. The Pastor raised her in his arms, and bearing her gently into a room, put her into those of Cornelia, who had just embraced the Marchioness.
Cornelia dared hardly venture to clasp the beautiful phantom to her bosom; but tenderly supported her tremulous frame to a sofa, where she gently seated her; and, pressing her soft hand in her's, gazed at her through her crowding tears. Was this fragile being, just hanging like a broken lilly, between the next breeze and the cold earth; was it she who had stood the fearful thunders of Ceuta? who had raised her head amidst the storm of war, to staunch the bleeding wounds of Louis de Montemar? to cherish his life at the expence of her own?
"It was!" cried the full heart of Cornelia to herself; and, in inarticulate, but ardent, language, she uttered her welcome.
The kindness of her voice drew thelast sting of jealousy from the bosom of Marcella. She looked up, and thanked her with her eyes. There was something which passed from them, so powerful to the heart of Cornelia, that she gave way to the impulse of the impression; and, clasping the interesting Spaniard to her bosom, imprinted on her cheek a sister's kiss. That glance of Cornelia's noble countenance had struck Marcella with its general resemblance to that of her cousin; and she seemed to feel a pledge of something more than the welcome of a stranger, in this repeated embrace of Louis's most beloved relative.
The Marchioness was soon at home with the benign Pastor of Lindisfarne; and both she and Ferdinand were inquiring of him various particulars respecting their suit with Alice and Mrs. Coningsby, when Louis entered the room, after having introduced Don Garcia to the Duke.
Cornelia stretched out her hand to him."Louis," said she, "you must make an interest for me, in the heart of Lady Marcella before she sees Alice, whom she will doubly love, for her own sake, and for Don Ferdinand's."
"Miss Coningsby," replied Marcella, "needs no interest but her own."
Louis approached with happy trepidation. What he said was as little to the purpose, as it was unheard by Marcella; and would have been marvelled at by Cornelia, had she not lately found a key in her own bosom, to explain language that had no visible meaning, and certain inconsistencies in demeanour, which betrayed all they meant to conceal.
A sojourn of several days, in which other feelings besides those of personal weakness, influenced Lady Marcella to keep her apartment, sufficiently restored the whole party, to enable them to recommence their journey northward without fear of fatigue.
The skill of the Spanish physician, (who united surgery with his medical science,) was so successful with Duke Wharton, that he, too, was pronounced capable of partaking the removal. A litter conveyed him to a hired yacht, which lay at the mouth of the Coquet. This mode of travel was chosen as the easiest for an invalid in his case; and Louis, with Don Garcia and Lorenzo, were his attendants. The wind was fair for Lindisfarne; andthe smooth sea, sparkled under a bright noon-day sun, when the little party embarked.
Mr. Athelstone and Ferdinand accompanied the ladies by land. They had set off early in the morning, to travel by easy stages, so as to reach the island before night.
Though no words of mutual confidence on the subjects nearest to the hearts of Cornelia and Marcella, had passed the lips of either, yet each read the secret thoughts of the other, and soothed, or cheered, with a reciprocal delicacy, as amiable as it was salutary. The little taper in the bosom of each, which each covered with the care of a vestal, to conceal, but not to extinguish, gave to its owner the power of discerning the locked mysteries of her friend.
Cornelia had been benumbed with horror, when she first discovered that the noble invalid she had cherished as some illustrious foreigner, worthy to be loved byher virtuous cousin,—was the Duke of Wharton!—Illustrious, indeed, in birth, and station, and talents; noble in figure, and beloved by her cousin!—But the man, of all others in the world, whom she had most abhorred for the abuse of those faculties, which had been so richly bestowed, and so shamefully abandoned to the worst of purposes. She stood aghast at herself when she found, that she now not only knew him to be that reprobated Wharton, but that when he should close his eyes in death, (which was then hourly expected,) the world would then be a desert to her.
It was in the moment when Mr. Athelstone flashed it at once upon her mind,whowas her guest, that as soon as the venerable man had left her to herself, she exclaimed in the agony of such a recognition,—
"Oh, Wharton! what the Prophet said of the Prince of Tyre, may too surely be said of thee:Thou didst seal up the sum!Full of wisdom, and perfect in beauty! Thou wast prosperous in thy ways, from the day thou wast created, until iniquity was found in thee. And, now, they draw the sword against the beauty of thy wisdom. They defile thy brightness, and bring down thy glory to the ashes of the grave!"
