“Since I am now properly called upon to testify what I know concerning
this young man, I will speak the truth, without fear or favour of any
one; and I will swear, by the rules of my holy order, to the truth of
what I shall relate.”
He then gave a particular account of all that passed on that occasion,
and mentioned the tokens found on both the infant and his mother.
“Where are these tokens to be seen?” said the Lord Clifford.
“I have them here, my lord,” said Edmund, “and I keep them as my
greatest treasures.”
He then produced them before all the company.
“There is no appearance of any fraud or collusion,” said Lord Graham;
“if any man thinks he sees any, let him speak.”
“Pray, my lord, suffer me to speak a word,” said Sir Robert. “Do you
remember that I hinted my suspicions concerning father Oswald, the night
our kinsmen lay in the east apartment?”
“I do,” said the Baron.
“Well, sir, it now appears that he did know more than he would tell us;
you find he is very deep in all Edmund’s secrets, and you may judge what
were his motives for undertaking this journey.”
“I observe what you say,” answered his father, “but let us hear all that
Oswald has to say; I will be as impartial as possible.”
“My lord,” returned Oswald, “I beg you also to recollect what I said, on
the night your son speaks of, concerning secrecy in certain matters.”
“I remember that also,” said the Baron; “but proceed.”
“My lord,” continued Oswald, “I knew more than I thought myself at
liberty to disclose at that time; but I will now tell you every thing.
I saw there was something more than common in the accidents that
befell this young man, and in his being called out to sleep in the east
apartment; I earnestly desired him to let me be with him on the second
night, to which he consented reluctantly; we heard a great noise in the
rooms underneath, we went down stairs together; I saw him open the fatal
closet, I heard groans that pierced me to the heart, I kneeled down and
prayed for the repose of the spirit departed; I found a seal, with the
arms of Lovel engraven upon it, which I gave to Edmund, and he now has
it in his possession. He enjoined me to keep secret what I had seen and
heard, till the time should come to declare it. I conceived that I
was called to be a witness of these things; besides, my curiosity was
excited to know the event; I, therefore, desired to be present at
the interview between him and his mother, which was affecting beyond
expression. I heard what I have now declared as nearly as my memory
permits me. I hope no impartial person will blame me for any part of my
conduct; but if they should, I do not repent it. If I should forfeit the
favour of the rich and great, I shall have acquitted myself to God and
my conscience. I have no worldly ends to answer; I plead the cause of
the injured orphan; and I think, also, that I second the designs of
Providence.”
“You have well spoken, father,” said the Lord Clifford; “your testimony
is indeed of consequence.
“It is amazing and convincing,” said Lord Graham; “and the whole story
is so well connected, that I can see nothing to make us doubt the truth
of it; but let us examine the proofs.”
Edmund gave into their hands the necklace and earrings; he showed them
the locket with the cypher of Lovel, and the seal with the arms; he
told them the cloak, in which he was wrapped, was in the custody of
his foster-mother, who would produce it on demand. He begged that some
proper persons might be commissioned to go with him to examine whether
or no the bodies of his parents were buried where he affirmed; adding,
that he put his pretensions into their hands with pleasure, relying
entirely upon their honour and justice.
During this interesting scene, the criminal covered his face, and was
silent; but he sent forth bitter sighs and groans that denoted the
anguish of his heart. At length, Lord Graham, in compassion to him,
proposed that they should retire and consider of the proofs; adding,
“Lord Lovel must needs be fatigued; we will resume the subject in his
presence, when he is disposed to receive us.”
Sir Philip Harclay approached the bed; “Sir,” said he, “I now leave you
in the hands of your own relations; they are men of strict honour, and I
confide in them to take care of you and of your concerns.”
They then went out of the room, leaving only the Lord Fitz-Owen and
his sons with the criminal. They discoursed of the wonderful story of
Edmund’s birth, and the principal events of his life.
After dinner, Sir Philip requested another conference with the Lords,
and their principal friends. There were present also Father Oswald,
and Lord Graham’s confessor, who had taken the Lord Lovel’s confession,
Edmund, and Zadisky. “Now, gentlemen,” said Sir Philip, “I desire to
know your opinion of our proofs, and your advice upon them.”
Lord Graham replied, “I am desired to speak for the rest. We think there
are strong presumptive proofs that this young man is the true heir of
Lovel; but they ought to be confirmed and authenticated. Of the murder
of the late Lord there is no doubt; the criminal hath confessed it, and
the circumstances confirm it; the proofs of his crime are so connected
with those of the young man’s birth, that one cannot be public without
the other. We are desirous to do justice; and yet are unwilling, for
the Lord Fitz-Owen’s sake, to bring the criminal to public shame and
punishment. We wish to find out a medium; we therefore desire Sir
Philip to make proposals for his ward, and let Lord Fitz-Owen answer for
himself and his brother, and we will be moderators between them.”
Here every one expressed approbation, and called upon Sir Philip to make
his demands.
“If,” said he, “I were to demand strict justice, I should not be
satisfied with any thing less than the life of the criminal; but I am a
Christian soldier, the disciple of Him who came into the world to save
sinners;--for His sake,” continued he, crossing himself, “I forego my
revenge, I spare the guilty. If Heaven gives him time for repentance,
man should not deny it. It is my ward’s particular request, that I will
not bring shame upon the house of his benefactor, the Lord Fitz-Owen,
for whom he hath a filial affection and profound veneration. My
proposals are these:--First, that the criminal make restitution of the
title and estate, obtained with so much injustice and cruelty, to the
lawful heir, whom he shall acknowledge such before proper witnesses.
Secondly, that he shall surrender his own lawful inheritance and
personal estate into the hands of the Lord Fitz-Owen, in trust for his
sons, who are his heirs of blood. Thirdly, that he shall retire into a
religious house, or else quit the kingdom in three months time; and,
in either case, those who enjoy his fortune shall allow him a decent
annuity, that he may not want the comforts of life. By the last, I
disable him from the means of doing further mischief, and enable him to
devote the remainder of his days to penitence. These are my proposals,
and I give him four-and-twenty hours to consider of them; if he refuses
to comply with them, I shall be obliged to proceed to severer measures,
and to a public prosecution. But the goodness of the Lord Fitz-Owen
bids me expect, from his influence with his brother, a compliance with
proposals made out of respect to his honourable character.”
Lord Graham applauded the humanity, prudence, and piety of Sir Philip’s
proposals. He enforced them with all his influence and eloquence. Lord
Clifford seconded him; and the rest gave tokens of approbation.
