PREFACE (continued 3)

They spent several days in consulting how to bring Sir Walter to account, and in improving their friendship and confidence in each other. Edmund endeared himself so much to his friend and patron, that he declared him his adopted son and heir before all his friends and servants, and ordered them to respect him as such. He every day improved their love and regard for him, and became the darling of the whole family.

After much consideration, Sir Philip fixed his resolutions, and began to execute his purposes. He set out for the seat of the Lord Clifford, attended by Edmund, M. Zadisky, and two servants. Lord Clifford received them with kindness and hospitality.

Sir Philip presented Edmund to Lord Clifford and his family, as his near relation and presumptive heir; They spent the evening in the pleasures of convivial mirth and hospitable entertainment. The next day Sir Philip began to open his mind to Lord Clifford, informing him that both his young friend and himself had received great injuries from the present Lord Lovel, for which they were resolved to call him to account; but that, for many reasons, they were desirous to have proper witnesses of all that should pass between them, and begging the favour of his Lordship to be the principal one. Lord Clifford acknowledged the confidence placed in him; and besought Sir Philip to let him be the arbitrator between them. Sir Philip assured him, that their wrongs would not admit of arbitration, as he should hereafter judge; but that he was unwilling to explain them further till he knew certainly whether or not the Lord Lovel would meet him; for, if he refused, he must take another method with him.

Lord Clifford was desirous to know the grounds of the quarrel; but Sir Philip declined entering into particulars at present, assuring him of a full information hereafter. He then sent M. Zadisky, attended by John Wyatt, and a servant of Lord Clifford, with a letter to Lord Lovel; the contents were as follow:—

“My Lord Lovel,—Sir Philip Harclay earnestly desires to see you at the house of Lord Clifford, where he waits to call you to account for the injuries done by you to the late Arthur Lord Lovel, your kinsman; If you accept his demand, he will make the Lord Clifford a witness and a judge of the cause; if not, he will expose you publicly as a traitor and a coward. Please to answer this letter, and he will acquaint you with the time, place, and manner of the meeting.

“PHILIP HARCLAY.”

Zadisky presented the letter to Lord Lovel, informing him that he was the friend of Sir Philip Harclay. He seemed surprised and confounded at the contents; but, putting on an haughty air, “I know nothing,” said he, “of the business this letter hints at; but wait a few hours, and I will give you an answer.” He gave orders to treat Zadisky as a gentleman in every respect, except in avoiding his company; for the Greek had a shrewd and penetrating aspect, and he observed every turn of his countenance. The next day he came and apologized for his absence, and gave him the answer; sending his respects to the Lord Clifford. The messengers returned with all speed, and Sir Philip read the answer before all present.

“Lord Lovel knows not of any injuries done by him to the late Arthur Lord Lovel, whom he succeeded by just right of inheritance; nor of any right Sir Philip Harclay has, to call to account a man to whom he is barely known, having seen him only once, many years ago, at the house of his uncle, the old Lord Lovel: Nevertheless, Lord Lovel will not suffer any man to call his name and honour into question with impunity; for which reason he will meet Sir Philip Harclay at any time, place, and in what manner he shall appoint, bringing the same number of friends and dependents, that justice may be done to all parties.

“LOVEL.”

“‘Tis well,” said Sir Philip; “I am glad to find he has the spirit to meet me; he is an enemy worthy of my sword.”

Lord Clifford then proposed that both parties should pass the borders, and obtain leave of the warden of the Scottish marches to decide the quarrel in his jurisdiction, with a select number of friends on both sides. Sir Philip agreed to the proposal; and Lord Clifford wrote in his own name to ask permission of the Lord Graham, that his friends might come there; and obtained it, on condition that neither party should exceed a limited number of friends and followers.

