THE SPIRIT OF PEACE.
At dawn on the morning following the preceding eventful but happy
conference, Sir Robert, painfully remembering the frantic grief of
Pembroke on finding that Sobieski had not only withdrawn himself from
Harrowby, but had adjured England forever, and still feeling the
merited bitterness of the reproaches which his inexplicable commands,
dishonoring to his son, had provoked from that only too-long-
preferred offspring of his idolized Edith.--which reproaches,
unknowingly so inflicted by the desperation of their utterer, had
driven the guilty father to seek a temporary refuge from them, if not
from his own accusing conscience, under the then solitary roof of one
of his country seats in the adjacent county,--yet somewhat relieved,
as by the immediate mercy of Heaven, from the load of his misery, he
eagerly wrote by the auspicious beams of the rising sun a few short
lines to Pembroke, telling him that "a providential circumstance had
occurred since they parted, which he trusted would finally reconcile
into a perfect peace all that had recently passed so distressingly
between them; therefore he, his ever tenderly-affectioned father,
requested him to join him alone, and without delay, at Deerhurst."
This duty done to one beloved child, he then turned to anticipate a
second converse to his comfort with the other.
That sickness which is the consequence of mental suffering usually
vanishes with its cause. Long before the dinner-hour of this happy
day, Thaddeus, refreshed by the peaceful and lengthened sleep from
which he awoke late in the morning, rose as if with a renewed
principle of life. Quitting his room, he met his glad father in the
passage-gallery, who instantly conducted him into a private room,
where that now tranquillized parent soon brought him to relate, with
every sentence a deepening interest, the rapid incidents of his brief
but eventful career. The voice of fame had already blazoned him
abroad as "the plume of war, with early laurels crowned;" but it was
left to his own ingenuous tongue to prove, in all the modest
simplicity of a perfect filial confidence, that the most difficult
conflicts are not those which are sustained on the battle-field.
Sir Robert listened to him with affection, admiration, and delight,--
ah, with what pride in such a son! He was answering the heartfelt
detail with respondent gratefulness to that Almighty Power which had
shed on his transgressing head such signal "signs of heavenly
amnesty!" when the door opened, and a servant announced that Mr.
Somerset was in the library.
Thaddeus started up with joy in his countenance; but Sir Robert
gently put him down again. "Remain here, my son," said he, "until I
apprize your brother how nearly you are related to him. Yonder door
leads into my study; I will call you when he is prepared."
The moment Sir Robert joined Pembroke, he read in his pale and
haggard features how much he needed the intelligence he was summoned
to hear. Mr. Somerset bowed coldly but respectfully on his father's
entrance, and begged to be honored with his commands.
"They are what I expect will restore to you your usual looks and
manner, my dear son," returned the baronet; "so attend to me."
Pembroke listened to his father's narrative with mute and, as it
proceeded, amazed attention. But when the name of Therese Sobieski
was mentioned as that of the foreign lady whom he had married and
deserted, the ready apprehension of his breathless auditor conceiving
the remainder yet unuttered by the agitated narrator, Sir Robert had
only to confirm, though in a hardly audible voice, the eager demand
of his son, "Was Thaddeus Sobieski indeed his brother?" and while
hearing the reply, unable to ask another question, he looked wildly
from earth to heaven, as if seeking where he might yet be found.
"O, my father!" cried he, "what have you done? Where is he? For what
have you sacrificed him?"
"Hear me to an end," rejoined the baronet. He then, in as few words
as possible, repeated the subsequent events of the recent meeting.
Pembroke's raptures were now as high as his despair had been
profound. He threw himself on his father's breast; he asked for his
friend, his brother, and begged to be conducted to him. Sir Robert
did no more than open the intervening door, and in one instant the
brothers were locked in each other's arms.
The transports of the young men for a long while denied them words;
but their eyes, their tears, and their united hands imparted to each
breast a consciousness of mutual love unutterable, not even to be
expressed by those looks which are indeed the heralds of the soul.