And who dare lament over such a grave? There is no sympathy for her who deplores a dishonoured name. There is no pity for her who weeps that the traitor is no more. She must glide by stealth to that lonely tomb. Her tears must fall in solitude on the trackless path; and, when lying on the neglected sod, there she may cry to Him alone, whose eye is over all, to pity and to pardon erring man!
"And so, Wharton!" exclaimed she, "I will lament and pray for thee!"
But, when her uncle informed her that this once offending and deprecated Wharton, regretted, with religious contrition, the transgressions of his youth, the severest pangs in her bosom were laid torest; and she resumed what she believed her last duties about the dying patient, with a chastised tenderness, as soothing as it was pure from any earthly sentiment.
When her cares, and the will of Providence, recalled him from the brink of the grave to all the cheering promises of a speedy recovery; then she remembered what he had been, and armed herself against the external graces of his person, by recollecting the snares they had been to his virtues. The enchantments of his conversation, and the subduing influence of his mute gratitude, his eloquent looks, and often implied love, she shut from her heart, by recalling the various reported instances of his former delusions over man and woman. Cornelia believed that she had disgracefully deserted the best principle of her sex, in having admitted any sentiment more than compassion, for a stranger under the circumstances in which she found the Duke; and, when known, to continue to prefer him who had once beenthe world's idolater; she deemed so unworthy of herself, of all her declared opinions, that, stern in her self-controul, she turned from all his ardours with a coldness not to be subdued, and a resolution not to be shaken. In the dignity of unsullied virtue, Cornelia often strengthened herself by inwardly repeating, "Wharton, thy former sins must be thy temporary punishment; and my present weakness, the lasting scourge of mine!"
Marcella's meditations were less painful than Cornelia's; for the object of her thoughts was spotless as her own purity. There was no torture in her retrospections, excepting the memory of her last interview with Louis in the inn; but, as she now intended to obliterate its impressions on him, by an unchanging distance in her manner; she flattered herself that he would doubt the evidence of her former confusion; and that, hereafter, they might resume the character to each other, of mere mutual benevolence.She believed this, and she was tranquil; but she deceived herself on the grounds of this serenity. Hope was the spirit of peace, which had taken its hidden station in her heart; and health dawned, and spread upon her cheek, as the inward principle slowly, but surely gained power.
The reception of the party at Lindisfarne, was that of the re-union of dear and long acquainted friends. Mrs. Coningsby and the Marchioness, met with the frank cordiality of persons who already held that connection, which the marriage of their children would confirm. Alice was bathed in tears, when her future second mother folded her to her breast, and put her hand into the rapturous grasp of Ferdinand. Marcella was greeted with equal kindness; and Mrs. Coningsby herself, drew the old abbot's ebony couch into the circle, for the accommodation of her gentle guest. Peter, the grey headed butler, placed its cushions with assiduous care; and as she thankedhim in the English language, but in the Spanish custom stretched out her hand to him; he kissed it respectfully, and prayed God to bless her!
Tea was soon prepared in that room, where Ferdinand had first beheld the lovely sisters; and compared their unsophisticated beauties, with those of more worldly charms. He was then a despairing wretch; he was now a happy lover! The same moon seemed shedding her silver light through the feathery shrubs at the window. The evening was chill, with all its brightness; and a fire blazed as before, under the Gothic mantle piece. The cat and the dog were also there; and the venerable Pastor completed the picture of delighted memory:—He sat by the side of the glowing hearth, smiling in conscious piety; as with one hand leaning on the couch of Marcella, he addressed her with all the tenderness of a parent. The Marchioness conversed animatedly with Mrs. Coningsby. His own Alice, was at that moment dispensing thefragrant tea, in the very china from which he had drank it three years ago! Cornelia was by her side; enjoying with a fond sister's delight, the perfect happiness of this evening's re-union.
When the tea equipage was withdrawn, and they all drew into little groups, the artless Alice exclaimed, "oh, how I wish Louis were here!"