Sir Robert Fitz-Owen then rose up. “I beg leave to observe to the
company, who are going to dispose so generously of another man’s
property, that my father purchased the castle and estate of the house of
Lovel; who is to repay him the money for it?”
Sir Philip then said, “I have also a question to ask. Who is to pay
the arrears of my ward’s estate, which he has unjustly been kept out of
these one-and-twenty years? Let Lord Clifford answer to both points, for
he is not interested in either.”
Lord Clifford smiled.
“I think,” returned he, “the first question is answered by the second,
and that the parties concerned should set one against the other,
especially as Lord Fitz-Owen’s children will inherit the fortune, which
includes the purchase-money.”
Lord Graham said, “This determination is both equitable and generous,
and I hope will answer the expectations on all sides.”
“I have another proposal to make to my Lord Fitz-Owen,” said Sir Philip;
“but I first wait for the acceptance of those already made.”
Lord Fitz-Owen replied, “I shall report them to my brother, and acquaint
the company with his resolution to-morrow.”
They then separated; and the Baron, with his sons, returned to the
sick man’s chamber; there he exhorted his brother, with the piety of a
confessor, to repent of his sins and make atonement for them. He made
known Sir Philip’s proposals, and observed on the wonderful discovery
of his crime, and the punishment that followed it. “Your repentance,”
continued he, “may be accepted, and your crime may yet be pardoned. If
you continue refractory, and refuse to make atonement, you will draw
down upon you a severer punishment.”
The criminal would not confess, and yet could not deny, the truth
and justice of his observations. The Baron spent several hours in his
brother’s chamber. He sent for a priest, who took his confession; and
they both sat up with him all night, advising, persuading, and exhorting
him to do justice, and to comply with the proposals. He was unwilling to
give up the world, and yet more so to become the object of public shame,
disgrace, and punishment.
The next day, Lord Fitz-Owen summoned the company into his brother’s
chamber, and there declared, in his name, that he accepted Sir Philip
Harclay’s proposals; that, if the young man could, as he promised,
direct them to the places where his parents were buried, and if his
birth should be authenticated by his foster-parents, he should be
acknowledged the heir of the house of Lovel. That to be certified of
these things, they must commission proper persons to go with him for
this purpose; and, in case the truth should be made plain, they should
immediately put him in possession of the castle and estate, in the
state it was. He desired Lord Graham and Lord Clifford to chuse the
commissioners, and gave Sir Philip and Edmund a right to add to them,
each, another person. [sic]
Lord Graham named the eldest son of Lord Clifford, and the other, in
return, named his nephew; they also chose the priest, Lord Graham’s
confessor, and the eldest son of Baron Fitz-Owen, to his great
mortification. Sir Philip appointed Mr. William Fitz-Owen, and Edmund
named father Oswald; they chose out the servants to attend them,
who were also to be witnesses of all that should pass. Lord Clifford
proposed to Baron Fitz-Owen, that, as soon as the commissioners were
set out, the remainder of the company should adjourn to his seat in
Cumberland, whither Lord Graham should be invited to accompany them, and
to stay till this affair was decided. After some debate, this was agreed
to; and, at the same time, that the criminal should be kept with them
till every thing was properly settled.
Lord Fitz-Owen gave his son William the charge to receive and entertain
the commissioners at the castle; But, before they set out, Sir Philip
had a conference with Lord Fitz-Owen, concerning the surrender of the
castle; in which he insisted on the furniture and stock of the farm,
in consideration of the arrears. Lord Fitz-Owen slightly mentioned the
young man’s education and expences. Sir Philip answered, “You are right,
my Lord; I had not thought of this point; we owe you, in this respect,
more than we can ever repay. But you know not half the respect and
affection Edmund bears for you. When restitution of his title and
fortune are fully made, his happiness will still depend on you.”
“How on me?” said the Baron.
“Why, he will not be happy unless you honour him with your notice and
esteem; but this is not all, I must hope that you will do still more for
him.”
“Indeed,” said the Baron, “he has put my regard for him to a severe
proof; what further can he expect from me?”
“My dear Lord, be not offended, I have only one more proposal to make to
you; if you refuse it, I can allow for you; and I confess it requires a
greatness of mind, but not more than you possess, to grant it.”
“Well, sir, speak your demand.”
“Say rather my request; it is this: Cease to look upon Edmund as the
enemy of your house; look upon him as a son, and make him so indeed.”
“How say you, Sir Philip? my son!”
“Yes, my lord, give him your daughter. He is already your son in filial
affection; your son William and he are sworn brothers; what remains but
to make him yours? He deserves such a parent, you such a son; and you
will, by this means, ingraft into your family, the name, title, and
estate of Lovel, which will be entailed on your posterity for ever.”
“This offer requires much consideration,” returned the Baron.
“Suffer me to suggest some hints to you,” said Sir Philip. “This match
is, I think, verily pointed out by Providence, which hath conducted the
dear boy through so many dangers, and brought him within view of his
happiness; look on him as the precious relic of a noble house, the son
of my dearest friend! or look on him as my son and heir, and let me, as
his father, implore you to consent to his marriage with your daughter.”
The Baron’s heart was touched, he turned away his face.
“Oh, Sir Philip Harclay, what a friend are you! why should such a man be
our enemy?”
“My lord,” said Sir Philip, “we are not, cannot be enemies; our hearts
are already allied; and I am certain we shall one day be dear friends.”
The Baron suppressed his emotions, but Sir Philip saw into his heart.
“I must consult my eldest son,” returned he.
“Then,” replied Sir Philip, “I foresee much difficulty; he is prejudiced
against Edmund, and thinks the restitution of his inheritance an injury
to your family. Hereafter he will see this alliance in a different
light, and will rejoice that such a brother is added to the family;
but, at present, he will set his face against it. However, we will not
despair; virtue and resolution will surmount all obstacles. Let me call
in young Lovel.”
He brought Edmund to the Baron, and acquainted him with the proposal he
had been making in his name, my Lord’s answers, and the objections he
feared on the part of Sir Robert. Edmund kneeled to the Baron; he took
his hand and pressed it to his lips.
“Best of men! of parents! of patrons!” said he, “I will ever be your son
in filial affection, whether I have the honour to be legally so or
not; not one of your own children can feel a stronger sense of love and
duty.”
“Tell me,” said the Baron, “do you love my daughter?”