Sir Robert wept like an infant whilst contemplating these two
affectionate brothers; in a faltering voice he exclaimed, "How soon
may these plighted hands be separated by inexorable law! Alas,
Pembroke, you cannot be ignorant that I buy this son at a terrible
price from you!"
At this speech the blood rushed over the cheek of the ingenuous
Pembroke; but Thaddeus, turning instantly to Sir Robert, said, with
an eloquent smile.
"On this head I trust that neither my father nor my brother will
entertain one thought to trouble them. Had I even the inclination to
act otherwise than right, my revered grandfather has put it out of my
power to claim or to bear any other name than that of Sobieski. He
made me swear never to change it; and, as I hope to meet him
hereafter," added he, with solemnity, "I will obey him. Therefore, my
beloved father, in secret only can I enjoy the conviction that I am
your son, and Pembroke's brother. Yet the happiness I receive with
the knowledge of being so will ever live here, will ever animate my
heart with gratitude to Heaven and to you."
"Noble son of the sainted Therese!" cried Sir Robert; "I do not
deserve thee!"
"How shall I merit your care of my honor, of my dearest feelings?"
exclaimed Pembroke, grasping the hand of his brother. "I can do
nothing, dearest Thaddeus; I am a bankrupt in the means of evincing
what is passing in my soul. My mother's chaste spirit thanks you from
my lips. Yet I will not abuse your generosity. Though I retain the
name of Somerset, it shall only be the name; the inheritance entailed
on my father's eldest son belongs to you."
Whilst Thaddeus embraced his brother again, he calmly and
affectionately replied that he would rather encounter all the
probable evils from which his father's benevolence had saved him,
than rob his brother of any part of that inheritance, "which," he
earnestly added, "I sincerely believe, according to the Providence of
Heaven, is your just due."
Sir Robert, with abhorrence of himself and admiration of his sons,
attempted to stop this noble contention by proposing that it should
be determined by an equal division of the family property.
"Not so, my father," returned Thaddeus, steadfastly, but with
reverence; "I can never admit that the title of Somerset should
sacrifice one jot of its inherited accustomed munificence by making
any such alienation of its means."
And then the ingenuous son of Therese Sobieski proceeded, in the same
modest but firm tone, to remind his father that "though the laws of
the national church wherein he had married her would have given their
son every right over any inheritance from either parent which
belonged to Poland, yet as no opportunity had subsequently occurred
for repeating the sacred ceremony by the laws of his father's church,
her son could make no legal claim whatever on a rood of the Somerset
lands in England."
Sir Robert, with unspeakable emotion, clasped the hand of his first-
born when he had made, and with such tender delicacy, this conclusive
remark, and which, indeed, had never presented itself to his often
distractedly apprehensive mind, either before or after the death of
Pembroke's mother; even had it done so, it would not have afforded
any quiet to his soul from the internal worm gnawing there. His act
had been guilt towards Therese Sobieski and her confiding innocence.
And it was not the discovery of any omitted legislative ordinance
that could have satisfied the accusing conscience in his own bosom,
hourly calling out against him. But the heaven-consecrated son of
that profaned marriage had found the reconciling point--had poured in
the healing balm; and the spirit of his father was now at peace.
In cordial harmony, therefore, with this generous opinion, so
opportunely expressed by the sincere judgment of the last of the
house of Sobieski, when so united to that of Somerset, and with a
corresponding simplicity of purpose, interwoven by the sweet
reciprocity of mutual confidence, the remainder of the evening passed
pleasantly between the happy father and his no less happy sons.
