Chapter X: Part 10

"Not for worlds, my good Albert, would I have the story transpire! (said Walter.)--I already know enough of human nature to be satisfied that the recital of it would not only bring my father's displeasure upon me, but likewise the ridicule of the world. Be assured of this, I will never again run the risk of being drawn into danger by forming an acquaintance with people, however specious their appearance, without their being well known to my father or yourself. All I beg of you is, to join with me in interceding with the Baron for permission to return to Bungay-castle. I will there wait his pleasure, without murmur or complaint, for the accomplishment of all my wishes. With Roseline de Morney I cannot be unhappy;--without her my soul can know no peace."

Albert promised to do what he could with the Baron, but requested his young lord not to be too sanguine in his hopes of prevailing on him to consent to his leaving London, till the time was expired that he had fixed for his stay, and on his promising not to offend him by disputing his will as to the length of his continuance in town, he agreed to conceal this unpleasant adventure from the Baron, strongly recommending him to be more guarded in future, and never to let his own unsuspecting nature lead him to conclude that the people he mixed with were as good and as artless as himself.

CHAP. IX.

From the time Walter became more and more dissatisfied with his situation. He no longer contended with the Baron respecting the length of his stay, or refused to accompany him whenever he was requested to any public amusement or private party. But he became so restless and internally wretched, that it became impossible to conceal entirely how much he was distressed.--He wrote many letters to Roseline. The following is a copy of that which he sent a few days after his being so fortunately saved by Albert from the diabolical plan laid to render him miserable during life, and at the same time would have made the innocent Roseline as unhappy as himself.

My ever dear and charming Roseline,

I cannot live much longer in this detestable place, where the women are artful, the men base and designing. I am pointed at as being a fit dupe for vice to ensnare: my ignorance often leads me into error, and my own unsuspecting disposition exposes me to ridicule. If I must learn to be like the people with whom I often associate here, I shall grow in a little time so weary of existence, that I shall only wish it preserved on your account.

The immense distance between this place and the castle you inhabit renders it doubly detestable. It is a scene of bustle, confusion, and design; its amusements are all frivolous and trifling; its pleasures are joyless, unsocial, and unsatisfactory, and I a mere cypher, dull and alone, amidst a crowd of beings, for whom I feel neither respect nor friendship. In fact, I am never more alone than when I am surrounded by hundreds of people, not one of whom cares for my happiness. I had rather be with you in one of the gloomiest dungeons of Bungay-castle than in the palace of our king, unless you were by my side.

I have seen a great many young ladies that are called beauties; but I think none of them half so beautiful as my gentle Roseline; neither do they appear so good humoured, nor is their dress so becoming, though they wear as many diamonds as you did on the fortunate morning you went to be married to my father. And would you think it?--one of them actually endeavoured to draw me to marry her; though I repeatedly told her I could love no woman but you.

I have neither spirits nor appetite; I can neither laugh nor sing, and, if the Baron have a mind to make me polite,--if he wish me to acquire knowledge,--if he de desirous I should become what he calls an useful member of society, he must no longer keep us separate. It is your company only that could give a charm to that of other people, and, if I could see you, I should love the world for your sake. I shall die, dear Roseline, unless they permit me to come to you.

Madeline, though she wept, was happy, and looked handsomer than ever; and Edwin,--ah! how I envied your brother Edwin! He may be thankful he was not the son of a Baron, compelled like me to go through the tiresome drudgery of unmeaning ceremonies, and all the disgusting and nonsensical forms which they tell me belong to a rank.--I am sure rank would be more valuable and happier without them, and dignity far more pleasant to its possessors, if they could divest themselves of pride.

Commend be cordially to your parents.--Tell your sisters I love them as a brother, and make my respects to De Clavering, De Willows, and the honest Cambrian, to whom I hope one day to be of service.

Sweet Roseline, think of me, dream of me, and love no one but me. My father is very kind, very indulgent, and Albert very good, for he will hear me talk of you for hours together; but neither the Baron nor Albert can guess at the sufferings they inflict on me by this tedious absence from you, to whom I am indebted for life, hope, and happiness.