"I wish so too," rejoined Ferdinand, in the same affectionate tone; and glancing at his sister, who had heard the tender apostrophe, though spoken in a half whisper; and her kindling cheek bore witness that she shared the sentiment.
Cornelia sighed; for she thought, "who is there, that would wish for Wharton?"
She was near Marcella; and Marcella understanding whose image was in that invisible sign, almost unconsciously pressed the hand of her friend, and softly whispered, "and the Duke too!" Cornelia's blush was now more vivid thanMarcella's; and it was accompanied by a glow of gratitude to her, which shed a distant gleam on him, she before shrunk at remembering. His idea then was not so obscured to the eye of virtue, but that Marcella, the all pure and saintly Marcella, could think of him at that moment, with the approbation of a wish!
The embrace with which the two friends parted at night, told much of this without the agency of words.
That night, when all else in the family were gone to rest, Mr. Athelstone imparted to Mrs. Coningsby, the whole history of Wharton; from the commencement of his friendship with Louis, to the time of his being found by him, wounded and dying in the herdsman's hut.
When she listened to the explanation of his most suspicious, and even hostile proceedings against her nephew; when she was told the dangers he had exposed himself to, to shield that nephew; andconsidered his generous forbearance with regard to the Duke his father; when she comprehended all his late exertions for the reputation of the one, and the rights of the other:—she was in an ecstacy of amazement; and with all the usual ardour of her nature exclaimed,
"How is such a man to be sufficiently admired! How can he ever be repaid for such unexampled friendship?"
"I believe it will be in your power," replied the Pastor, gently smiling.
"In mine, Mr. Athelstone?"
"Yes, give him Cornelia! and I am mistaken, if he would accept the future Empress of Germany in exchange."
A full explanation immediately ensued. And, after having mutually agreed, not to notice the latter discovery to Cornelia, until the Duke should avow his sentiments to her guardians; Mr. Athelstone, and the happy mother parted; he, to his midnight orisons; and she, not neglectful of the same, but also to plan every comfortable accommodation for the reception of him, whom she now hoped, would be her second son-in-law.
The next day rose in storms. The sky was covered with clouds, flying before the wind in infinite volumes of rolling blackness. The sea raged against the beetling rocks of Lindisfarne, as if it menaced the existence of the island; and the fishers, who had prepared their little barks all along the beech, for embarkation at the dawn, were seen on every side, drawing them ashore, to prevent the mischief which threatened such small craft, from the beating of the waves.
Some, that had been more adventurous, and set forth during the night, notwithstanding the warning elements, met the fate their more prudent comrades averted; and Peter came in, to take away the almost untasted breakfast, withthe melancholy tidings, that the wreck of several boats had been dashed on shore.
Mr. Athelstone anticipated a sad summons from many a bereft family in his flock; and his own anxious fears for the yacht that carried his beloved nephew, unfolding to him what were the apprehensions in every breast around him, he gently reproved the old man, for bringing in the reports of the hour, to wound the tender spirits of invalids; and glancing at Marcella, who had turned her death-like face away, he piously ejaculated:
"But, the Lord makes darkness his secret place! His pavilion round about him is dark water, and thick clouds cover him. But at the brightness of his presence, the clouds shall be removed, and he shall take them who trust in him, out of many waters!"
Cornelia rose from her seat, and withdrew. And when the encrease of thestorm became too intolerable for Marcella to endure with any apparent tranquillity, she too, left the Abbot's chair, and putting her unsteady hand upon the arm of her mother, hardly sustained herself out of the room.
The sky was red on the horizon, as if dyed in blood, and the lurid clouds, tumbling over each other, like an upward sea of molten fire, roared in the blast, amid the thundering of the waves below, which dashed their boiling surges in mountainous and foaming heaps, against the stupendous cliffs of the opposite shore.
Mr. Athelstone and Ferdinand were both on different parts of the rock, each with his telescope in his hand, looking afar for the only object which now possessed their thought. But a furious tornado of sleet and rain, accompanied with thunder and lightning, and a darkness at noon-day, black as midnight, shrouded them at once; and the re-doubling tempest which burst forth above and beneath, seemed to shake the old rocks of Lindisfarne to their foundations.