“I do, my lord, with the most ardent affection; I never loved any woman
but her; and, if I am so unfortunate as to be refused her, I will not
marry at all. Oh, my Lord, reject not my honest suit! Your alliance will
give me consequence with myself, it will excite me to act worthy of the
station to which I am exalted; if you refuse me, I shall seem an abject
wretch, disdained by those whom my heart claims relation to; your family
are the whole world to me. Give me your lovely daughter! give me also
your son, my beloved William; and let me share with them the fortune
Providence bestows upon me. But what is title or fortune, if I am
deprived of the society of those I love?”
“Edmund,” said the Baron, “you have a noble friend; but you have a
stronger in my heart, which I think was implanted there by Heaven to aid
its own purposes. I feel a variety of emotions of different kinds, and
am afraid to trust my own heart with you. But answer me a question: Are
you assured of my daughter’s consent? have you solicited her favour?
have you gained her affections?”
“Never, my lord. I am incapable of so base an action; I have loved her
at an humble distance; but, in my situation, I should have thought it a
violation of all the laws of gratitude and hospitality to have presumed
to speak the sentiments of my heart.”
“Then you have acted with unquestionable honour on this, and, I must
say, on all other occasions.”
“Your approbation, my lord, is the first wish of my life; it is the seal
of my honour and happiness.”
Sir Philip smiled: “My Lord Fitz-Owen, I am jealous of Edmund’s
preferable regard for you; it is just the same now as formerly.”
Edmund came to Sir Philip, he threw himself into his arms, he wept, he
was overpowered with the feelings of his heart; he prayed to Heaven to
strengthen his mind to support his inexpressible sensations.
“I am overwhelmed with obligation,” said he; “oh, best of friends, teach
me, like you, to make my actions speak for me!”
“Enough, Edmund; I know your heart, and that is my security. My lord,
speak to him, and bring him to himself, by behaving coldly to him, if
you can.”
The Baron said, “I must not trust myself with you, you make a child
of me. I will only add, gain my son Robert’s favour, and be assured of
mine; I owe some respect to the heir of my family; he is brave, honest,
and sincere; your enemies are separated from him, you have William’s
influence in your behalf; make one effort, and let me know the result.”
Edmund kissed his hand in transports of joy and gratitude.
“I will not lose a moment,” said he; “I fly to obey your commands.”
Edmund went immediately to his friend William, and related all that had
passed between the Baron, Sir Philip, and himself. William promised him
his interest in the warmest manner; he recapitulated all that had passed
in the castle since his departure; but he guarded his sister’s delicacy,
till it should be resolved to give way to his address. They both
consulted young Clifford, who had conceived an affection to Edmund for
his amiable qualities, and to William for his generous friendship for
him. He promised them his assistance, as Sir Robert seemed desirous to
cultivate his friendship. Accordingly, they both attacked him with the
whole artillery of friendship and persuasion. Clifford urged the merits
of Edmund, and the advantages of his alliance. William enforced his
arguments by a retrospect of Edmund’s past life; and observed, that
every obstacle thrown in his way had brought his enemies to shame, and
increase of honour to himself. “I say nothing,” continued he, “of his
noble qualities and affectionate heart; those who have been so many
years his companions, can want no proofs of it.”
“We know your attachment to him, sir,” said Sir Robert; “and, in
consequence, your partiality.”
“Nay,” replied William, “you are sensible of the truth of my assertions;
and, I am confident, would have loved him yourself, but for the
insinuations of his enemies. But if he should make good his assertions,
even you must be convinced of his veracity.”
“And you would have my father give him your sister upon this
uncertainty?”
“No, sir, but upon these conditions.”
“But suppose he does not make them good?”
“Then I will be of your party, and give up his interest.”
“Very well, sir; my father may do as he pleases; but I cannot agree to
give my sister to one who has always stood in the way of our family, and
now turns us out of our own house.”
“I am sorry, brother, you see his pretensions in so wrong a light; but
if you think there is any imposture in the case, go with us, and be a
witness of all that passes.”
“No, not I; if Edmund is to be master of the castle, I will never more
set my foot in it.”
“This matter,” said Mr. Clifford, “must be left to time, which has
brought stranger things to pass. Sir Robert’s honour and good sense will
enable him to subdue his prejudices, and to judge impartially.”
They took leave, and went to make preparations for their journey. Edmund
made his report of Sir Robert’s inflexibility to his father, in presence
of Sir Philip; who, again, ventured to urge the Baron on his favourite
subject.
“It becomes me to wait for the further proofs,” said he; “but, if they
are as clear as I expect, I will not be inexorable to your wishes; Say
nothing more on this subject till the return of the commissioners.”
They were profuse in their acknowledgments of his goodness.
Edmund took a tender leave of his two paternal friends.
“When,” said he, “I take possession of my inheritance, I must hope for
the company of you both to complete my happiness.”
“Of me,” said Sir Philip, “you may be certain; and, as far as my
influence reaches, of the Baron.”
He was silent. Edmund assured them of his constant prayers for their
happiness.
Soon after, the commissioners, with Edmund, set out for Lovel Castle;
and the following day the Lord Clifford set out for his own house, with
Baron Fitz-Owen and his son. The nominal Baron was carried with them,
very much against his will. Sir Philip Harclay was invited to go with
them by Lord Clifford, who declared his presence necessary to bring
things to a conclusion. They all joined in acknowledging their
obligations to Lord Graham’s generous hospitality, and besought him to
accompany them. At length he consented, on condition they would allow
him to go to and fro, as his duty should call him.
Lord Clifford received them with the greatest hospitality, and presented
them to his lady, and three daughters, who were in the bloom of youth
and beauty. They spent their time very pleasantly, excepting the
criminal, who continued gloomy and reserved, and declined company.
In the mean time, the commissioners proceeded on their journey. When
they were within a day’s distance from the castle, Mr. William and his
servant put forward, and arrived several hours before the rest, to make
preparations for their reception. His sister and brother received them
with open arms, and enquired eagerly after the event of the journey to
the North. He gave them a brief account of every thing that had happened
to their uncle; adding, “But this is not all: Sir Philip Harclay has
brought a young man who he pretends is the son of the late Lord Lovel,
and claims his estate and title. This person is on his journey hither,
with several others who are commissioned to enquire into certain
particulars, to confirm his pretensions. If he make good his claim, my
father will surrender the castle and estate into his hands. Sir
Philip and my lord have many points to settle; and he has proposed
a compromise, that you, my sister, ought to know, because it nearly
concerns you.”
“Me! brother William; pray explain yourself.”
“Why, he proposes that, in lieu of arrears and other expectations, my
father shall give his dear Emma to the heir of Lovel, in full of all
demands.”
She changed colour.