Sir Robert dispatched a letter next day to his sister, to invite her
and his beloved Mary to join the home party at Deerhurst without
delay. Pembroke rejoiced in this prospective relief to the minds of
his aunt and cousin, being well aware that he had left them in a
state of intense anxiety, not only on account of the baronet's
strange conduct,--which had not been explicable in any way to their
alarmed observations,--but on account of himself, whose mind had
appeared from the time of his father's incensed departure in a state
verging on derangement. On the instant of his return from the
deserted hotel, while passing Mary, whom he accidently met in his
bewildered way to Sir Robert's room, he had exclaimed to her, "I have
not seen Sobieski! he is gone! and your message is not delivered."
From the time of that harrowing intimation, he had constantly avoided
even the sight of his cousin or his aunt. Yet before he quitted the
Castle to obey his father's new commands, he had summoned courage to
enter Mary's boudoir, where she sat alone. Not trusting himself to
speak, he put the letter which Thaddeus had written to her into her
hand, and disappeared, not daring to await her opening what he knew
to be a last farewell.
He had guessed aright; for from the moment in which her trembling
hand had broken the seal and she had read it to the end, bathed in
her tears, it lay on her mourning heart, whether she waked or slept,
till her silent grief was roused to share her thoughts with a
personal exertion, welcome to that despondent heart. It was Sir
Robert's invitation for her own and her aunt's immediate removal to
their always favorite Deerhurst! because far from the gay world, and
ever devoted to quite domestic enjoyments.
But before this summons had arrived, and early in the morning of the
same day, Lady Albina Stanhope, more dead than alive in appearance,
had reached Somerset Castle in a post-chaise, accompanied by her maid
alone, to implore the protection of its revered owner against the
most terrible evils that could be inflicted by an unnatural parent on
a daughter's heart--that of being compelled to be a party in a double
outrage on the memory of her mother, by witnessing the marriage of
her father, by special license, to Lady Olivia Lovel, that very
evening, in the Harwold great hall, and herself to commit the
monstrous act of being married to a nephew of that profligate woman.
To avoid such horrors, she had flown for refuge to the only persons
she knew on earth likely to shield her from so great an infamy.
Soon after this disclosure, to which the sister and niece of the
beneficent Sir Robert Somerset--whom she had hoped to find at the
Castle--had listened with the tenderest sympathy, his letter to Miss
Dorothy was delivered to the venerable lady. Mary and their fatigued
guest were seated together on the sofa; and the seal, without
apology, from the receiver's anxious haste to learn what it might
contain of her brother's health, was instantly broken. A glance
removed every care. Reading it aloud to both her young auditors, at
every welcome word the bosom of the amazed Miss Beaufort heaved with
increasing astonishment, hope, and gratitude, while beneath the veil
of her clustered ringlets her eyes shed the tribute of happy tears to
heaven--to that heaven alone her virgin spirit breathed the emotions
of her reviving heart. The good old lady was not backward in
demonstrating her wonderings. Surprised at her brother's rencontre
with Thaddeus, but more at his avowal of obligations to any of that
nation about which he had always proclaimed an aversion, she was so
wrapped in bewilderment yet delight at the discovery, that her ever
cheerful tongue felt nothing loathe to impart to the attentively-
listening Albina--who had recognized in the names of Constantine and
Thaddeus those of her lamented mother's most faithful friend--all
that she knew of his public as well as his private character since
she had known him by that of Sobieski also.