Your's forever,

WALTER FITZOSBOURNE

When the above mentioned letter reached the hands of the dejected Roseline, it alarmed and distressed her. It was however accompanied by one from the Baron to Sir Philip had no longer any fears but his friend would succeed in procuring a pardon for the fugitives. Again the family of De Morney were restored to their accustomed cheerfulness, and their friends admitted as usual; and, though Roseline shed some tears over the fond impassioned letter of Walter, they were tears of grateful tenderness, and she took care that her sighs and unceasing regret for the absence of her lover should be concealed from those to whom they would have given pain. Edeliza too was no longer under the unpleasant necessity of concealing her love for the worthy De Willows. The heart of Sir Philip was softened by the trials he had encountered, and all the parent was awakened in his soul. He therefore consented to the union of his second daughter taking place as soon as her lover could command an income sufficient to maintain a wife and family; and, as he had many friends in power, every one cherished hopes of his soon obtaining some distinguished preferment.

Audrey, who was still a great favourite with her young lady, was now solely retained to attend her person, and wholly at her command. She considered herself therefore of some consequence, and gave herself airs accordingly. She did not choose to mix with the common class of servants,--truly a lady's maid's place was a place of too much extinction to permit any familiarity with infeerors.--No sooner did Audrey see the family restored to their usual good humour, than she herself became more lively and chatty than ever, and all her fears of ghosts and hobgoblins were lost in her own self-importance and newly-acquired dignity. She afforded high entertainment not only to her fellow-servants, but to all the rest of the family, and, to make her character appear more ridiculous, her dress was as absurd as her sentiments.

Whenever chance threw Mrs. Audrey in their way, it was become a matter of course to enter into conversation with her, and the vain Abigail was too proud of this flattering distinction not to make the most of it.

De Clavering, who was fond of the humorous, laughed at the absurdities of Audrey, and took every opportunity of shewing her off. One day, while he was sitting with Roseline in the apartment to which Walter had been removed, when released from his dungeon, Audrey came abruptly into the room, bringing in her arms the little dog frequently mentioned in the foregoing pages. She laid him on the lap of his fond mistress, and exclaimed, "There, madam, take the little wandering rascal. I have been in a fine quandrary about him, and have had a blessed rambulation to find him, and drag him from his low-bred wulger companions. To my thinks, he is as great a rake as the king himself, God bless his majesty; but the young Baron ought to have given him a better eddication than to keep company with his infeerors."

"I am sure, Audrey, (said De Clavering,) you are much indebted to the young rascal, as you call him; for the rambulation you complain of has given so fine a glow to your complexion, so much animation to each expressive feature, that may I die if I did not take you at first for a painted lady, and, had I met you in the passage, am afraid I should have been tempted to see whether those roses so fascinating and so blooming were borrowed or natural."

"Don't talk to me of hannimation or fansenation, (cried Audrey, indignantly drawing herself up several inches higher;) I can assure you, Mr. Doctor, I don't choose to be consulted. I neither buys, borrows, nor covets, roses; I neither wants to tempt or be tempted by any one; but if I was by chance to captify a sweetheart, I dares to say I should soon become pale enough; for I thinks love is as bad as a 'potticary's shop."

"I hope I have not offended you, Mrs. Audrey, (said De Clavering, laughing,) I only meant to be civil, and pay the tribute due to the bloom I observed upon your countenance."

"Fended or not, (replied Audrey,) it little matters. Servants, some folks thinks, must not look like other people, and their blooms must be suspected truly. However, as father Anselm often says, God made up all.--You might as well have been silent as to the matter of my looks. I don't want or wish gentlemen 'poticarys to ax me questions, or trouble their heads about me."

"You would not have been half so angry with Camelford, (said De Clavering,) had he said ten times as much to you as I have done, or had he he kissed you as often as I once saw him, when you ran to him under the mulberry tree."

"I don't think she would, (said Roseline, smiling,) for I know our friend Hugh is a great favourite with every female in the family."

"Wery vell, miss, (replied Audrey, blushing as red as scarlet at the story of the mulberry-tree,) you have a mind I see to join with the malicious doctor to dash and confound me; but I defy his satarical talons, and can ashure you, miss, though Mr. Camelfor is so cetious and merry, he never proffered to kiss me more than half a dozen times in his life."

"Take care how you reckon, Audrey, cried De Clavering, humourously,) remember I saw you under the mulberry-tree."

"Well, what if you did?--You might as well have said nothing about it, (replied Audrey.)--I was frightened almost into highsterricks by an ugly black cat jumping from a lylac bush, and I ran to Mr. Camelfor without knowing what I did, and he was so civil and perlite, God bless his good-humoured heart, one must have been a savage to quarrel with him for a civil kiss or two: he does not fleer or jeer people about their looks, or tells what he sees them doing."