At the fearful concussion, which appeared to the inhabitants of the Pastorage, like the awful summons on the judgment-day, Marcella threw herself on the bosom of her mother, and murmured, "Louis!" till her swooning voice was heard no more.
Cornelia was alone, and fell from her knees, prostrate on the floor. She was found in that position, and insensible as her friend, when Alice ran into the room in the agony of her fears; and her screams brought their terrified mother into the same apartment.
Mr. Athelstone's look-out of utter hopelessness, was succeeded by the now doubly afflicting duty of visiting and consoling the widows and the orphans, which the present horrors had rendered dependent on his spiritual comfort. More than one drowned body was carried before him,into the sorrowing cottage which had once been its home; and, after he had soothed the wretched inhabitants with "the hope which is to come;" he took his way to the Parsonage, to prepare his own family for the dreadful catastrophe to its happiness, which, he did not doubt that night, or the next morning, would unfold.
Ferdinand would not relinquish his more cheering expectations, till despair should appear before him, in the lifeless bodies of his friends.
Noon, and evening, and approaching night, were only marked, to the lately so happy Pastorage, now the house of mourning, by the fits of the storm. Marcella lay weeping in her mother's arms, no longer disguising the condition of her heart. And the Marchioness, in more audible anguish, wrung her hands over her, frequently exclaiming—
"Oh, most unholy Island! Would to God we had never seen its rocks! Marcella, my child, my child! Still live for your fond mother."
Cornelia lay buried in the coverlid of her bed, in that terrible stillness, which alike disdained further concealment of her grief, and rejected the comfort that could not reach her heart. Mrs. Coningsby knelt by her bed-side, and Alice, ran weeping from room to room, offering her insufficient consolations to all.
Mr. Athelstone knew that this terrific hour of suspense, was not the time to do more than repeat his first injunctions to hope even while they feared; and to trust in the preserving power, or the support of Him, who alike commanded the great deep, and the firm land.
None in the island slept that tremendous night; but those whose eyes the surge had closed, never to wake again till time should be no more. Mr. Athelstone remained alone in his study, composing himself for the task he dreaded the morning would call upon him to fulfil; orwalking to and fro, struggling with the human affections in his breast which unmanned all his resignation, when he pictured the weltering waves which were then washing the lifeless body of his beloved Louis.
"Oh, my child!" cried he, "was it for this, that all those endowments were bestowed?—That all these trials have been sustained!"
But he checked the rebellious grief that channelled his venerable cheeks with tears; and, bowing before Him, whose gracious providence he preached, he exclaimed,—"Not my will, but thine be done! For I asked of thee life for him, and honour; but thou hast given him immortality, and glory, even for ever!"
Whilst he was in the depths of these devotions, the violence of the storm gradually subsided, and a stillness, horrid to meditation, succeeded. It was a pause in nature, that seemed to declare thework of destruction was accomplished, and the destroying agents might repose.
The dawn slowly broke, and found the pious man with his Bible before him. A suppressed bustle, sounded from the hall. He started from his seat, and entering the intervening room, met Ferdinand with his cloaths and hair dripping, having neither hat nor cloak; but joy was in his countenance, and seizing Mr. Athelstone's hand,
"They are safe!" cried he, "My father, and Sir Anthony, bring the good tidings! The yacht is safe!"
The Pastor bent his silvered head for a moment on the shoulder of Ferdinand, and the holy man's sacred response ascended to heaven. When he looked up, the Marquis Santa Cruz, and Sir Anthony were in the room; and they replied to his grateful questions, by informing him in detail, of what the following is a brief account.
The Marquis and the Baronet met atthe young King's levee. They mutually recognised each other, and when their respective businesses in London were finished, they agreed to return together to Lindisfarne. The tempest which produced such calamitous effects at sea, extended itself far on the land; and the travellers encountering its worst fury in the road near Bamborough, the Baronet deemed it prudent to proceed to the castle, and remain there till the state of the weather would allow a boat to cross without risque.
During the night, and in the greatest press of the storm, he heard a gun of distress. A beacon always burnt on what was called the beltale-tower of the castle; but on the present intimation of some ship in danger, he ordered other lights to be lit on a promontory which shot farther into the sea. His life boat also was dispatched to the assistance of the vessel. It came up with her in the crisis of her fate; "and the result was," criedSir Anthony, "she was hauled safely into the Castle-creek."
