"It is hard to say what is impossible! we have proof that the east apartment is haunted. It was there that Edmund was made acquainted with many secrets, I doubt not: and, perhaps, his own fate may be involved in that of others. I am confident that what he saw and heard there, was the cause of his departure. We must wait with patience the unravelling this intricate affair; I believe I need not enjoin your secrecy as to what I have said; your heart will be my security."

"What mean you, brother?"

"Don't affect ignorance, my dear; you love Edmund, so do I; it is nothing to be ashamed of. It would have been strange, if a girl of your good sense had not distinguished a swan among a flock of geese."

"Dear William, don't let a word of this escape you; but you have taken a weight off my heart. You may depend that I will not dispose of my hand or heart till I know the end of this affair."

William smiled: "Keep them for Edmund's friend; I shall rejoice to see him in a situation to ask them."

"Hush, my brother! not a word more; I hear footsteps."

They were her eldest brother's, who came to ask Mr. William to ride out with him, which finished the conference.

The fair Emma from this time a.s.sumed an air of satisfaction; and William frequently stole away from his companions to talk with his sister upon their favourite subject.

While these things pa.s.sed at the castle of Lovel, Edmund and his companion John Wyatt proceeded on their journey to Sir Philip Harclay's seat; they conversed together on the way, and Edmund sound him a man of understanding, though not improved by education; he also discovered that John loved his master, and respected him even to veneration; from him he learned many particulars concerning that worthy knight. Wyatt told him, "That Sir Philip maintained twelve old soldiers who had been maimed and disabled in the wars, and had no provision made for them; also six old officers, who had been unfortunate, and were grown grey without preferment; he likewise mentioned the Greek gentleman, his master's captive and friend, as a man eminent for valour and piety; but, beside these," said Wyatt, "there are many others who eat of my master's bread and drink of his cup, and who join in blessings and prayers to Heaven for their n.o.ble benefactor; his ears are ever open to distress, his hand to relieve it, and he shares in every good man's joys and blessings."

"Oh, what a glorious character!" said Edmund; "how my heart throbs with wishes to imitate such a man! Oh, that I might resemble him, though at ever so great a distance!"

Edmund was never weary of hearing the actions of this truly great man, nor Wyatt with relating them; and, during three days journey, there were but few pauses in their conversation.

The fourth day, when they came within view of the house, Edmund's heart began to raise doubts of his reception. "If," said he, "Sir Philip should not receive me kindly, if he should resent my long neglect, and disown my acquaintance, it would be no more than justice."

He sent Wyatt before, to notify his arrival to Sir Philip, while he waited at the gate, full of doubts and anxieties concerning his reception. Wyatt was met and congratulated on his return by most of his fellow-servants. He asked--

"Where is my master?"

"In the parlour."

"Are any strangers with him?"

"No, only his own family."

"Then I will shew myself to him."

He presented himself before Sir Philip.

"So, John," said he, "you are welcome home! I hope you left your parents and relations well?"

"All well, thank G.o.d! and send their humble duty to your honour, and they pray for you every day of their lives. I hope your honour is in good health."

"Very well."

"Thank G.o.d for that! but, sir, I have something further to tell you; I have had a companion all the way home, a person who comes to wait on your honour, on business of great consequence, as he says."

"Who is that, John?"

"It is Master Edmund Twyford, from the castle of Lovel."

"Young Edmund!" says Sir Philip, surprised; "where is he?"

"At the gate, sir."

"Why did you leave him there?"

"Because he bade me come before, and acquaint your honour, that he waits your pleasure."

"Bring him hither," said Sir Philip; "tell him I shall be glad to see him."

John made haste to deliver his message, and Edmund followed him in silence into Sir Philip's presence.

He bowed low, and kept at a distance. Sir Philip held out his hand, and bad him approach. As he drew near, he was seized with an universal trembling; he kneeled down, took his hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his heart in silence.

"You are welcome, young man!" said Sir Philip; "take courage, and speak for yourself."