Neither Roseline nor De Clavering could any longer refrain from laughing, and Camelford that moment entering the room, Audrey was so much displeased, and in so great a hurry to be gone, that, in running to the door, she almost beat down her favourite.

"Fat, in the name of Cot, (cried Hugh,) is the matter with the girl? She has as many freaks and fancies in her head as a mountain coat, and is as frolicksome too."

"You had better follow her, and make your inquiries, (said De Clavering;) I am satisfied the damsel would tell you what brought on her present disorder sooner than any body else."

"I am no toctor, (said Camelford,) therefore don't be playing tricks upon me, by sending me after the tamsel, and pringing little Pertha's anger upon me, which, may I tie in a titch, if I how how to bear."

"Oh! if you are enlisted under petticoat government, (replied De Clavering,) I give you up as incurable,--a deserter from the thorny paths of glory, and foresee the sword will be changed into a distaff or a ploughshare."

"Luf (cried Camelford) must not be apused; it is the best stimulus to crate and noble actions, the parent of pold atchievements; but of that same luf you know nothing: there is no heart in your pody, and you are mortified to think you cannot find a nostrum to cure the disease in others: you must therefore be caught in luf's snares, in order to learn the nature of those treadful tribulations it brings upon a man. May I go to the tevil in a high wind, if I had not as lief face a canon's mouth as meet the fire of Pertha's pright eyes, when they look indignantly upon me!"

"Don't talk so much of the devil, Hugh, (interrupted De Clavering,) but request him to do you the favour of kicking about your brains a little, till they return to a more useful station in your pericranium: in my opinion, you are in a fair way of becoming fist for the government under which you think yourself enlisted."

"May the vengeance of all womankind fall upon you! (cried Camelford:)--may you be tragged apout like a tancing pear, to make sport!--may you lead asses in the tark regions of Peelzebub, for your plasphemies against woman! and may--"

But all his farther denunciations and wishes for vengeance on De Clavering were now interrupted by a loud screaming. Soon the door was thrown open, and in bounced Audrey, her cap on one side, and her face as pale as ashes.

"I have seen him, (she exclaimed,) with my own dear eyes!--his ghost, or happorition!"

"Whose cost? (cried Camelford;) where is it?--I will teach a cost to frighten a pretty cirl, and trive her tistracted."

The manner and appearance of Audrey were such as served to confirm the suspicion in the mind of Roseline, and even De Clavering, till, offended by the supposition of her being insane, she called out in her usual peculiar stile, "Thank God! some folks are no more a lunatic than other folks. I have all my seven senses as perfect as ever I had in my life;--but, Christ Jasus, these are sad times, when one is not allowed to believe their own precious eyes.--Down dropped his horse, poor beast, all in a foam, and down tumbled the young Baron arter him, as dead as my my dear great grandmother."

"Who are you talking of? (cried Roseline, rising with the utmost emotion.)--Is the Baron?--is Walter?--is he dead?"

"He only died for a few minutes, (answered Audrey, and then he came to himself--"

She had time for no more. Roseline heard the well known step of her lover.--Walter rushed into the room, threw himself at her feet, and the next instant caught her in his arms.

"This moment (cried he) is that for which my heart has languished! this is a reward for all my fatigue, all my fears and anxieties!--Look up, smile upon me, and say, my sweet Roseline, that my return gives to you an almost equal pleasure as myself; but, first, let me inform you that I have left London without the knowledge and permission of my father."

That Roseline rejoiced to see her lover her eyes informed him, but for a few minutes surprise and agitation kept her silent. Sir Philip, Lady de Morney, and the whole family, were soon assembled in the apartment to which Walter had been directed by Audrey.

The young Baron, it may be supposed, found a cordial reception, and it is not to be doubted but _that_ he met with from the fair object of his affection was such as amply repaid him for his fatigue, and in his own mind even, for the risk he had hazarded of disobliging his father. This step, however, was owing to a hint dropped by the Baron, that it would be agreeable and convenient, to himself, and necessary for many reasons to his son, that they should prolong their stay in town for some weeks beyond what had been proposed, or intended on their departure from the castle.

On this plan being opposed by Walter, the Baron not only appeared displeased, but resolute to carry his point. A circumstance so distressing to his son rendered him equally determined not to submit to such arbitrary, and, in his opinion, cruel authority; therefore, early the next morning he sat off, without being attended by a servant, or informing any one to what part of the globe he meant to go, and the next day reached Bungay-castle in the manner before described.

