Ferdinand arose next morning at a late hour, refreshed and lighter
in spirits than he had been of a long time. The day was bright and
balmy; and when he descended to the breakfast-room, the Marquis
glanced at his renovated appearance, and addressing Mr. Athelstone,
exclaimed--"Already my son's cheerful countenance bears witness to the
efficacy of this blessed spot!"
The family of the Pastor were assembled round the table; Mrs. Coningsby
presided over the dispersion of her fragrant tea; and her daughters,
blooming with the freshness of the dewy flowers, did the honours of the
coffee and kneaded cakes. Social converse, augmenting in interest with
its prolongation, succeeded the hospitable meal, till Mr. Athelstone
observed Ferdinand turn his eyes wistfully towards the open window.
The light foliage of the spruce, which bent towards it, floated into
the room on the gentle impulse of a soft south wind; and the aromatic
breath that followed, seemed to be regarded by the young Spaniard
as an invitation to taste its fragrance nearer. The Pastor, who
anticipated the wishes of invalids with the same solicitude he would
administer a salutary medicine, turned to his young nieces, and desired
they would put on their hats, and introduce Don Ferdinand to their
Michaelmas-daisies. The ladies withdrew; and Ferdinand, not requiring a
second permission, was soon in the little porch, ready to accompany his
fair conductors.
The youthful party had scarcely withdrawn, before a note was brought
from Bamborough Castle. It was in answer to one the Pastor had
dispatched that morning to Sir Anthony Athelstone, to explain the
necessity of Louis's immediate return to the Island. Mr. Athelstone
took the letter, and read as follows:
"To the Reverend Richard Athelstone.
"Sir Anthony Athelstone is very sensible of the respect due to his
reverend Uncle, and to his noble guests; but Louis de Montemar being
engaged with a hunting-party, it is impossible he can have the honour
of waiting upon them."
"Bamborough Castle,
Saturday Morn."
"From what I can gather from the man who brought the letter, Sir;" said
the old servant who had delivered it, "the Duke of Wharton is at the
Castle."
At this intimation, an unusual colour spread over the face of Mr.
Athelstone. "Peter, that cannot be!--With all Sir Anthony's errors, he
will not forfeit the honour of a gentleman!"
Peter bowed his grey head, and respectfully answered; "The lad, Sir,
who brought that note, told me a fine Duke from foreign parts, with a
company of ladies and gentlemen, came yesterday through all the storm
to the Castle; and they were so merry and frolicsome, they sat up all
night dancing, and singing outlandish songs, which the butler, who
understands tongues, told him were arrant Jacobite."
Mr. Athelstone rose hastily from his seat.--"Peter, I am afraid you are
right."--Peter bowed again, and withdrew.--Mr. Athelstone re-seated
himself, and for a moment covered his discomposed features with his
hand.
"I remember the Duke of Wharton eight years ago in Paris," said the
Marquis; "I think it was in the summer of 1716; when he came to pay
his homage to the illustrious widow of King James of England.--Wharton
was then a very young man, hardly of age; certainly not arrived at
the years of discretion; for with a genius that equalled him in
some respects to the maturest minds in France, he was perpetually
reminding us of his real juvenility, by the boyish extravagance of his
passions:--And I have since heard that time has not tamed them."
"It seldom does," exclaimed the Pastor, "when the reins have once been
given to their impulse.--Oh, my dear Lord, where-ever human passion
is, the law of reason and lawless appetite contend there, like Satan
and the archangel.--Duke Wharton has yielded the mastery to the ill
spirit:--and he is the less pardonable, his intellectual endowments
being equal to any resistance. If the man who only _hides his one
talent_, meet condemnation; what will be the eternal fate of him, who
debases a countless portion, to decorate the loathsomeness of sin?"
Mr. Athelstone paused a few moments, and then added:--"I have so great
a horror of the contagion of such characters, that I made it a point
with Sir Anthony, he would never, willingly, bring his nephew into
the company of this dangerous nobleman; and how it has happened now,
I cannot guess. Some unexpected circumstance must have brought him to
the Castle. For you know, Mrs. Coningsby, your brother has always been
scrupulous of a promise."
"Hitherto;" replied she "but if we have rightly explained Peter's
account, we cannot consider Sir Anthony's present detention of Louis,
as any thing less than a breach of promise to you."
The Pastor looked more disturbed.--"When the tide serves in the
afternoon," cried he, "I will cross to Bamborough myself; and if I find
that my confidence has been abused, I shall then know my course."
"Not that my uncle doubts our nephew's steadiness in despising the
follies of Duke Wharton;" said Mrs. Coningsby, addressing their guest;
"but no engagements ought to be broken with impunity."
"Pardon me, madam," returned the Marquis, "if I say that we should
cruelly betray our young people, if we did not so far doubt their
steadiness, as always to do our utmost to withdraw them from every
separate temptation to vice or folly?--I hold it as great a sin to
rush unnecessarily into occasions of moral contest, as to fall by the
temptation when it comes unsought. Man should neither tempt himself,
nor suffer others to be tempted, when he can put in a prevention. I am,
therefore, thoroughly of Mr. Athelstone's opinion, not to allow Mr. de
Montemar to remain an hour that he can prevent, within the influence of
the Duke of Wharton."
The Pastor was roused from anxious meditation, by the last remark of
Santa Cruz. And as Mrs. Coningsby soon after left the room, he put his
hand upon the arm of the Marquis, and conducting him by a side door
into his library; "My good Lord," said he, "your observations are so
just; that, as I may appear to have acted inconsistently with what I
conscientiously approve, by having permitted my nephew to go at all
where he is liable to meet the Duke; you must allow me to explain the
peculiar circumstances which compelled my assent."
"I shall be glad, reverend Sir," returned the Marquis, taking a seat,
"to hear what can be urged in defence of subjecting the waxen nature of
youth to the impressions of perverting society. By painful experience,
I know the trial to be perilous."--The last sentence was followed by
a sudden coldness in his air towards the Pastor, which passed unfelt,
because it was unobserved.
Unconscious of what really actuated the remarks of his auditor, with a
benign smile Mr. Athelstone resumed.--
"Your Lordship must indulge me with listening to a little family
history, as a preliminary to my apology?--else, I know not how to make
you perfectly understand my situation with regard to my nephew Sir
Anthony Athelstone."