"Where are my other children?" said he.

William retired, and presently returned with his brother and sister.

They kneeled to their father, who raised and embraced them. He then called out, "William!--Edmund!--come and receive my blessing also."

They approached hand in hand, they kneeled, and he gave them a solemn benediction.

"Your friendship deserves our praise, my children! love each other always! and may Heaven pour down its choicest blessings upon your heads!"

They rose, and embraced in silent raptures of joy. Edmund presented his friend to Sir Philip.

"I understand you," said he; "this gentleman was my first acquaintance of this family; he has a t.i.tle to the second place in my heart; I shall tell him, at more leisure, how much I love and honour him for his own sake as well as yours."

He embraced the youth, and desired his friendship.

"Come hither, my Emma!" said the Baron.

She approached with tears on her check, sweetly blushing, like the damask rose wet with the dew of the morning.

"I must ask you a serious question, my child; answer me with the same sincerity you would to Heaven. You see this young man, the heir of Lovel! You have known him long; consult your own heart, and tell me whether you have any objection to receive him for your husband. I have promised to all this company to give you to him; but upon condition that you approve him: I think him worthy of you; and, whether you accept him or not, he shall ever be to me a son; but Heaven forbid that I should compel my child to give her hand, where she cannot bestow her heart!

Speak freely, and decide this point for me and for yourself."

The fair Emma blushed, and was under some confusion; her virgin modesty prevented her speaking for some moments. Edmund trembled; he leaned upon William's shoulder to support himself. Emma cast her eye upon him, she saw his emotion, and hastened to relieve him; and thus spoke in a soft voice which gathered strength as she proceeded:

"My lord and father's goodness has always prevented my wishes; I am the happiest of all children, in being able to obey his commands, without offering violence to my own inclinations. As I am called upon in this public manner, it is but justice to this gentleman's merit to declare, that, were I at liberty to chuse a husband from all the world, he only should be my choice, who I can say, with joy, is my father's also."

Edmund bowed low, he advanced towards her; the Baron took his daughter's hand, and presented it to him; he kneeled upon one knee, he took her hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom. The Baron embraced and blessed them; he presented them to Sir Philip Harclay--"Receive and acknowledge your children!" said he.

"I do receive them as the gift of Heaven!" said the n.o.ble knight; "they are as much mine as if I had begotten them: all that I have is theirs, and shall descend to their children for ever." A fresh scene of congratulation ensued; and the hearts of all the auditors were too much engaged to be able soon to return to the ease and tranquillity of common life.

After they had refreshed themselves, and recovered from the emotions they had sustained on this interesting occasion, Edmund thus addressed the Baron:

"On the brink of happiness I must claim your attention to a melancholy subject. The bones of both my parents lie unburied in this house; permit me, my honoured lord, to perform my last duties to them, and the remainder of my life shall be devoted to you and yours."

"Certainly," said the Baron; "why have you not interred them?"

"My lord, I waited for your arrival, that you might be certified of the reality, and that no doubts might remain."

"I have no doubts," said the Baron; "Alas! both the crime and punishment of the offender leave no room for them!" He sighed. "Let us now put an end to this affair; and, if possible, forget it for ever."

"If it will not be too painful to you, my lord, I would intreat you, with these gentlemen our friends, to follow me into the east apartment, the scene of my parents' woes, and yet the dawning of my better hopes."

They rose to attend him; he committed the Lady Emma to the care of her youngest brother, observing that the scene was too solemn for a lady to be present at it. They proceeded to the apartment; he showed the Baron the fatal closet, and the place where the bones were found, also the trunk that contained them; he recapitulated all that pa.s.sed before their arrival; he shewed them the coffin where the bones of the unfortunate pair were deposited: he then desired the Baron to give orders for their interment.

"No," replied he, "it belongs to you to order, and every one here is ready to perform it."

Edmund then desired father Oswald to give notice to the friars of the monastery of St. Austin, that with their permission the funeral should be solemnized there, and the bones interred in the church. He also gave orders that the closet should be floored, the apartment repaired and put in order. He then returned to the other side of the Castle.

Preparations being made for the funeral, it was performed a few days after. Edmund attended in person as chief mourner, Sir Philip Harclay as the second; Joseph desired he might a.s.sist as servant to the deceased.

They were followed by most people of the village. The story was now become public, and every one blessed Edmund for the piety and devotion with which he performed the last duties to his parents.--Edmund appeared in deep mourning; the week after, he a.s.sisted at a ma.s.s for the repose of the deceased.