Sir Philip de Morney, on learning these alarming circumstances from his daughter, immediately sent off an express to inform the Baron of his son's unexpected arrival, and of his apprehensions that the step he had so unguardedly taken would bring his displeasure upon himself and family, whom he seriously assured him knew nothing of his intention.

Walter, in his conversations with Roseline, told her, he found himself so disgusted with the customs and manners of the world, and met with so few people in it to whom he could attach himself, or for whom he felt either respect or affection, that he determined no longer to be detained from her in whose care his happiness was intrusted, and with whom alone he was satisfied it could rest secure.

"And, as you condescended, (he continued,) to love and attend to me when immured in a dungeon,--kindly smiled on me, and endeavoured to instruct me when enveloped in ignorance, and was my friend when I appeared to have no claims,--a solitary outcast from society, I thought you would not be very much displeased if I forsook the world for you, who gave up more, much more, for me, and quitted its gayest and most cheerful scenes for the solitary gloom of a prison.

"Whatever I may still want of polish, address, and what fashionable people stile politeness, love and my gentle Roseline can easily teach me. From a world that I neither like nor approve, I could learn but little, while the chosen mistress of my heart may at her pleasure make me any thing she wishes. With her, and for her amusement, I may be sometimes tempted to live in a crowd; without her, the world itself is only a wide extended dungeon."

Roseline, at hearing this impassioned language from lips which, she was satisfied, knew no guile, was too much gratified to express all she felt. She smiled on him through her tears, and, in the softest language affection could dictate, gently chid him for being so impetuous as to run the risk of disobliging his father on her account, expressing a few timid apprehensions that the Baron might be offended with her as being the innocent cause of his son's proving refractory to his wishes; yet she could not help secretly rejoicing in the strength of his attachment, on which all her happiness depended.

Every thing was done by the family to give this amiable and singular lover a reception not only suitable to his elevated rank, but satisfactory to his feelings,--such an one as the sincerity of his regard for Roseline demanded and deserved, while the joy which appeared upon the animated countenances of the lovers convinced every one who saw them, that they had fixed their hopes of felicity on a basis which the hand of death only could shake from its foundations.

Walter, in his moments of unreserve, expressed his surprise, dislike, and contempt, of many things, persons, and customs, which he met with in the high circles to which he had been introduced, and concluded with wishing that the Baron could be prevailed upon to excuse his farther attendance, adding, it was his determined plan, so far as it met the approbation of his beloved Roseline, to spend as much of his time as the nature of his situation would permit in the placid bosom of retirement, in which he hoped to make himself as useful and worthy a member of the commonwealth as he should be if engaged in more bustling and busy scenes.

"One would think (said De Clavering, who happened to be present when this conversation occurred) that the young Baron had been educated by some of our wise and ancient philosophers, and, taught by their precepts, was convinced by them that happiness was too timid and modest to be found in the confines of a court, or the splendors of a ball-room. It reminds me of Enthymenes, who, speaking of the pleasures of solitude to a man of the world, makes the following observations.

"You are compelled to a continual restraint in your dress, demeanour,
actions, and words:--your festivals are so magnificent, and our's so
mirthful!--your pleasures so superficial and so transient, and our's so
real and so constant! Have you ever in your rich apartments breathed an
air so fresh as that which we respire in the verdant arbour?--or can
your entertainments, sometimes so sumptuous, compare with the bowls of
milk which we have just drawn, or those delicious fruits we have
gathered with our hands?

"Ah! if happiness be only the health of the soul, must it not be
found in those places, where a just proportion ever reigns between our
wants and our desires, where motion is constantly followed by rest,
and where our affections are always *accompapanied by tranquillity,
breathe a free air, and enjoy the splendor of heaven.--From these
kind of comparisons we may judge which are the true riches that nature
designed for men."

"Such were the opinions and sentiments of Enthymenes, and such I find are those of De Clavering, (replied Walter,) or he would not have retained and repeated them with so much facility and satisfaction.--Were my fate united with that of Miss de Morney, and had I two such friends as De Clavering and Albert, to direct my conduct and enlarge the small portion of knowledge I have yet been able to acquire, I should think myself the most fortunate as well as the happiest of mankind, having already experienced a long series of oppression from the baneful arts and stratagems of ambition, I have learned to despise it, and, in the gloomy and trying hour of adversity, have been taught, that fortitude, with humility and untainted honour, can harmonize, but can never degrade the most exalted stations, and, while they are the brightest jewels that could adorn a crown, they enrich and ennoble the lowest peasant."