Edmund sighed deeply; he at length broke silence with difficulty. "I am come thus far, n.o.ble sir, to throw myself at your feet, and implore your protection. You are, under G.o.d, my only reliance."

"I receive you," said Sir Philip, "with all my heart! Your person is greatly improved since I saw you last, and I hope your mind is equally so; I have heard a great character of you from some that knew you in France. I remember the promise I made you long ago, and am ready now to fulfil it, upon condition that you have done nothing to disgrace the good opinion I formerly entertained of you; and am ready to serve you in any thing consistent with my own honour."

Edmund kissed the hand that was extended to raise him. "I accept your favour, sir, upon this condition only; and if ever you find me to impose upon your credulity, or incroach on your goodness, may you renounce me from that moment!"

"Enough," said Sir Philip; "rise, then, and let me embrace you; You are truly welcome!"

"Oh, n.o.ble sir!" said Edmund, "I have a strange story to tell you; but it must be by ourselves, with only heaven to bear witness to what pa.s.ses between us."

"Very well," said Sir Philip; "I am ready to hear you; but first, go and get some refreshment after your journey, and then come to me again. John Wyatt will attend you."

"I want no refreshment," said Edmund; "and I cannot eat or drink till I have told my business to your honour."

"Well then," said Sir Philip, "come along with me." He took the youth by the hand, and led him into another parlour, leaving his friends in great surprise, what this young man's errand could be; John Wyatt told them all that he knew relating to Edmund's birth, character, and situation.

When Sir Philip had seated his young friend, he listened in silence to the surprising tale he had to tell him. Edmund told him briefly the most remarkable circ.u.mstances of his life, from the time when he first saw and liked him, till his return from France; but from that era, he related at large every thing that had happened, recounting every interesting particular, which was imprinted on his memory in strong and lasting characters. Sir Philip grew every moment more affected by the recital; sometimes he clasped his hands together, he lifted them up to heaven, he smote his breast, he sighed, he exclaimed aloud; when Edmund related his dream, he breathed short, and seemed to devour him with attention; when he described the fatal closet, he trembled, sighed, sobbed, and was almost suffocated with his agitation. But when he related all that pa.s.sed between his supposed mother and himself, and finally produced the jewels, the proofs of his birth, and the death of his unfortunate mother, he flew to him, he pressed him to his bosom, he strove to speak, but speech was for some minutes denied. He wept aloud; and, at length, his words found their way in broken exclamations.

"Son of my dearest friend! Dear and precious relic of a n.o.ble house!

child of Providence! the beloved of heaven! welcome! thrice welcome to my arms! to my heart! I will be thy parent from henceforward, and thou shalt be indeed my child, my heir! My mind told me from the first moment I beheld thee, that thou wert the image of my friend! my heart then opened itself to receive thee, as his offspring. I had a strange foreboding that I was to be thy protector. I would then have made thee my own; but heaven orders things for the best; it made thee the instrument of this discovery, and in its own time and manner conducted thee to my arms. Praise be to G.o.d for his wonderful doings towards the children of men! every thing that has befallen thee is by his direction, and he will not leave his work unfinished; I trust that I shall be his instrument to do justice on the guilty, and to restore the orphan of my friend to his rights and t.i.tle. I devote myself to this service, and will make it the business of my life to effect it."

Edmund gave vent to his emotions, in raptures of joy and grat.i.tude.

They spent several hours in this way, without thinking of the time that pa.s.sed; the one enquiring, the other explaining, and repeating, every particular of the interesting story.

At length they were interrupted by the careful John Wyatt, who was anxious to know if any thing was likely to give trouble to his master.

"Sir," said John, "it grows dark--do you want a light?"

"We want no light but what heaven gives us," said Sir Philip; "I knew not whether it was dark or light."

"I hope," said John, "nothing has happened, I hope your honour has heard no bad tidings; I--I--I hope no offence."

"None at all," said the good knight; "I am obliged to your solicitude for me; I have heard some things that grieve me, and others that give me great pleasure; but the sorrows are past, and the joys remain."