"And her freight," rejoined the Marquis, with a smile and a humid eye, "was Sir Anthony's old friend and our dear de Montemar!"
"Oh, Providence!" piously exclaimed the Pastor, "how measureless ought to be our gratitude unto thee!"
"It shall be registered on those very rocks where he might have been wrecked!" returned the Baronet. "When Louis blessed the well known lights of Bamborough, which had rescued him and his friend from a watery grave, the proper act of gratitude struck at once upon my mind. He is to be my heir, and I told him that my ghost should haunt him day and night, if he did not make those towers for ever after a beacon for the mariner, and his asylum from the waves! And they shall be so!" added the Baronet, solemnly striking his hand upon his breast.The news was soon spread throughout the house. And when Mr. Athelstone returned from imparting it to the two chambers of the deepest anxiety, it was with the grateful tears of both Cornelia and Marcella, yet wet upon his venerable cheeks, that he re-entered the room.
He found that Ferdinand, who was now gone to throw off his wet garments, had never been within the whole night, but had passed it in traversing the island from rock to rock, vainly listening to the roaring ocean; and gazing through the darkness for what he feared, she should never see again. He was the first object the crossing boat of Sir Anthony saw on the western cliffs of Lindisfarne. Ferdinand had descried the little vessel at a distance; and hastening down to see what it contained, he recognised his father, and soon after was told the joyful tidings which brought them so early across the strait.
The perils which the yacht had weathered, were not to be described; and the Duke was so exhausted in consequence, Don Garcia would not allow him to attempt the island until he had obtained some repose.
"I'faith," continued the Baronet, with a thoughtless laugh; "I believe I gave my worthy friend but a thorny pillow for his opiad, by telling him my reception from the young King! Indeed he is so gracious to all ranks, the friends of a certain Prince may consider it the worst thing that ever happened to their cause, when their prayers were answered by the demise of George the First! George the Second understands that Englishmen are born free and will remain so; and while he, and such as he, hold the British sceptre, I shall always be one to say, Long live the House of Brunswick!"
"Amen!" exclaimed the Pastor.
"I do not dissent from your sentiment!" rejoined the Marquis "and whatever may be my impressions in favour ofhis royal competitor; I must admit that while the house of Brunswick is represented by such a character as the present Prince who fills the throne, James Stuart can have no hope. To attempt the subversion of a power, founded on the virtues of the possessor, would be to outrage heaven, and lead on to unavailing bloodshed. Of this Louis has so thoroughly convinced Duke Wharton, that even he acknowledges, the little probability of any sword being drawn again in the contest, either in his life time, or in that of the present monarch."
This information was very grateful to Mr. Athelstone, as a friend to freedom and to the church, and also as the guardian of Cornelia Coningsby. To give her to a man, however estimable in himself, who was actively engaged against the royal protector of the political and religious liberties of his country, he hardly knew how to reconcile with his own loyalty and faith. But the presentjudgment Duke Wharton had passed on his own party, seemed to untie the knot, and the worthy Pastor was satisfied. With this difficulty happily settled in his mind, it was with a smiling countenance that in the course of the morning, he re-visited the chamber of her most interested in the subject.
Cornelia was too much shaken by her late mental suffering, to be yet able to leave her room; but it was with a sensation of some heavenly balm distilling upon her heart, that she listened to all these things. That he she loved, was not only reconciled to his God, but had ceased to deserve the indictment of outlawry, were precious convictions! though not with any relation to her future union with him; that she declared impossible.
Mr. Athelstone attended to all she professed, and with the benevolent spirit of Him who said;—"Neither do I condemn thee.—Go, and sin no more!" he combated all her agitated argumentsagainst uniting her fate with the person, she confessed to be dearest to her in the world.
"My Uncle," said she, "am I not commanded, in some cases, to cut off my right hand? I would do it now."
"In what cases?" inquired the Pastor.
"In those which might separate me from my duty towards my Creator."