In a few days, the Baron, accompanied by Albert, arrived at the castle. The frown which appeared upon his brow, at his first entrance, was instantly dispersed when the trembling Roseline sunk at his feet, and entreated him to pardon the eccentric flight of her lover, of which, as she was the cause, if his displeasure continued, it would inflict equal distress upon herself as upon his son.

To resist so fair a supplicant was not in the Baron's power. He tenderly raised her from the ground, and the next morning embraced her lover. The utmost harmony and a general cheerfulness soon prevailed, and, before the parties separated for the night, the Baron candidly and generously acknowledged, that, at the same age, and under the same circumstances as his son, he believed he should have acted as he had done. "And upon the whole, (said he,) I was not very sorry when the obstinate sighing boy took himself away; for I was grown weary of having to introduce, and make such frequent apologies for so absent, lifeless, and refractory a being."

What served to reconcile matters the sooner was, that Albert, after the sudden disappearance of his young lord, had informed his father of Mrs. C---'s infamous stratagem to draw him into a marriage with her artful and abandoned daughter. He was so much enraged at hearing the lengths to which these wretches had dared to go, that strict search was made after them, but without effect.

Walter, too, told Roseline of the designs which had been formed to entrap him, and, while she looked at him with increased delight, she secretly rejoiced that he had left a place which harboured a set of people who gloried to destroy the peace of their fellow-creatures.

To make the happiness of the friendly party more perfectly complete, the Baron informed Sir Philip and Lady de Morney that he hoped very soon to procure a pardon for Edwin and Madeline, and to be able to restore them to their protection.

Preparations for the marriage very soon began, the Baron humourously observing, that, till his son was again deprived of his freedom, there would be no knowing how to secure, or what to do with him, and declaring he should be very glad to delegate the care of him to one whom he had no doubt would supply his place much to the advantage of the charge he was ready and willing to give up.

Every appendage, that wealth could purchase,--rank require,--or youth and ambition wish to possess,--was liberally provided to grace the nuptials of Walter Fitzosbourne and the happy Roseline de Morney.

Ah! how different were the feelings,--how delightful the prospects of the intended bride, on this occasion, to what they had been on a former one, when she prepared with such agonizing terrors to give her hand to the Baron!--yet, though she could now think of approaching the altar without reluctance, she could not entirely divest herself of those timid fears which every gentle and virtuous female must experience when she recollects the number of new duties upon which she is going to enter, and that, from the moment she becomes a wife, her happiness, no longer dependent on herself or parents, rests only on the man to whom she has given her hand.

Walter seemed to tread on air; he was all vivacity and joy, and appeared to have assumed a new character. The world, and every thing belonging to it, wore a different aspect:--all, all was charming. He wondered how he could ever have felt disgust, or cherished discontent. To his father he was attentive and affectionate,--to his friends cordial and complacent,--to his Roseline all that an affectionate lover could or ought to be.

Albert was almost as happy and joyous as his master. The Baron, serene, grateful, and contented, while Sir Philip and Lady de Morney, who found their own consequence and comforts so much increased by this fortunate and splendid alliance, united in blessing the hour which sent their intended son-in-law a prisoner to Bungay-castle.

CHAP. X.

At length the happy day arrived which was appointed for the celebration of these long expected nuptials. We presume that the morning, to the world in general, was exactly like what other mornings had been, and that the sun shone without any perceptible brilliancy being added to its rays, except in the eyes of the now happy lovers.

The company assembled in the breakfast-room, and for some time waited for Roseline. She soon made her appearance, led by her beloved Walter, who had stolen unobserved to the chamber-door of his mistress, to chide her for so long delaying his happiness. On this occasion he was splendidly attired, and the bride, elegantly but simply dressed, wanted not the borrowed aid of ornament, but, arrayed in maiden bashfulness and artless purity, appeared all native loveliness.

As she received the congratulations of her friends, a tear, which stole from her expressive eye as it trembled to escape, appeared to spotless harbinger of gratified affection, struggling to conquer the becoming fears of unaffected modesty.

As soon as breakfast was over, they were accompanied to the chapel of the nunnery by a numerous train of friends and dependents. On their arrival, they were met by the Lady Abbess, the venerable and worthy Father Anselm, and almost all the inhabitants of the nunnery, who were allowed to assemble in the chapel on this joyous occasion, while every face wore the appearance of cheerfulness.

A select party went back with them to the castle, where all who chose were permitted to partake of the happiness, and share in the social satisfaction which universally prevailed.

Mutual congratulations and good wishes were exchanged. Sir Philip and Lady de Morney, happy as they were in the completion of their ambition, could not restrain the sigh of heart-felt regret at the thoughts of soon being separated from their beloved daughter.