“Holy Mary!” said she; “and does my father agree to this proposal?”
“He is not very averse to it; but Sir Robert refuses his consent.
However, I have given him my interest with you.”
“Have you indeed? What! a stranger, perhaps an impostor, who comes to
turn us out of our dwelling?”
“Have patience, my Emma! see this young man without prejudice, and
perhaps you will like him as well as I do.”
“I am surprised at you, William.”
“Dear Emma, I cannot bear to see you uneasy. Think of the man who of all
others you would with to see in a situation to ask you of your father,
and expect to see your wishes realized.”
“Impossible!” said she.
“Nothing is impossible, my dear; let us be prudent, and all will end
happily. You must help me to receive and entertain these commissioners.
I expect a very solemn scene; but when that is once got over, happier
hours than the past will succeed. We shall first visit the haunted
apartment; you, my sister, will keep in your own till I shall send for
you. I go now to give orders to the servants.”
He went and ordered them to be in waiting; and himself, and his youngest
brother, stood in readiness to receive them.
The sound of the horn announced the arrival of the commissioners; at
the same instant a sudden gust of wind arose, and the outward gates flew
open. They entered the court-yard, and the great folding-doors into the
hall were opened without any assistance. The moment Edmund entered the
hall, every door in the house flew open; the servants all rushed into
the hall, and fear was written on their countenances; Joseph only was
undaunted. “These doors,” said he, “open of their own accord to receive
their master! this is he indeed!”
Edmund was soon apprized of what had happened.
“I accept the omen!” said he. “Gentlemen, let us go forward to the
apartment! let us finish the work of fate! I will lead the way.” He went
on to the apartment, followed by all present. “Open the shutters,”
said he, “the daylight shall no longer be excluded here; the deeds of
darkness shall now be brought to light.”
They descended the staircase; every door was open, till they came to the
fatal closet. Edmund called to Mr. William: “Approach, my friend, and
behold the door your family overlooked!”
They came forward; he drew the key out of his bosom, and unlocked the
door; he made them observe that the boards were all loose; he then
called to the servants, and bid them remove every thing out of the
closet. While they were doing this, Edmund shewed them the breastplate
all stained with blood. He then called to Joseph:--
“Do you know whose was this suit of armour?”
“It was my Lord’s,” said Joseph; “the late Lord Lovel; I have seen him
wear it.”
Edmund bade them bring shovels and remove the earth. While they were
gone, he desired Oswald to repeat all that passed the night they sat
up together in that apartment, which he did till the servants returned.
They threw out the earth, while the by-standers in solemn silence waited
the event. After some time and labour they struck against something.
They proceeded till they discovered a large trunk, which with some
difficulty they drew out. It had been corded round, but the cords were
rotted to dust. They opened it, and found a skeleton which appeared to
have been tied neck and heels together, and forced into the trunk.
“Behold,” said Edmund, “the bones of him to whom I owe my birth!”
The priest from Lord Graham’s advanced. “This is undoubtedly the body of
the Lord Lovel; I heard his kinsman confess the manner in which he was
interred. Let this awful spectacle be a lesson to all present, that
though wickedness may triumph for a season, a day of retribution will
come!”
Oswald exclaimed. “Behold the day of retribution! of triumph to the
innocent, of shame and confusion to the wicked!”
The young gentlemen declared that Edmund had made good his assertions.
“What then,” said they, “remains?”
“I propose,” said Lord Graham’s priest, “that an account be written
of this discovery, and signed by all the witnesses present; that an
attested copy be left in the hands of this gentleman, and the original
be sent to the Barons and Sir Philip Harclay, to convince them of the
truth of it.”
Mr. Clifford then desired Edmund to proceed in his own way.
“The first thing I propose to do,” said he, “is to have a coffin made
for these honoured remains. I trust to find the bones of my other
parent, and to inter them all together in consecrated ground.
Unfortunate pair! you shall at last rest together! your son shall pay
the last duties to your ashes!”
He stopped to shed tears, and none present but paid this tribute to
their misfortunes. Edmund recovered his voice and proceeded.
“My next request is, that Father Oswald and this reverend father, with
whoever else the gentlemen shall appoint, will send for Andrew and
Margery Twyford, and examine them concerning the circumstances of my
birth, and the death and burial of my unfortunate mother.”
“It shall be done,” said Mr. William; “but first let me intreat you to
come with me and take some refreshment after your journey, for you must
be fatigued; after dinner we will proceed in the enquiry.”
They all followed him into the great hall, where they were entertained
with great hospitality, and Mr. William did the honours in his father’s
name. Edmund’s heart was deeply affected, and the solemnity of his
deportment bore witness to his sincerity; but it was a manly sorrow,
that did not make him neglect his duty to his friends or himself. He
enquired after the health of the lady Emma.
“She is well,” said William, “and as much your friend as ever.”
Edmund bowed in silence.
After dinner the commissioners sent for Andrew and his wife. They
examined them separately, and found their accounts agreed together,
and were in substance the same as Oswald and Edmund had before related,
separately also. The commissioners observed, that there could be no
collusion between them, and that the proofs were indisputable. They kept
the foster parents all night; and the next day Andrew directed them to
the place where the Lady Lovel was buried, between two trees which he
had marked for a memorial. They collected the bones and carried them
to the Castle, where Edmund caused a stately coffin to be made for the
remains of the unfortunate pair. The two priests obtained leave to look
in the coffin buried in the church, and found nothing but stones and
earth in it. The commissioners then declared they were fully satisfied
of the reality of Edmund’s pretensions.
The two priests were employed in drawing up a circumstantial account of
these discoveries, in order to make their report to the Barons at their
return. In the mean time Mr. William took an opportunity to introduce
Edmund to his sister.
“My Emma,” said he, “the heir of Lovel is desirous to pay his respects
to you.”
They were both in apparent confusion; but Edmund’s wore off, and Emma’s
increased.
“I have been long desirous,” said he, “to pay my respects to the lady
whom I most honour, but unavoidable duties have detained me; when these
are fully paid, it is my wish to devote the remainder of my life to Lady
Emma!”
“Are you, then, the heir of Lovel?”
“I am, madam; and am also the man in whose behalf I once presumed to
speak.”
“‘Tis very strange indeed!”
“It is so, madam, to myself; but time that reconciles us to all things,
will, I hope, render this change in my situation familiar to you.”
William said, “You are both well acquainted with the wishes of my heart;
but my advice is, that you do not encourage a farther intimacy till my
lord’s determination be fully known.”