"But be careful to distinguish!" replied he, "ask yourself what duty you will transgress, in becoming the wife of a man, whose errors have been expiated by repentance; and whose reformation has been proved by his conduct towards the memory of the Duke of Ripperda, and his zeal for the rights of his son. I leave you my Cornelia, to ponder on these things. Be merciful to yourself, and just to Wharton, and heaven will bless the sentence of your heart!"
In the evening, when every breeze was calm, and "the bright-haired sun was making a golden set;" the Marquis Santa Cruz sat alone with his daughter, in her dressing room. Their conference had been long and salutary to both their hearts, and even as it closed with a communication to convince Marcella she entirely occupied that of Louis de Montemar; Lorenzo entered to summon the Marquis below.
Mr. Athelstone feared to agitate her, by an abrupt enunciation of the arrival of his nephew, but the appearance of Lorenzo, who had been the companion of his perilous voyage, was enough; and in speechless gratitude, she pressed her father's hand to her lips as he rose to obey the call.
The Marchioness and Mrs. Coningsby, and all of the family, excepting Cornelia and Marcella, were in the drawing-room with the Marquis. The Duke still lay on the litter on which he had been brought on shore; and he was looking around, with a melancholy smile, on the rapturous greetings with which every body met his friend. They were the sacred transports of dear, domestic kindred, where all was pure, and full of innoxious pleasure.
"I never had a family!" said he to himself, "and yet I have seen, and felt transports! and may their memory perish!" cried he, in the same inward voice, "for nothing but selfish passions were there."
Mrs. Coningsby approached the Duke, and welcomed him with her accustomed hospitable grace. Every one had now something of the same import to say to him; all but Alice, and she still continuedto view from a distance this formidable Wharton, whom she had so often designated under the alarming appellatives of hideous, wicked, and detestable. Cornelia had, as frequently as herself, given him these abhorring epithets; and that Cornelia should now be as much infatuated with him, as had ever been their cousin Louis, Alice could not consider as the least enormity of his art.
The Marquis was at that time observing on the happy circumstance of the yacht standing for the mainland instead of the island. "In the latter case, old Peter tells me, you must have been lost upon the southern reef!"
"And it might have been our fate," rejoined Louis, "if Wharton's resolution had not mastered mine. On an obvious argument, I wanted to avoid the mainland, dreading the exposed condition in which he must have gone on shore."
"Yes," returned the Duke, "that boy was always wiser in his own conceit, thanseven men that could give a reason! and so I even laid him under hatches, till we hailed Queen Bebba's flambeau!"
"How wicked is that gaiety!" whispered Alice to Ferdinand, "when we have all been so miserable!"
Wharton heard the whisper, and turning his head, met a smile from Ferdinand. The Duke bowed to Alice, who blushed angrily, while he requested Mrs. Coningsby to present him to her youngest daughter. Mrs. Coningsby took her hand and drew her reluctant steps towards him.
"Sweet Lady," said he, with a gentle seriousness passing over his face; "you are the sister of my best benefactress! and all of my heart I can spare from her virtues, I lay at the feet of yours."
There was a melody and a charm in these tenderer tones of his voice, the effect of which astonished her; for feeling as if she had heard the voice of truth itself, she lingered to hear him speakagain; though she only answered him by a silent courtsey. Ferdinand observed the sudden change, and repeating his smile more archly to the Duke, whispered:—
"I shall be jealous, if you breathe thatvox amantisagain—or, you must teach me your note!"
"Apply to her sister!" replied Wharton, turning his brightening countenance towards approaching steps in the adjoining room. The careless hilarity of his features vanished at once, and gave place to an agitated sensibility, that sufficiently shewed, if his voice were the organ of tenderness, the power itself dwelt in his heart. He half rose from the sofa, to which he had been removed from the litter; and Louis with an emotion not less apparent, started towards the opening door.
Marcella was led in by her mother, and she approached with a faultering and conscious step.
Cornelia, who had taken her resolution, (whatever Wharton might be, and however he might profess himself) to make that just sacrifice to public opinion and to her own consistency, which should demand of him to make a probation at least;—drew on her own strength, and entered the room alone, and in an opposite direction.