Roseline was some time before she recovered her usual serenity, till Edeliza, on observing her shed a tear as she looked at her mother, said to her, in a whisper,--"I cannot imagine, my dear sister, why you should weep. I do not think I should be so dejected if I were married to De Willows,--though he never said half so many fine things to me as the young Baron has done to you."

Roseline, smiling, pressed the hand of her sister, and, returning her whisper, assured her she was indeed the most enviable of her sex:-- but (added she) it requires more fortitude than I possess to support such happiness as mine with equanimity and composure; and the natural regret I cannot help feeling at leaving this place, and soon being separated from the best and tenderest of mothers, convinces me that Providence never intended we should enjoy bliss without alloy."

The next day the party sat off in new and splendid carriages, attended by a numerous retinue of servants, for the Baron's castle in the North of England. Their grand cavalcade brought a number of people to take a farewell look of the lovely bride, whose departure was generally regretted; and she was followed by the good wishes of all who ever had the pleasure of enjoying her society.

Sir Philip and Lady de Morney, her two sisters, De Willows, De Clavering, and Hugh Camelford accompanied her. Audrey had likewise the honour of attending her lady as fille de chambre, and never felt herself of such infinite consequence as she did when handed into the travelling carriage by the Baron's gentleman, who did her the honour to assist in packing her up to the chin amidst the boxes and luggage entrusted to her care.

The party travelled slowly and pleasantly, stopping to see every thing on their route that was worthy observation; and, as they were now in the humour to be easily pleased, they were consequently amused and gratified with almost every thing they saw.--It is a kind of humour so extremely convenient, that I hope we shall be excused for recommending the adoption of it to travellers of all countries and denominations,--good humour, and serenity of mind, being the best companions at home, are equally eligible to carry with us when we go abroad.

On their arrival at Fitzosbourne-castle, they received a considerable increase to their happiness by meeting Edwin and Madeline in perfect health and good spirits.--Sir Philip and Lady de Morney's cup of joy was filled to the brim, when they found themselves folded in the arms of their long absent children, for whole lives they had so often, and indeed at this very moment inwardly trembled.

The happy bride of the exulting Walter felt such a torrent of added felicity, on being folded in the arms of her brother and Madeline, that she was very near fainting. Observing this, the Baron, to call off their attention, desired them to permit him to come in for some share of their embraces, and in his turn to welcome them to Fitzosbourne-castle. This had the effect it was designed to produce, and the cordial welcome every one received from the Baron gave additional satisfaction to the hours thus marked with joy, happiness, and love.

After they had taken some refreshment, Edwin surprised them all by approaching the Baron, and in the most submissive manner begging him to pardon the liberty he had taken in introducing a guest to the castle, whom, as yet, he knew not of being there,--a guest old and weak, but who was, he hoped, slowly recovering from an attack of illness so severe, as to have threatened his life, and which, in all probability, would have terminated his mortal existence, but for the unremitting attention he received from the Baron's domestics.

"No apology is necessary upon such an occasion, (said the Baron.) Had my people been wanting in care to any one who required their assistance, I should have instantly dismissed them.--When may I be introduced to your friend? (added he.)--I am impatient to assure him that this house, and all that it contains, are much at his service."

"Pray, my dear Edwin, (said Lady de Morney,) who is the person for whom you have ventured to tax the Baron's hospitality thus largely, and for whom you appear so much interested?"

"The father of this lady, (replied he, taking the hand of Madeline, and leading her to his mother.)--To her I will refer you for an account of our meeting, and the revolution it has fortunately produced in our favour.

Madeline was instantly called upon to gratify the curiosity of the company, and, without any delay, informed them, that Edwin and herself having one day agreed to take a ramble, they told the people with whom they lodged that they should not return till the evening.

Disguising themselves more than usual, so as to avoid the possibility of being discovered, they sat off; and, being tempted by the extreme fineness of the day, wandered till they came to the great road which led to a large town, not five miles distant.

"In fact, (said the blushing narrator,) my dear Edwin, was grown weary of solitude, and wished perhaps to see more faces than those which he met in the obscure little cottage to which we were confined."

Every one smiled,--Edwin looked confused,--and Madeline thus proceeded.

"We had not walked more than half a mile in the great road, before the number of people we met, and the curiosity our strange appearance excited, determined us to choose a more private walk; but, just as we were going to turn into a lane which led to a neighbouring village, our attention was caught, and our design prevented by a carriage being overturned within a hundred paces of us.