“You may dispose of me as you please,” said Edmund; “but I cannot help
declaring my wishes; yet I will submit to my Lord’s sentence, though he
should doom me to despair.”
From this period, the young pair behaved with solemn respect to each
other, but with apparent reserve. The young lady sometimes appeared in
company, but oftener chose to be in her own apartment, where she began
to believe and hope for the completion of her wishes. The uncertainty of
the Baron’s determination, threw an air of anxiety over Edmund’s face.
His friend William, by the most tender care and attention, strove to
dispel his fears, and encourage his hopes; but he waited with impatience
for the return of the commissioners, and the decision of his fate.
While these things passed at the Castle of Lovel, the nominal Baron
recovered his health and strength at the house of Lord Clifford. In
the same proportion he grew more and more shy and reserved, avoided the
company of his brother and nephew, and was frequently shut up with his
two servants. Sir Robert Fitz-Owen made several attempts to gain his
confidence, but in vain; he was equally shy to him as the rest.
M. Zadisky observed his motions with the penetration for which his
countrymen have been distinguished in all ages; he communicated his
suspicions to Sir Philip and the Barons, giving it as his opinion, that
the criminal was meditating an escape. They asked, what he thought was
to be done? Zadisky offered to watch him in turn with another person,
and to lie in wait for him; he also proposed, that horses should be kept
in readiness, and men to mount them, without knowledge of the service
they were to be employed in. The Barons agreed to leave the whole
management of this affair to Zadisky. He took his measures so well, that
he intercepted the three fugitives in the fields adjoining to the house,
and brought them all back prisoner. They confined them separately, while
the Lords and Gentlemen consulted how to dispose of them.
Sir Philip applied to Lord Fitz-Owen, who begged leave to be silent.
“I have nothing,” said he, “to offer in favour of this bad man; and I
cannot propose harsher measures with so near a relation.”
Zadisky then begged to be heard.
“You can no longer have any reliance upon the word of a man who has
forfeited all pretensions to honour and sincerity. I have long wished to
revisit once more my native country, and to enquire after some very
dear friends I left there. I will undertake to convey this man to a
very distant part of the world, where it will be out of his power to
do further mischief, and free his relations from an ungrateful charge,
unless you should rather chuse to bring him to punishment here.”
Lord Clifford approved of the proposal; Lord Fitz-Owen remained silent,
but shewed no marks of disapprobation.
Sir Philip objected to parting with his friend; but Zadisky assured him
he had particular reasons for returning to the Holy Land, of which he
should be judge hereafter. Sir Philip desired the Lord Fitz-Owen to give
him his company to the criminal’s apartment, saying, “We will have one
more conversation with him, and that shall decide his fate.”
They found him silent and sullen, and he refused to answer their
questions.
Sir Philip then bespoke him: “After the proofs you have given of your
falsehood and insincerity, we can no longer have any reliance upon you,
nor faith in your fulfilling the conditions of our agreement; I will,
therefore, once more make you a proposal that shall still leave you
indebted to our clemency. You shall banish yourself from England for
ever, and go in pilgrimage to the Holy Land, with such companions as we
shall appoint; or, secondly, you shall enter directly into a monastery,
and there be shut up for life; or, thirdly, if you refuse both these
offers, I will go directly to court, throw myself at the feet of my
Sovereign, relate the whole story of your wicked life and actions, and
demand vengeance on your head. The King is too good and pious to let
such villany go unpunished; he will bring you to public shame and
punishment; and be you assured, if I begin this prosecution, I will
pursue it to the utmost. I appeal to your worthy brother for the
justice of my proceeding. I reason no more with you, I only declare my
resolution. I wait your answer one hour, and the next I put in execution
whatever you shall oblige me to determine.”
So saying, they retired, and left him to reflect and to resolve. At
the expiration of the hour they sent Zadisky to receive his answer;
he insinuated to him the generosity and charity of Sir Philip and the
Lords, and the certainty of their resolutions, and begged him to take
care what answer he returned, for that his fate depended on it. He
kept silent several minutes, resentment and despair were painted on his
visage. At length he spoke:--
“Tell my proud enemies that I prefer banishment to death, infamy, or a
life of solitude.”
“You have chosen well,” said Zadisky. “To a wise man all countries are
alike; it shall be my care to make mine agreeable to you.”
“Are you, then, the person chosen for my companion?”
“I am, sir; and you may judge by that circumstance, that those whom you
call your enemies, are not so in effect. Farewell, sir--I go to prepare
for our departure.”
Zadisky went and made his report, and then set immediately about his
preparations. He chose two active young men for his attendants; and gave
them directions to keep a strict eye upon their charge, for that they
should be accountable if he should escape them.
In the meantime the Baron Fitz-Owen had several conferences with his
brother; he endeavoured to make him sensible of his crimes, and of the
justice and clemency of his conqueror; but he was moody and reserved
to him as to the rest. Sir Philip Harclay obliged him to surrender his
worldly estates into the hands of Lord Fitz-Owen. A writing was drawn
up for that purpose, and executed in the presence of them all. Lord
Fitz-Owen engaged to allow him an annual sum, and to advance money for
the expences of his voyage. He spoke to him in the most affectionate
manner, but he refused his embrace.
“You will have nothing to regret,” said he, haughtily, “for the gain is
yours.”
Sir Philip conjured Zadisky to return to him again, who answered:
“I will either return, or give such reasons for my stay, as you shall
approve. I will send a messenger to acquaint you with my arrival in
Syria, and with such other particulars as I shall judge interesting to
you and yours. In the meantime remember me in your prayers, and preserve
for me those sentiments of friendship and esteem, that I have always
deemed one of the chief honours and blessings of my life. Commend my
love and duty to your adopted son; he will more than supply my absence,
and be the comfort of your old age. Adieu, best and noblest of friends!”
They took a tender leave of each other, not without tears on both sides.
The travellers set out directly for a distant seaport where they heard
of a ship bound for the Levant, in which they embarked and proceeded on
their voyage.
The Commissioners arrived at Lord Clifford’s a few days after the
departure of the adventurers. They gave a minute account of their
commission, and expressed themselves entirely satisfied of the justice
of Edmund’s pretensions; they gave an account in writing of all that
they had been eyewitnesses to, and ventured to urge the Baron Fitz-Owen
on the subject of Edmund’s wishes. The Baron was already disposed in his
favour; his mind was employed in the future establishment of his family.