Sir Robert's letter informed his sister "that a providential
circumstance had introduced Pembroke's friend, the Count Sobieski, to
his presence, when, to his astonishment and unutterable satisfaction,
he discovered that this celebrated young hero (though one of a nation
against which he had so often declared his dislike, but which
ungenerous prejudice he now abjured!) was the only remaining branch
of a family from whom, about twenty-live years ago, while in a
country far distant equally from England or Poland, he had received
many kindnesses, he had contracted an immense debt, under peculiarly
embarrassing circumstances to himself, when then an alien from his
father's confidence. And his benefactor in this otherwise
inextricable dilemma was the Palatine of Masovia, the world-revered
grandfather of the young Count Sobieski. And," he added, "in some
small compensation for the long-unredeemed pecuniary part of this
latter obligation, (the fulfilment of which certain adverse events on
the continent had continued to prevent), he had besought and obtained
permission from the young count, now in England, to at once set at
rest his past anxieties to settle an affair of so much importance, by
signing over to him, as the palatine's heir and representative, the
sole property of his (Sir Robert's) recently-purchased new domain--
the house and estates of Manor Court, nearly adjoining to those of
Dcerhurst, on the Warwick side. The rent-roll might be about live
thousand pounds per annum. And there, in immediate right of
possession, the noble descendant of his munificent friend would
resume his illustrious name, and embrace, with a generous esteem of
this country's national, character, a lasting home and filiation in
England!"
Sir Robert closed this auspicious letter (which he had striven,
however, to write in such a manner as not to betray the true nature
of the parental feelings which dictated it) with a playful expression
of his impatience to present to his sister and niece "their
interesting _emigré_ in a character which reflected so much
honor on their discernment."
The impatience was indeed shared, though in different degrees and
forms, by the whole little party--the soul of one in it totally
absorbed. But owing to some insurmountable obstacles, occasioning
delays, by the exhausted state of the overwrought Lady Albina; and
notwithstanding the necessity of getting on as fast as possible, to
be out of the reach of the enraged earl, should he have missed and
traced his daughter to Somerset Castle, the fugitives could not start
till late in the afternoon of that day, and it was an hour or more
past midnight before they arrived at Deerhurst.
The family, in no small disappointment, had given them up for the
night, and had retired to their rooms. Miss Dorothy, who would not
suffer her brother to be disturbed, sent the two young ladies to
their chambers, and was crossing, on tiptoe, the long picture-gallery
to her own apartment, when a door opening, Pembroke, in his dressing-
gown and slippers, looked out on hearing the stealthy step. She put
forth her hand to him with delight, and in a low voice congratulated
him on the change in Sir Robert's mind, kissed his cheek, and told
him to prepare for another pleasant surprise in the morning. Smiling
with these words, she bade him good-night, and softly proceeded to
her chamber.
Pembroke had thought so little of his ever-merry aunt's lively
promise, that she saw him one of the latest in entering the
breakfast-parlor, he not having hastened from his usual breezy early
walk over the neighboring downs, where Thaddeus had been his
companion. Miss Dorothy gayly reproached her nephew for his undutiful
lack of curiosity, while Mary, with a glowing cheek, received the
glad embrace of her cousin, who gently whispered to her, "Now I shall
see together the two beings I most dearly love! Oh! the happiness
contained in that sight!" Mary's vivid blush had not subsided when
the entrance of Thaddeus, and his agitated bow, overspread her neck
and brow with crimson. A sudden dimness obscured her faculties, and
she scarcely heard the animated words of Sir Robert, whilst
presenting him to her as the Count Sobieski, the beloved grandson of
one who had deserved the warmest place in his heart! Whatever he was,
the lowly Constantine or the distinguished Sobieski, she was
conscious that he was lord of hers; and withdrawing her hand
confusedly from the timid and thrilling touch of him she would have
willingly lingered near forever, she glided towards an open casement,
where the fresh air helped to dispel the faintness which had seized
her.