Lord Clifford sent chosen messengers to Lord Lovel, acquainting him with the conditions, and appointing the time, place, and manner of their meeting, and that he had been desired to accept the office of judge of the field. Lord Lovel accepted the conditions, and promised to be there without fail. Lord Clifford notified the same to Lord Graham, warden of the marches, who caused a piece of ground to be inclosed for the lists, and made preparations against the day appointed.

In the interim, Sir Philip Harclay thought proper to settle his worldly affairs. He made Zadisky acquainted with every circumstance of Edmund’s history, and the obligation that lay upon him to revenge the death of his friend, and see justice done to his heir. Zadisky entered into the cause with an ardour that spoke the affection he bore to his friend.

He appointed Lord Clifford joint executor with Edmund, and gave his will into that nobleman’s care, recommending Edmund to his favour and protection.

“If I live,” said he, “I will make him appear to be worthy of it; if I die, he will want a friend. I am desirous your lordship, as a judge of the field, should be unprejudiced on either side, that you may judge impartially. If I die, Edmund’s pretensions die with me; but my friend Zadisky will acquaint you with the foundation of them. I take these precautions, because I ought to be prepared for every thing; but my heart is warm with better hopes, and I trust I shall live to justify my own cause, as well as that of my friend, who is a person of more consequence than he appears to be.”

Lord Clifford accepted the trust, and expressed the greatest reliance upon Sir Philip’s honour and veracity.

While these preparations were making for the great event that was to decide the pretensions of Edmund, his enemies at the Castle of Lovel were brought to shame for their behaviour to him.

The disagreement between Wenlock and Markham had by degrees brought on an explanation of some parts of their conduct. Father Oswald had often hinted to the Baron, Wenlock’s envy of Edmund’s superior qualities, and the artifices by which he had obtained such an influence with Sir Robert, as to make him take his part upon all occasions. Oswald now took advantage of the breach between these two incendiaries, to persuade Markham to justify himself at Wenlock’s expence, and to tell all he knew of his wickedness; at length, he promised to declare all he knew of Wenlock’s conduct, as well in France as since their return, when he should be called upon; and, by him, Oswald was enabled to unravel the whole of his contrivances, against the honour, interest, and even life of Edmund.

He prevailed on Hewson, and Kemp, his associate, to add their testimony to the others. Hewson confessed that he was touched in his conscience, when he reflected on the cruelty and injustice of his behaviour to Edmund, whose behaviour towards him, after he had laid a snare for his life, was so noble and generous, that he was cut to the heart by it, and had suffered so much pain and remorse, that he longed for nothing so much as an opportunity to unburden his mind; but the dread of Mr. Wenlock’s anger, and the effects of his resentment, had hitherto kept him silent, always hoping there would come a time, when he might have leave to declare the whole truth.

Oswald conveyed this information to the Baron’s ear, who waited for an opportunity to make the proper use of it. Not long after, the two principal incendiaries came to an open rupture, and Markham threatened Wenlock that he would shew his uncle what a serpent he had harboured in his bosom. The Baron arrested his words, and insisted upon his telling all he knew; adding,—

“If you speak the truth, I will support you; but if you prove false, I will punish you severely. As to Mr. Wenlock, he shall have a fair trial; and, if all the accusations I have heard are made good, it is high time that I should put him out of my family.”

The Baron, with a stern aspect, bade them follow him into the great hall; and sent for all the rest of the family together.

He then, with great solemnity, told them he was ready to hear all sides of the question. He declared the whole substance of his informations, and called upon the accusers to support the charge. Hewson and Kemp gave the same account they had done to Oswald, offering to swear to the truth of their testimony; several of the other servants related such circumstances as had come to their knowledge. Markham then spoke of every thing, and gave a particular account of all that had passed on the night they spent in the east apartment; he accused himself of being privy to Wenlock’s villany, called himself fool and blockhead for being the instrument of his malignant disposition, and asked pardon of his uncle for concealing it so long.