During their residence at Lord Clifford’s, his eldest son Sir Robert had
cast his eye upon the eldest daughter of that nobleman, and he besought
his father to ask her in marriage for him. The Baron was pleased with
the alliance, and took the first opportunity to mention it to Lord
Clifford; who answered him, pleasantly:
“I will give my daughter to your son, upon condition that you will give
yours to the Heir of Lovel.” The Baron looked serious; Lord Clifford
went on:
“I like that young man so well, that I would accept him for a
son-in-law, if he asked me for my daughter; and if I have any influence
with you, I will use it in his behalf.”
“A powerful solicitor indeed!” said the Baron; “but you know my eldest
son’s reluctance to it; if he consents, so will I.”
“He shall consent,” said Lord Clifford, “or he shall have no daughter
of mine. Let him subdue his prejudices, and then I will lay aside my
scruples.”
“But, my Lord,” replied the Baron, “if I can obtain his free consent,
it will be the best for all; I will try once more, and if he will not, I
will leave it wholly to your management.”
When the noble company were all assembled, Sir Philip Harclay revived
the subject, and besought the Lord Fitz-Owen to put an end to the work
he had begun, by confirming Edmund’s happiness. The Baron rose up, and
thus spoke:
“The proofs of Edmund’s noble birth, the still stronger ones of his
excellent endowments and qualities, the solicitations of so many noble
friends in his behalf, have altogether determined me in his favour;
and I hope to do justice to his merit, without detriment to my other
children; I am resolved to make them all as happy as my power will
allow me to do. Lord Clifford has been so gracious to promise his fair
daughter to my son Robert, upon certain conditions, that I will take
upon me to ratify, and which will render my son worthy of the happiness
that awaits him. My children are the undoubted heirs of my unhappy
brother, Lovel; you, my son, shall therefore immediately take possession
of your uncle’s house and estate, only obliging you to pay to each
of your younger brothers, the sum of one thousand pounds; on this
condition, I will secure that estate to you and your heirs for ever. I
will by my own act and deed surrender the castle and estate of Lovel to
the right owner, and at the same time marry him to my daughter. I will
settle a proper allowance upon my two younger sons, and dispose of
what remains by a will and testament; and then I shall have done all my
business in this world, and shall have nothing to do but prepare for the
next.”
“Oh, my father!” said Sir Robert, “I cannot bear your generosity! you
would give away all to others, and reserve nothing for yourself.”
“Not so, my son,” said the Baron; “I will repair my old castle in Wales,
and reside there. I will visit my children, and be visited by them; I
will enjoy their happiness, and by that means increase my own; whether I
look backwards or forwards, I shall have nothing to do but rejoice, and
be thankful to Heaven that has given me so many blessings; I shall have
the comfortable reflection of having discharged my duties as a citizen,
a husband, a father, a friend; and, whenever I am summoned away from
this world, I shall die content.”
Sir Robert came forward with tears on his cheeks; he kneeled to his
father.
“Best of parents, and of men!” said he; “you have subdued a heart that
has been too refractory to your will; you have this day made me sensible
how much I owe to your goodness and forbearance with me. Forgive me all
that is past, and from henceforward dispose of me; I will have no will
but yours, no ambition but to be worthy of the name of your son.”
“And this day,” said the Baron, “do I enjoy the true happiness of a
father! Rise, my son, and take possession of the first place in my
affection without reserve.” They embraced with tears on both sides; The
company rose, and congratulated both father and son. The Baron presented
his son to Lord Clifford, who embraced him, and said:
“You shall have my daughter, for I see that you deserve her.”
Sir Philip Harclay approached--the Baron gave his son’s hand to the
knight.
“Love and respect that good man,” said he; “deserve his friendship, and
you will obtain it.”
Nothing but congratulations were heard on all sides.
When their joy was in some degree reduced to composure, Sir Philip
proposed that they should begin to execute the schemes of happiness they
had planned. He proposed that my Lord Fitz-Owen should go with him to
the Castle of Lovel, and settle the family there. The Baron consented;
and both together invited such of the company, as liked it, to accompany
them thither. It was agreed that a nephew of Lord Graham’s, another
of Lord Clifford’s, two gentlemen, friends of Sir Philip Harclay, and
father Oswald, should be of the party; together with several of Sir
Philip’s dependants and domestics, and the attendants on the rest. Lord
Fitz Owen gave orders for their speedy departure. Lord Graham and his
friends took leave of them, in order to return to his own home; but,
before he went, he engaged his eldest nephew and heir to the second
daughter of the Lord Clifford; Sir Robert offered himself to the
eldest, who modestly received his address, and made no objection to his
proposal. The fathers confirmed their engagement.
Lord Fitz-Owen promised to return to the celebration of the marriage;
in the mean time he ordered his son to go and take possession of his
uncle’s house, and to settle his household; He invited young Clifford,
and some other gentlemen, to go with him. The company separated with
regret, and with many promises of friendship on all sides; and the
gentlemen of the North were to cultivate the good neighbourhood on both
sides of the borders.
Sir Philip Harclay and the Baron Fitz-Owen, with their friends and
attendants, set forwards for the Castle of Lovel; a servant went before,
at full speed, to acquaint the family of their approach. Edmund was in
great anxiety of mind, now the crisis of his fate was near at hand; He
enquired of the messenger, who were of the party? and finding that Sir
Philip Harclay was there, and that Sir Robert Fitz-Owen stayed in
the North, his hopes rose above his fears. Mr. William, attended by
a servant, rode forward to meet them; he desired Edmund to stay and
receive them. Edmund was under some difficulty with regard to his
behaviour to the lovely Emma; a thousand times his heart rose to his
lips, as often he suppressed his emotions; they both sighed frequently,
said little, thought much, and wished for the event. Master Walter was
too young to partake of their anxieties, but he wished for the arrival
of his father to end them.
Mr. William’s impatience spurred him on to meet his father; as soon as
he saw him, he rode up directly to him.
“My dear father, you are welcome home!” said he.
“I think not, sir,” said the Baron, and looked serious.
“Why so, my lord?” said William.
“Because it is no longer mine, but another man’s home,” answered he,
“and I must receive my welcome from him.”
“Meaning Edmund?” said William.
“Whom else can it be?”
“Ah, my Lord! he is your creature, your servant; he puts his fate into
your hands, and will submit to your pleasure in all things!”
“Why comes he not to meet us?” said the Baron.
“His fears prevent him,” said William; “but speak the word, and I will
fetch him.”
“No,” said the Baron, “we will wait on him.”
William looked confused.
“Is Edmund so unfortunate,” said he, “as to have incurred your
displeasure?”
Sir Philip Harclay advanced, and laid his hand on William’s saddle.