"The horses, proving restive, had drawn it up a high bank, which occasioned the accident. One of the servants, seeing Edwin, beckened him, and begged him to assist in the lifting it up, and liberating his master from his perilous situation. He immediately ran off, telling me to sit down on the bank till his return.

"Thinking, however, that I might possibly be of some service, I walked slowly forwards; but guess my terror, when, just as we arrived at the carriage, they were dragging from it a man to all appearance dead.

"I instantly flew to lend my assistance; but no sooner did I distinguish his person, than I was nearly as lifeless as himself.--It was my father,--my father dying on the road! The sight, however terrifying to my fears and torturing to my feelings, gave me strength, and inspired me with fortitude to help in preserving the life of the author of my being.

"I took an opportunity to inform my dear Edwin who it was that claimed our care and attention. After chafing his temples, and rubbing his emaciated hands, some faint signs of life reanimated our endeavours.

"We found, by the conversation of the servants, that their master had been recommended to try what change of air and travelling might do, as medicine had failed in removing a disease which had long preyed upon his constitution, and which had been increased by some domestic sorrow.

"Alas! of that sorrow I knew myself to be the cause, and the tears, which I shed upon his almost lifeless hand, as I saw him extended at my feet, atoned I hope, in some measure, for the grief I had inflicted.

"When life was more perfectly restored, we moved him upon a grass plat, till the carriage and horses could be got ready.--He took no notice of any one, and appeared to be totally insensible of the accident, and of every thing around him.--This at once determined us to intrude on the Baron's goodness, and convey him to this castle.

"Having dispatched a messenger for the best advice we could procure, one of his attendants and myself accompanied him in the carriage. His head rested on my bosom, but he knew me not, nor once attempted to speak. On our arrival here, we found every thing prepared for our reception, Edwin having taken one of the horses, and rode full speed to inform the Baron's servants a sick gentleman was coming, for whom he requested their care and assistance.

"My father was taken from the carriage, and instantly put to bed. Two medical gentlemen very soon arrived, who, on examining the state of their patient, from the violence of the contusion and the total deprivation of sense in which they found him, seemed to think there was a concussion of the brain. They assured us, however, that his life would not be endangered by the accident, but said, they saw he was far advanced in decline, from which they apprehended more fatal consequences.

"We continued our disguise, and, as our real names were totally unknown in this neighborhood, having passed for a Mr. and Mrs. Danbury, we were under no apprehensions of being discovered, should my father recover his senses. After remaining in the most painful state of suspense many days, he began to take notice of those who attended him, but made no inquiries after his own servants, how he came into a strange place, or the accident which had befallen him. One day, as I was sitting by him, and holding his head, which I had been rubbing with vinegar, he looked earnestly at me.

"If I did not think, if I did not know it was impossible, (said he, in hurried accents, looking first at me, and then at Edwin, who was standing at the foot of the bed,) I should almost be tempted to believe that the hand which has so gently given me relief was the hand of Madeline de Glanville, and that face the face I once fondly doated upon; but it cannot be!--I am a poor, wandering, old man, whose eyes must be closed by strangers, and I deserve it should be so. I once had a daughter, but I banished her my sight:--I had a son, but he perhaps is no longer an inhabitant of this world."

Here he stopped, and burst into a violent flood of tears. By a sign from Edwin I understood he wished me to take this favourable opportunity of making the discovery, for which he knew I languished. Falling therefore, on my knees, in the most supplicating attitude, and pressing his hand to my lips, I exclaimed:

"I am your daughter,--your Madeline, and there is the amiable, the beloved husband for whom I dared to disobey my father, and for whom at this moment I stand a trembling victim to the just laws of my country and my religion!"

The scene which followed it is not in my power to describe. Suffice it to say, that, from that interesting period, my father has not only been reconciled, but renovated with health and strength. He frequently laments the obstinacy which reduced us to the necessity of taking such steps to prevent our separation. He has written letters to every one he knows that has any interest with the higher powers of the church, but his hopes of success are rested upon Lord Fitzosbourne, to whom he is impatient to pay his respects."

"This moment I am ready to attend him, (said the Baron:) the father of Madeline is entitled to every attention that has, or can be shewn him."

After his lordship's visit had been paid, the rest of the party followed of course, and a general harmony prevailed. Mr. de Glanville was instantly placed wholly under the care of De Clavering, and soon obtained as perfect a state of convalescence as the nature of his constitutional habits would admit.