After Miss Dorothy, with all the urbanity of her nature, had declared
her welcome to the count, she put away the coffee that was handed to
her by Pembroke, and said, with a smile, "Before I taste my
breakfast, I must inform you, Sir Robert, that you have a guest in
this house you little expect. I forbade Miss Beaufort's saying a
word, because, as we are told, 'the first tellers of unwelcome news
have but a losing office;' _vice versâ_, I hoped for a gaining
one, therefore preserved such a profitable piece of intelligence for
my own promulgation. Indeed, I doubt whether it will not win me a
pair of gloves from some folks here," added she, glancing archly on
Pembroke, who looked round at this whimsical declaration. "Suffice it
to say, that yesterday morning Lady Albina Stanhope, looking like a
ghost, and her poor maid, scared almost out of her wits, arrived in a
hack-chaise at Somerset Castle, and besought our protection. Our dear
Mary embraced the weeping young creature, who, amidst many tears,
recapitulated the injuries she had suffered since she had been torn
from her mother's remains at the Abbey. The latest outrage of her
cruel father was his intended immediate marriage with the vile Lady
Olivia Lovel, and his commands that Lady Albina should the same
evening give her hand to that bad woman's nephew. Ill as she was when
she received these disgraceful orders, she determined to prevent the
horror of such double degradation by instantly quitting the house;
'and,' added she, 'whither could I go? Ah! I could think of none so
likely to pity the unhappy victim of the wickedness I fled from as
the father of the kind Mr. Somerset. He had told me we were
relations; I beseech you, kind ladies, to be my friends!' Certain of
your benevolence, my dear brother," continued Miss Dorothy, "I
stopped this sweet girl's petition with my caresses, and promised her
a gentler father in Sir Robert Somerset."
"You did right, Dorothy," returned the baronet; "though the earl and
I must ever be strangers, I have no enmity to his children. Where is
this just-principled young lady?"
Miss Dorothy informed him that, in consequence of her recent grief
and ill treatment, she had found herself too unwell to rise with the
family; but she hoped to join them at noon.
Pembroke was indeed deeply interested in this intelligence. The
simple graces of the lovely Albina had on the first interview touched
his heart. Her sufferings at Harrowby, and the sensibility which her
ingenuous nature exhibited without affectation or disguise, had left
her image on his mind long after they parted. He now gave the reins
to his eager imagination, and was the first in the saloon to greet
her as his lovely kins-woman.
Sir Robert Somerset welcomed her with the warmth of a parent, and the
amiable girl wept in happy gratitude.
During this scene, Miss Beaufort, no longer able to bear the
restraint of company nor even the accidental encountering of his eyes
whose presence, dear as it was, oppressed and disconcerted her,
walked out into the park. Though it was the latter end of October,
the weather continued fine. A bright sun tempered the air, and gilded
the yellow leaves, which the fresh wind drove before her into a
thousand glittering eddies. This was Mary's favorite season. She ever
found its solemnity infuse a sacred tenderness into her soul. The
rugged form of Care seemed to dissolve under the magic touch of sweet
Nature. Forgetful of the world's anxieties, she felt the tranquillizing
spirit of soothing melancholy that shades the heart of sorrow with
a veil which might well be called the twilight of the mind; and the
entranced soul, happy in its dream, half closes its bright eye,
reluctant to perceive that such bland repose is pillowed on the
shifting clouds.
Such were the reflections of Miss Beaufort, after her disturbed
thoughts had tossed themselves, in a sea of doubts, regarding any
possible interest she might possess in the breast of Sobieski. She
recalled the hours they had passed together; they agitated but did
not satisfy her heart. She remembered Pembroke's vehement declaration
that Thaddeus loved her; but then it was Pembroke's declaration, not
his! and the circumstances in which it had been made were too likely
to mislead the wishes of her cousin. And then Sobieski's farewell
letter! It was noble--grateful; but where appeared the glowing, soul-
pervading sentiment that consumed her life for him? Exhausted by the
anguish of this suspense, she resolved to resign her future fate to
Providence. Turning her gaze on the lovely objects around, she soon
found the genius of the season absorb her wholly. Her cheeks glowed,
her eyes became humid, and casting their mild radiance on the fading
flowers beneath, she pursued her way through a cloud of fragrance. It
was the last breath of the expiring year. Love is full of
imagination. Mary easily glided from the earth's departing charms to
her own she thought waning beauty; the chord once touched, every note
vibrated, and hope and fear, joy and regret, again dispossessed her
lately-acquired serenity.