“Generous impatience! noble youth!” said he; “look round you, and see if
you can discover in this company one enemy of your friend! Leave to your
excellent father the time and manner of explaining himself; he only can
do justice to his own sentiments.”
The Baron smiled on Sir Philip; William’s countenance cleared up; they
went forward, and soon arrived at the Castle of Lovel.
Edmund was walking to and fro in the hall, when he heard the horn that
announced their arrival; his emotions were so great that he could hardly
support them. The Baron and Sir Philip entered the hall hand in hand;
Edmund threw himself at their feet, and embraced their knees, but could
not utter a word. They raised him between them, and strove to encourage
him; but he threw himself into the arms of Sir Philip Harclay, deprived
of strength, and almost of life. They supported him to a seat, where he
recovered by degrees, but had no power to speak his feelings; he looked
up to his benefactors in the most affecting manner, he laid his hand
upon his bosom, but was still silent.
“Compose yourself, my dear son,” said Sir Philip; “you are in the arms
of your best friends. Look up to the happiness that awaits you--enjoy
the blessings that Heaven sends you--lift up your heart in gratitude to
the Creator, and think left of what you owe to the creature! You will
have time enough to pay us your acknowledgments hereafter.”
The company came round them, the servants flocked into the hall: shouts
of joy were heard on all sides; the Baron came and took Edmund’s hand.
“Rise, sir,” said he, “and do the honours of your house! it is yours
from this day: we are your guests, and expect from you our welcome!”
Edmund kneeled to the Baron, he spoke with a faltering voice:
“My Lord, I am yours! all that I have is at your devotion! dispose of me
as it pleases you best.”
The Baron embraced him with the greatest affection.
“Look round you,” said he, “and salute your friends; these gentlemen
came hither to do you honour.”
Edmund revived, he embraced and welcomed the gentlemen. Father
Oswald received his embrace with peculiar affection, and gave him his
benediction in a most affecting manner.
Edmund exclaimed, “Pray for me, father! that I may bear all these
blessings with gratitude and moderation!”
He then saluted and shook hands with all the servants, not omitting the
meanest; he distinguished Joseph by a cordial embrace; he called him his
dear friend.
“Now,” said he, “I can return your friendship, and I am proud to
acknowledge it!”
The old man, with a faltering voice, cried out:
“Now I have lived long enough! I have seen my master’s son acknowledged
for the heir of Lovel!”
The hall echoed with his words, “Long live the heir of Lovel!”
The Baron took Edmund’s hands in his own:
“Let us retire from this crowd,” said he; “we have business of a more
private nature to transact.”
He led to the parlour, followed by Sir Philip and the other gentlemen.
“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 title 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 noble 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 passed 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 assist 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 assisted at a mass 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 passion 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 passed relating to his brother in-law, his exile, and the
pilgrimage of Zadisky; he then related the circumstances 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 nobly 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 incumbent 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 assistance 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
gratitude.
“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.
“Noble 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!”
“Long and happily may you live together!” said the Baron; “I will hope
to see you sometimes, and to claim a share in your blessings. But let
us give no more tears to sorrow, the rest shall be those of joy and
transport. The first step we take shall be to marry our Edmund; I will
give orders for the celebration, and they shall be the last orders I
shall give in this house.” They then separated, and went to prepare for
the approaching solemnity.
Sir Philip and the Baron had a private conference concerning Edmund’s
assuming the name and title of Lovel. “I am resolved,” said Sir Philip,
“to go to the king; to acquaint him briefly with Edmund’s history; I
will request that he may be called up to parliament by a writ, for there
is no need of a new patent, he being the true inheritor; in the mean
time he shall assume the name, arms, and title, and I will answer any
one that shall dispute his right to them.[”] Sir Philip then declared
his resolution to set out with the Baron at his departure, and to settle
all his other affairs before he returned to take up his residence at the
Castle.
A few days after, the marriage was celebrated, to the entire
satisfaction of all parties. The Baron ordered the doors to be thrown
open, and the house free for all comers; with every other token of joy
and festivity. Edmund appeared full of joy without levity, of mirth
without extravagance; he received the congratulations of his friends,
with ease, freedom, and vivacity. He sent for his foster father and
mother, who began to think themselves neglected, as he had been so
deeply engaged in affairs of more consequence that he had not been
particularly attentive to them; he made them come into the great hall,
and presented them to his lady.
“These,” said he, “are the good people to whom I am, under God, indebted
for my present happiness; they were my first benefactors; I was obliged
to them for food and sustenance in my childhood, and this good woman
nourished my infancy at her own breast.” The lady received them
graciously, and saluted Margery. Andrew kneeled down, and, with great
humility, begged Edmund’s pardon for his treatment of him in his
childhood. “I heartily forgive you,” said he, “and I will excuse you to
yourself; it was natural for you to look upon me as an intruder that
was eating your children’s bread; you saved my life, and afterwards
you sustained it by your food and raiment: I ought to have maintained
myself, and to have contributed to your maintenance. But besides this,
your treatment of me was the first of my preferment; it recommended
me to the notice of this noble family. Everything that happened to me
since, has been a step to my present state of honour and happiness.
Never man had so many benefactors as myself; but both they, and myself,
have been only instruments in the hands of Providence, to bring about
its own purposes; let us praise God for all! I shared your poverty, and
you will share my riches; I will give you the cottage where you dwell,
and the ground about it; I will also pay you the annual sum of ten
pounds for the lives of you both; I will put out your children to manual
trades, and assist you to provide for them in their own station; and you
are to look upon this as paying a debt, and not bestowing a gift; I owe
you more than I can ever pay; and, if there be any thing further in my
power that will contribute to your happiness, you can ask nothing in
reason that I will deny you.”
Andrew hid his face; “I cannot bear it!” said he; “oh what a brute was
I, to abuse such a child as this! I shall never forgive myself!”
“You must indeed, my friend; for I forgive and thank you.”
Andrew retired back, but Margery came forward; she looked earnestly on
Edmund, she then threw her arms about his neck, and wept aloud.
“My precious child! my lovely babe! thank God, I have lived to see this
day! I will rejoice in your good fortune, and your bounty to us, but
I must ask one more favour yet; that I may sometimes come hither and
behold that gracious countenance, and thank God that I was honoured so
far as to give thee food from my own breast, and to bring thee up to be
a blessing to me, and to all that know thee!”
Edmund was affected, he returned her embrace; he bade her come to the
Castle as often as she pleased, and she should always be received as his
mother; the bride saluted her, and told her the oftener she came, the
more welcome she should be.