The Baron called upon Wenlock to reply to the charge; who, instead of answering, flew into a passion, raged, swore, threatened, and finally denied every thing. The witnesses persisted in their assertions. Markham desired leave to make known the reason why they were all afraid of him.

“He gives it out,” said he, “that he is to be my lord’s son-in-law; and they, supposing him to stand first in his favour, are afraid of his displeasure.”

“I hope,” said the Baron, “I shall not be at such a loss for a son-in-law, as to make choice of such a one as him; he never but once hinted at such a thing, and then I gave him no encouragement. I have long seen there was something very wrong in him; but I did not believe he was of so wicked a disposition; It is no wonder that princes should be so frequently deceived, when I, a private man, could be so much imposed upon within the circle of my own family. What think you, son Robert?”

“I, sir, have been much more imposed on; and I take shame to myself on the occasion.”

“Enough, my son,” said the Baron; “a generous confession is only a proof of growing wisdom. You are now sensible, that the best of us are liable to imposition. The artifices of this unworthy kinsman have set us at variance with each other, and driven away an excellent youth from this house, to go I know not whither; but he shall no longer triumph in his wickedness; he shall feel what it is to be banished from the house of his protector. He shall set out for his mother’s this very day; I will write to her in such a manner as shall inform her that he has offended me, without particularising the nature of his faults; I will give him an opportunity of recovering his credit with his own family, and this shall be my security against his doing further mischief. May he repent, and be forgiven.

“Markham deserves punishment, but not in the same degree.”

“I confess it,” said he, “and will submit to whatever your lordship shall enjoin.”

“You shall only be banished for a time, but he for ever. I will send you abroad on a business that shall put you in a way to do credit to yourself, and service to me. Son Robert, have you any objection to my sentence?”

“My Lord,” said he, “I have great reason to distrust myself; I am sensible of my own weakness, and your superior wisdom, as well as goodness; and I will henceforward submit to you in all things.”

The Baron ordered two of his servants to pack up Wenlock’s clothes and necessaries, and to set out with him that very day; he bade some others keep an eye upon him lest he should escape; As soon as they were ready, my Lord wished him a good journey, and gave him a letter for his mother. He departed without saying a word, in a sullen kind of resentment, but his countenance shewed the inward agitations of his mind.

As soon as he was gone, every mouth was opened against him; a thousand stories came out that they never heard before; The Baron and his sons were astonished that he should go on so long without detection. My lord sighed deeply at the thoughts of Edmund’s expulsion, and ardently wished to know what was become of him.

Sir Robert took the opportunity of coming to an explanation with his brother William; he took shame to himself for some part of his past behaviour. Mr. William owned his affection to Edmund, and justified it by his merit and attachment to him, which were such that he was certain no time or distance could alter them. He accepted his brother’s acknowledgement, as a full amends for all that had passed, and begged that henceforward an entire love and confidence might ever subsist between them. These new regulations restored peace, confidence, and harmony, in the Castle of Lovel.

At length, the day arrived for the combatants to meet. The Lord Graham, with twelve followers gentlemen, and twelve servants, was ready at the dawn of day to receive them.

The first that entered the field, was Sir Philip Harclay, knight, armed completely, excepting his head-piece; Hugh Rugby, his esquire, bearing his lance; John Barnard, his page, carrying his helmet and spurs; and two servants in his proper livery. The next came Edmund, the heir of Lovel, followed by his servant John Wyatt; Zadisky, followed by his servant.

At a short distance came the Lord Clifford, as judge of the field, with his esquire, two pages, and two livery-servants; followed by his eldest son, his nephew, and a gentleman his friend, each attended by one servant; He also brought a surgeon of note to take care of the wounded.

The Lord Graham saluted them; and, by his order, they took their places without the lists, and the trumpet sounded for the challenger. It was answered by the defendant, who soon after appeared, attended by three gentlemen his friends, with each one servant, beside his own proper attendants.