Sir Philip Harclay ordered a monument to be erected to the memory of his friends, with the following inscription:

"Praye for the soules of Arthur Lord Lovele and Marie his wife, who were cut off in the flowere of theire youthe, by the trecherye and crueltie of theire neare kinnesmanne. Edmunde theire onlie sonne, one and twentie yeares after theire deathe, by the direction of heavene, made the discoverye of the mannere of theire deathe, and at the same time proved his owne birthe. He collected theire bones together, and interred them in this place: A warning and proofe to late posteritie, of the justice of Providence, and the certaintie of Retribution."

The Sunday after the funeral Edmund threw off his mourning, and appeared in a dress suitable to his condition. He received the compliments of his friends with ease and cheerfulness, and began to enjoy his happiness. He asked an audience of his fair mistress, and was permitted to declare the pa.s.sion he had so long stifled in his own bosom. She gave him a favourable hearing, and in a short time confessed that she had suffered equally in that suspense that was so grievous to him. They engaged themselves by mutual vows to each other, and only waited the Baron's pleasure to complete their happiness; every cloud was vanished from their brows, and sweet tranquillity took possession of their bosoms.

Their friends shared their happiness; William and Edmund renewed their vows of everlasting friendship, and promised to be as much together as William's other duties would permit.

The Baron once more summoned all his company together; he told Edmund all that had pa.s.sed relating to his brother in-law, his exile, and the pilgrimage of Zadisky; he then related the circ.u.mstances of Sir Robert's engagement to Lord Clifford's daughter, his establishment in his uncle's seat, and his own obligations to return time enough to be present at the marriage: "But before I go," said he, "I will give my daughter to the heir of Lovel, and then I shall have discharged my duty to him, and my promise to Sir Philip Harclay."

"You have n.o.bly performed both," said Sir Philip, "and whenever you depart I shall be your companion."

"What," said Edmund, "am I to be deprived of both my fathers at once?

My honoured lord, you have given away two houses--where do you intend to reside?"

"No matter," said the Baron; "I know I shall be welcome to both."

"My dear Lord," said Edmund, "stay here and be still the master; I shall be proud to be under your command, and to be your servant as well as your son!"

"No, Edmund," said the Baron, "that would not now be proper; this is your castle, you are its lord and master, and it is inc.u.mbent on you to shew yourself worthy of the great things Providence has done for you."

"How shall I, a young man, acquit myself of so many duties as will be upon me, without the advice and a.s.sistance of my two paternal friends?

Oh, Sir Philip! will you too leave me? once you gave me hopes--"

He stopped greatly affected.

Sir Philip said, "Tell me truly, Edmund, do you really desire that I should live with you?"

"As truly, sir, as I desire life and happiness!"

"Then, my dear child, I will live and die with you!"

They embraced with tears of affection, and Edmund was all joy and grat.i.tude.

"My good Lord," said Sir Philip, "you have disposed of two houses, and have none ready to receive you; will you accept of mine? It is much at your service, and its being in the same county with your eldest son, will be an inducement to you to reside there."

The Baron caught Sir Philip's hand.

"n.o.ble sir, I thank you, and I will embrace your kind offer; I will be your tenant for the present; my castle in Wales shall be put in repair, in the meantime; if I do not reside there, it will be an establishment for one of my younger sons."

"But what will you do with your old soldiers and dependants?"

"My lord, I will never cast them off. There is another house on my estate that has been shut up many years; I will have it repaired and furnished properly for the reception of my old men: I will endow it with a certain sum to be paid annually, and will appoint a steward to manage their revenue; I will continue it during the lives of the first inhabitants, and after that I shall leave it to my son here, to do as he pleases."

"Your son," said Edmund, "will make it the business of his life to act worthy of such a father."

"Enough," said Sir Philip, "I am satisfied that you will. I purpose to reside myself in that very apartment which my dear friend your father inhabited; I will tread in his footsteps, and think he sees me acting his part in his son's family. I will be attended by my own servants; and, whenever you desire it, I will give you my company; your joys, your griefs shall be mine; I shall hold your children in my arms, and their prattle shall amuse my old age; and, as my last earthly wish, your hands shall close my eyes."

"Long, very long," said Edmund, with eyes and hands lifted up, "may it be ere I perform so sad a duty!"