Margery and her husband retired, full of blessings and prayers for their
happiness; she gave vent to her joy, by relating to the servants and
neighbours every circumstance of Edmund’s birth, infancy, and childhood.
Many a tear was dropped by the auditors, and many a prayer wafted to
Heaven for his happiness. Joseph took up the story where she left it:
he told the rising dawn of youth and virtue, darting its ray through the
clouds of obscurity, and how every stroke of envy and malignity brushed
away some part of the darkness that veiled its lustre. He told the story
of the haunted apartment, and all the consequences of it; how he and
Oswald conveyed the youth away from the Castle, no more to return till
he came as master of it. He closed the tale with praise to Heaven for
the happy discovery, that gave such an heir to the house of Lovel;
to his dependants such a Lord and Master; to mankind a friend and
benefactor. There was truly a house of joy; not that false kind, in
the midst of which there is heaviness, but that of rational creatures,
grateful to the Supreme Benefactor, raising their minds by a due
enjoyment of earthly blessings to a preparation for a more perfect state
hereafter.
A few days after the wedding, the Lord Fitz-Owen began to prepare
for his journey to the north. He gave to Edmund the plate, linen, and
furniture of the Castle, the farming stock and utensils; he would have
added a sum of money, but Sir Philip stopped his hand.
“We do not forget,” said he, “that you have other children, we will not
suffer you to injure them; give us your blessing and paternal affection,
and we have nothing more to ask. I told you, my Lord, that you and I
should one day be sincere friends.”
“We must be so,” answered the Baron; “it is impossible to be long your
enemy. We are brothers, and shall be to our lives’ end.”
They regulated the young man’s household; the Baron gave leave to the
servants to choose their master; the elder ones followed him (except
Joseph, who desired to live with Edmund, as the chief happiness of his
life); most of the younger ones chose the service of the youthful pair.
There was a tender and affectionate parting on all sides. Edmund
besought his beloved William not to leave him. The Baron said, he must
insist on his being at his brother’s wedding, as a due attention to him,
but after that he should return to the Castle for some time.
The Baron and Sir Philip Harclay, with their train, set forward. Sir
Philip went to London and obtained all he desired for his Edmund; from
thence he went into Yorkshire, and settled his affairs there, removing
his pensioners to his other house, and putting Lord Fitz-Owen in
possession of his own. They had a generous contention about the terms;
but Sir Philip insisted on the Baron’s accepting the use of everything
there.
“You hold it in trust for a future grandchild,” said he, “whom I hope to
live to endow with it.”
During Sir Philip’s absence, the young Lord Lovel caused the haunted
apartment to be repaired and furnished for the reception of his father
by adoption. He placed his friend Joseph over all his men-servants,
and ordered him to forbear his attendance; but the old man would always
stand at the side-board, and feast his eyes with the countenance of
his own master’s son, surrounded with honour and happiness. John Wyatt
waited upon the person of his lord, and enjoyed his favour without
abatement. Mr. William Fitz-Owen accompanied Sir Philip Harclay from the
north country, when he returned to take up his residence at the Castle
of Lovel.
Edmund, in the arms of love and friendship, enjoyed with true relish
the blessings that surrounded him, with an heart overflowing with
benevolence to his fellow creatures, and raptures of gratitude to his
Creator. His lady and himself were examples of conjugal affection and
happiness. Within a year from his marriage she brought him a son
and heir, whose birth renewed the joy and congratulations of all his
friends. The Baron Fitz-Owen came to the baptism, and partook of his
children’s blessings. The child was called Arthur, after the name of his
grandfather.
The year following was born a second son, who was called Philip Harclay;
upon him the noble knight of that name settled his estate in Yorkshire;
and by the king’s permission, he took the name and arms of that family.
The third son was called William; he inherited the fortune of his uncle
of that name, who adopted him, and he made the Castle of Lovel his
residence, and died a bachelor.
The fourth son was called Edmund; the fifth Owen; and there was also a
daughter, called Emma.
When time had worn out the prejudices of Sir Robert Fitz-Owen, the good
old Baron of that name proposed a marriage between his eldest son
and heir, and the daughter of Edmund Lord Lovel, which was happily
concluded. The nuptials were honoured with the presence of both
families; and the old Baron was so elevated with this happy union of
his descendants, that he cried out, “Now I am ready to die--I have lived
long enough--this is the band of love that unites all my children to me,
and to each other!” He did not long survive this happy event; he died
full of years and honours, and his name was never mentioned but with
the deepest marks of gratitude, love and veneration. Sweet is the
remembrance of the virtuous, and happy are the descendants of such
a father! they will think on him and emulate his virtues--they will
remember him, and be ashamed to degenerate from their ancestor.
Many years after Sir Philip Harclay settled at the Castle, he received
tidings from his friend Zadisky, by one of the two servants who
attended him to the Holy Land. From him he learned that his friend had
discovered, by private advices, that he had a son living in Palestine,
which was the chief motive of his leaving England; that he had met
with various adventures in pursuit of him; that at length he found
him, converted him to the Christian religion, and then persuaded him
to retire from the world into a monastery by the side of Mount Libanus,
where he intended to end his days.
That Walter, commonly called Lord Lovel, had entered into the service
of the Greek emperor, John Paleologus, not bearing to undergo a life of
solitude and retirement; that he made up a story of his being compelled
to leave his native country by his relations, for having accidentally
killed one of them, and that he was treated with great cruelty and
injustice; that he had accepted a post in the emperor’s army, and was
soon after married to the daughter of one of the chief officers of it.
Zadisky foresaw, and lamented the downfall of that Empire, and withdrew
from the storm he saw approaching. Finally, he bade the messenger tell
Sir Philip Harclay and his adopted son, that he should not cease to pray
for them, and desired their prayers in return.
Sir Philip desired Lord Lovel to entertain this messenger in his
service. That good knight lived to extreme old age in honour and
happiness, and died in the arms of his beloved Edmund, who also
performed the last duties to his faithful Joseph.
Father Oswald lived many years in the family as chaplain; he retired
from thence at length, and died in his own monastery.
Edmund Lord Lovel lived to old age, in peace, honour and happiness; and
died in the arms of his children.
Sir Philip Harclay caused the papers relating to his son’s history to be
collected together; the first part of it was written under his own eye
in Yorkshire, the subsequent parts by Father Oswald at the Castle of
Lovel. All these, when together, furnish a striking lesson to posterity,
of the over-ruling hand of Providence, and the certainty of RETRIBUTION.