A place was erected for the Lord Clifford, as judge of the field; he desired Lord Graham would share the office, who accepted it, on condition that the combatants should make no objection, and they agreed to it with the greatest courtesy and respect. They consulted together on many points of honour and ceremony between the two combatants.

They appointed a marshal of the field, and other inferior officers, usually employed on these occasions. The Lord Graham sent the marshal for the challenger, desiring him to declare the cause of his quarrel before his enemy. Sir Philip Harclay then advanced, and thus spoke:

“I, Philip Harclay, knight, challenge Walter, commonly called Lord Lovel, as a base, treacherous, and bloody man, who, by his wicked arts and devices, did kill, or cause to be killed, his kinsman, Arthur Lord Lovel, my dear and noble friend. I am called upon, in an extraordinary manner, to revenge his death; and I will prove the truth of what I have affirmed at the peril of my life.”

Lord Graham then bade the defendant answer to the charge. Lord Lovel stood forth before his followers, and thus replied:

“I, Walter, Baron of Lovel, do deny the charge against me, and affirm it to be a base, false, and malicious accusation of this Sir Philip Harclay, which I believe to be invented by himself, or else framed by some enemy, and told to him for wicked ends; but, be that as it may, I will maintain my own honour, and prove him to be a false traitor, at the hazard of my own life, and to the punishment of his presumption.”

Then said the Lord Graham, “will not this quarrel admit of arbitration?”

“No,” replied Sir Philip; “when I have justified this charge, I have more to bring against him. I trust in God and the justice of my cause, and defy that traitor to the death!”

Lord Clifford then spoke a few words to Lord Graham, who immediately called to the marshal, and bade him open the lists, and deliver their weapons to the combatants.

While the marshal was arranging the combatants and their followers, Edmund approached his friend and patron; he put one knee to the ground, he embraced his knees with the strongest emotions of grief and anxiety. He was dressed in complete armour, with his visor down; his device was a hawthorn, with a graft of the rose upon it, the motto—This is not my true parent; but Sir Philip bade him take these words—E fructu arbor cognoscitur.

Sir Philip embraced the youth with strong marks of affection. “Be composed, my child!” said he; “I have neither guilt, fear, nor doubt in me; I am so certain of success, that I bid you be prepared for the consequence.”

Zadisky embraced his friend, he comforted Edmund, he suggested every thing that could confirm his hopes of success.

The marshal waited to deliver the spear to Sir Philip; he now presented it with the usual form.

“Sir, receive your lance, and God defend the right!”

Sir Philip answered, “Amen!” in a voice that was heard by all present.

He next presented his weapon to Lord Lovel with the same sentence, who likewise answered “Amen!” with a good courage. Immediately the lists were cleared, and the combatants began to fight.

They contended a long time with equal skill and courage; at length Sir Philip unhorsed his antagonist. The judges ordered, that either he should alight, or suffer his enemy to remount; he chose the former, and a short combat on foot ensued. The sweat ran off their bodies with the violence of the exercise. Sir Philip watched every motion of his enemy, and strove to weary him out, intending to wound, but not to kill him, unless obliged for his own safety.

He thrust his sword through his left arm, and demanded, whether he would confess the fact? Lord Lovel enraged, answered, he would die sooner. Sir Philip then passed the sword through his body twice, and Lord Lovel fell, crying out that he was slain.

“I hope not,” said Sir Philip, “for I have a great deal of business for you to do before you die: confess your sins, and endeavour to atone for them, as the only ground to hope for pardon.”

Lord Lovel replied, “You are the victor, use your good fortune generously!”

Sir Philip took away his sword, and then waved it over his head, and beckoned for assistance. The judges sent to beg Sir Philip to spare the life of his enemy.

“I will,” said he, “upon condition that he will make an honest confession.”

Lord Lovel desired a surgeon and a confessor.

“You shall have both,” said Sir Philip; “but you must first answer me a question or two. Did you kill your kinsman or not?”