She was advancing with a modest dignity, towards the happy group; but her step was hasty, as her eye instantly fell on her beloved cousin, and all the dangers he had just escaped, rushed at once upon her heart. Marcella entered at that moment, and looked confusedly round. She also saw the object dearest to her, but she durst not allow her eye to rest there. The same glance shewed her Cornelia, and being near her, unknowing what she did, she threw herself into her arms.
But the soul's unutterable language was not confined to the bosoms of those twoconscious friends. In the same moment, Cornelia's hand was pressed to the lips of Wharton; and Marcella's to those of Louis. They knew whose lips were there, and, for that moment, they did not recall the hands so transiently blest.
The Marquis raised his daughter from the neck of her friend; and, having embraced her himself, as she leaned on his bosom put her hand again into that of Louis, and pressing them together: "There, my children!" said he, "receive a father's blessing, as you continue to love each other; and are worthy of this providence of God!"
Marcella fell on the breast of her lover, and Louis bore her in his enraptured arms into the next room, to the extended ones of her mother.
Mr. Athelstone had not stood mutely by, during this blameless eloquence of nature; but in the moment of the Marquis's separating his daughter from Cornelia, he clasped the hands of Whartonand Cornelia's in his;—and said, in a low and impressive voice:—"Though he has lain in ashes, yet he shall have wings like a dove! And, against what the Lord hath purified, who shall dare make an exception!"
Cornelia trembled every where, but in her stedfast heart. She could not withdraw her hand, or speak; and Wharton softly whispered:—"Oh, my Cornelia, what that sacred hand has joined together, let not thy voice put asunder!" With the words, he gently glided a ring from his own finger, upon hers; and firmly added—"We have met to part no more!"
She sighed convulsively, and her head fell upon the shoulder of her Pastor-uncle. He had seen the ring; and pressing her to his breast, tenderly rejoined: "Be to him, my Cornelia, as a lamp to his paths! and, at the resurrection of the just, he will be to you as the sun at noon-day; encreasing your glory, by the brightness of his light!"
She put the hand of her uncle, whichagain clasped her's and the Duke's, to her lips; and her tears were left on Wharton's in the action. "Oh, the bliss of virtue! and of virtuous love!" exclaimed he, to himself as he dried them with a fervent kiss.
Those tears relieved her oppressed bosom, oppressed by the love she bore him; oppressed by the boundless and precious disclosure of his; and with her determination to inflict a penalty on each. She raised her head from Mr. Athelstone's breast, and turning upon Wharton, with a look which betrayed all the tenderness of her soul while she declared her final sentiments, she gently, but steadily said:
"I do not return you, your ring:—It shall go with me to my grave. But, I was weak; and you know it. I must redeem myself to you, and to the world, by not giving you this hand, until a year's trial at least. When you are far from me, and the precepts of my uncle, your conduct must prove to all, that his niece givesherself to the virtuous, as well ascharmingDuke of Wharton!" She uttered the last epithet, with a tearful smile; but she would hear of no change in her resolution; and as it was dictated by the truest principles of love and honour, Wharton was at last prevailed on by her approving uncle, to acquiesce.
This scene passed without any other auditor than themselves; for when Mr. Athelstone first perceived the great agitation of his niece, he had made a sign to her mother, to draw the rest of the party into another apartment.
The next day saw the Marquis and Marchioness Santa Cruz, with the elders of the Athelstone family, meet in the Pastor's library, to arrange every plan for their children's future happiness.
Meanwhile Louis sat at the feet of the lady Marcella, in a little summer-house in the garden, exchanging with her the long concealed tendernesses of their united hearts. Theirs was already aunion of tried virtue with nobleness; and neither needed, nor admitted of any disguise.
Cornelia would not listen to the earnest supplications of him, whose voice, she tremblingly believed, might charm an angel from its orb; till Mr. Athelstone himself prevailed on her, to beguile his yet lengthened hours of confinement to his couch, by her society. There, she heard him tell of all his plans for rendering her union with an outlawed man, less like a banishment to herself. He spoke with reverence of the Electress of Bavaria; with enthusiasm of James Stuart.—"But there,Othello's occupation's gone!" exclaimed he; "the character of the present George of Brunswick has made my commission a sinecure."
"Your commission, my dear Wharton," rejoined the Pastor, "is a general one.—From Heaven, and not from man.—And it consists in properly applying your vast endowments of mind and fortune."