Now again hospitality and festivity took their turn to reign, and the happy and distinguished Walter, after languishing so many years in misery and confinement, found himself in the situation for which nature had designed him.

Restored to his rank in the bosom of affluence, and surrounded by tender and admiring friends, he soon lost that timid shyness which had once rendered averse to society, and discontented with the world. United to the only woman he had ever loved, and possessed of domains more extensive and fertile than those of many a petty prince, with a mind calculated to promote the happiness of his fellow-creatures, he was beloved by all, and envied by many.

In a few months a full and free pardon was procured for Edwin and Madeline, and Mr. de Glanville, having recovered, contrary to the expectation of every one, from the indisposition which threatened him with death at the time his daughter escaped from the Bungay nunnery, on being convinced she had made so respectable and worthy a choice, gave her a considerable portion, and afterwards, having the fears of his son's death realized, she inherited his whole estate. Edwin also rose to high rank in the army, and was an honour to his country.

Edeliza was happily married in due time to her beloved De Willows, and, about six years after, the worthy Hugh Camelford led the blooming and unreluctant Bertha to the altar.--To these young men the Baron uniformly remained a bountiful and steady patron, and Sir Philip and Lady de Morney lived many years to be grateful and happy spectators of the felicity and prosperity of their children.

The Baron and his son became so sincerely attached to De Clavering during his visit at Fitzosbourne-castle, that, in compliance with their urgent and repeated entreaties, he consented to remain in their neighborhood.

He very soon afterwards married a lady of respectability and fortune, and his practice became so extensive, and so much esteemed, that his superior knowledge proved a general blessing, of which many hundreds of this fellow-creatures in a few years experienced the benefit.

The Baron was highly delighted with the society of De Clavering, and it was with the utmost reluctance he ever consented to his being a day absent from the neighborhood.

It was the intention of the Baron, after he had seen his son fixed, and his household properly established, to have resided in another of his castles, about twenty miles distant, but neither Walter nor Roseline would consent to the proposal.

They reminded the Baron of the long and cruel separation which had divided him from his son in the early part of his life, and so earnestly entreated him not to interrupt their happiness, by withdrawing himself from their society, and refusing to reside with them, that, pleased and gratified by the tenderness with which the request was mutually urged, he yielded to their persuasions, and a proper suite of rooms, with a large retinue of servants, were set apart for the immediate use of the Baron.

He continued to live with them many years, without any interruption to his happiness; and, in seeing the harmony and felicity they enjoyed, surrounded by a number of lovely and healthy grand-children, he found, amidst the increasing infirmities of old age, sufficient attractions in life to make it pleasant and desirable, while the cordial affection and exemplary conduct of his son, joined to the endearing attentions of the gentle and beloved Roseline, made him remember with joy and gratitude the day in which he saw their hands united.

Albert never left his beloved master, but was as faithfully attached to his children as he had been to himself. He had apartments appropriated to his use, a servant to attend him, and met, in the kind and unceasing attentions of his grateful friends, the just reward of his long tried fidelity.

Often, in the dreary winter evenings, having drawn all the younger part of the family around him, he would recite the incidents of his life from the period of his confinement with Walter. To the young Fitzosbournes it was a high treat to hear Albert tell the tale of their beloved father's life.

Sometimes he would excite their wonder, and entertain them with the surprising effect of his double voice; and, when he became a very old man, he was as much beloved for what he had been, as he was respected for his age, grey hairs, and universal philanthropy.

Though many overtures were made by the worthless brother of the Lady Isabella to bring about a reconciliation, neither the Baron nor his son could ever be prevailed upon to see him, and it was with some difficulty the former was persuaded to give up bringing him to justice for the crime he had committed.

The good abbess and the venerable father Anselm had the pleasure of seeing their favourite Madeline as happy in the arms of her worthy husband, as they had hoped she would have been in the bosom of their church. Walter and his Roseline paid them many visits before they were removed from their exemplary calling on earth to receive the reward of their purity and virtue in the regions of immortality.

The hero and heroine of our tale retained the virtues of their youth, the gentleness of their manners, and the sweetness of their dispositions to the end of their lives; and, what may be thought rare and singular, they never lost their humility, tenderness, and unbounded affection for each other; but when age, that grave of beauty, had robbed them of those outward graces, which nature with an unsparing hand had bestowed upon their youth, love maintained its empire in their faithful bosoms, and survived every change, till death summoned them to meet the bright and unfailing recompense of a life spent in the practice of religion, justice, and virtue.

FINIS.

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