"To do that, can never be a sinecure. Whether you are to remain a statesman, or to commence a private career; to cultivate in yourself a disposition to befriend your fellow-creatures by every means in your power; whether by your purse, your influence, or your talents; is my acceptation of that difficult text in the Gospel, which says "Make to yourselvesfriendsof the mammon of unrighteousness, that when ye fail they may receive you into everlasting habitations!" We know that the mammon of unrighteousness is riches; or, in other words, worldly-power. We make these ourenemies, when we use them to selfish and unworthy purposes. But we turn their dross into real gold;—we make them ourfriends, when, by their benevolent application, we lay them up as treasures in Heaven;—and, they will receive us there, intoeverlasting habitations!"
Wharton bowed his head, with the ingenuous docility that was in his heart;and the benign teacher left his pupil to the dearer, though no less serious converse of his niece.
With less profundity of feeling, but not less vivacity of happiness, Alice walked by the side of Ferdinand in the garden, and artlessly expressed to him her wonder, how any body could help admiring, and even loving Duke Wharton, who had ever passed an evening in his company.
"He is so very handsome;" said she, "and so very gay! and so very commanding in all he does, and says, and looks, that, at first sight one is quite frightened at the power all this threatens. But when we know him, he is so exhilarating, so amiable, that—that I do not wonder Cornelia should love as she does!"
"But you must not!" rejoined Ferdinand, putting her hand to his lips, "else I shall wish the storm had sunk him fifty fathoms below this island.""Don't be afraid of that!" returned she, blushing while she laughed; "Louis is fifty fathoms handsomer, and so much more joy-inspiring, that, in days of yore, I used to call him the angel Gabriel, always coming on some blessed salutation; if I escaped falling in love with him, I am sure you ought not to fear the Duke."
"Then, I am to suppose you love me, because I am the reverse of these two worthies?" returned Ferdinand, archly glancing in her face.
"There is so much of the coxcomb in the question," answered she, sportively shaking her head, "that I will gratify your vanity by the expected compliment."
A fortnight's tranquil residence at the pastorage drew the whole circle into that "sober certainty of waking bliss," which no language can describe, but happy are they who understand it by the knowledge of experience. Cornelia was, however,still steady to her virtuous resolution; and the Duke arranged with the Marquis Santa Cruz to relieve his English friends of his dangerous presence a few days before the celebration of their nuptials. He meant to sail direct from Lindisfarne to the nearest foreign port; thence proceed to Spain, and there enter on the probation which, he trusted, would end with the year, by the re-union of the whole party at Paris; where Santa Cruz was appointed ambassador, and his children had promised to rejoin him.
The Duke's wounds were healed, and a pause stood in every happy heart at the near prospect of his departure. He was trying his last entreaties, for a shorter term of separation, when a stranger was unguardedly introduced by one of the under-servants, and it proved to be a messenger from the Secretary of State. He was a younger brother of General Stanhope's, and brought communications of the utmost importance. Wharton wassitting in a distant recess with Cornelia, when he entered; and the instant bustle in the room, with some words that dropped from Mr. Athelstone, respecting the Duke, so alarmed her, that turning in agony towards him, she fainted on his breast.
The Duke was under the same impression with herself; and, relinquishing her in some agitation to her mother, walked calmly towards the group in the room, while the other ladies assisted Mrs. Coningsby to bear her insensible daughter from the expected trying scene.
But such was not the import of Mr. Stanhope's dispatches. Some were dictated by the King himself, and others by his ministers. Part informed the Marquis de Montemar, that His Majesty had received from the Empress of Germany, an exoneration of all that had been alleged against him at her court. A favourite mistress of Count Routemberg, in her dying moments, had declared the wholeconspiracy of the Count and others against Ripperda and his son; and the Empress now made the only atonement in her power, to the memory of the one, and the honour of the other, by thus clearing the Marquis de Montemar in the eyes of his present Sovereign.
Her royal kinsman noticed also the accounts he had received from Gibraltar, of Louis's disinterested conduct as a son, and a Protestant, and a free born descendant of one of the most ancient families in England. These virtues, the gracious Monarch added, should have an adequate reward. Extraordinary disinterestedness could only be repaid by something of the same character!