“It was not my hand that killed him,” answered the wounded man.

“It was done by your own order, however? You shall have no assistance till you answer this point.”

“It was,” said he, “and Heaven is just!”

“Bear witness all present,” said Sir Philip; “he confesses the fact!”

He then beckoned Edmund, who approached.

“Take off your helmet,” said he; “look on that youth, he is the son of your injured kinsman.”

“It is himself!” said the Lord Lovel, and fainted away.

Sir Philip then called for a surgeon and a priest, both of which Lord Graham had provided; the former began to bind up his wounds, and his assistants poured a cordial into his mouth. “Preserve his life, if it be possible,” said Sir Philip; “for much depends upon it.”

He then took Edmund by the hand, and presented him to all the company. “In this young man,” said he, “you see the true heir of the house of Lovel! Heaven has in its own way made him the instrument to discover the death of his parents. His father was assassinated by order of that wicked man, who now receives his punishment; his mother was, by his cruel treatment, compelled to leave her own house; she was delivered in the fields, and perished herself in seeking a shelter for her infant. I have sufficient proofs of every thing I say, which I am ready to communicate to every person who desires to know the particulars. Heaven, by my hand, has chastised him; he has confessed the fact I accuse him of, and it remains that he make restitution of the fortune and honours he hath usurped so long.”

Edmund kneeled, and with uplifted hands returned thanks to Heaven, that his noble friend and champion was crowned with victory. The lords and gentlemen gathered round them, they congratulated them both; while Lord Lovel’s friends and followers were employed in taking care of him. Lord Clifford took Sir Philip’s hand.

“You have acted with so much honour and prudence, that it is presumptuous to offer you advice; but what mean you to do with the wounded man?”

“I have not determined,” said he; “I thank you for the hint, and beg your advice how to proceed.”

“Let us consult Lord Graham,” replied he.

Lord Graham insisted upon their going all to his castle: “There,” said he, “you will have impartial witnesses of all that passes.” Sir Philip was unwilling to give so much trouble. The Lord Graham protested he should be proud to do any service to so noble a gentleman. Lord Clifford enforced his request, saying, it was better upon all accounts to keep their prisoner on this side the borders till they saw what turn his health would take, and to keep him safely till he had settled his worldly affairs.

This resolution being taken, Lord Graham invited the wounded man and his friends to his castle, as being the nearest place where he could be lodged and taken proper care of, it being dangerous to carry him further. They accepted the proposal with many acknowledgements; and, having made a kind of litter of boughs, they all proceeded to Lord Graham’s castle, where they put Lord Lovel to bed, and the surgeon dressed his wounds, and desired he might be kept quiet, not knowing at present whether they were dangerous or not.

About an hour after, the wounded man complained of thirst; he asked for the surgeon, and enquired if his life was in danger? The surgeon answered him doubtfully. He asked—

“Where is Sir Philip Harclay?”

“In the castle.”

“Where is that young man whom he calls the heir of Lovel?”

“He is here, too.”

“Then I am surrounded with my enemies. I want to speak to one of my own servants, without witnesses; let one be sent to me.”

The surgeon withdrew, and acquainted the gentlemen below. “He shall not speak to any man,” said Sir Philip, “but in my presence.” He went with him into the sick man’s room. Upon the sight of Sir Philip, he seemed in great agitation.

“Am I not allowed to speak with my own servant?” said he.

“Yes, sir, you may; but not without witnesses.”

“Then I am a prisoner, it seems?”

“No, not so, sir; but some caution is necessary at present. But compose yourself, I do not wish for your death.”

“Then why did you seek it? I never injured you.”

“Yes, you have, in the person of my friend, and I am only the instrument of justice in the hand of Heaven; endeavour to make atonement while life is spared to you. Shall I send the priest to you? perhaps he may convince you of the necessity of restitution, in order to obtain forgiveness of your sins.”

Sir Philip sent for the priest and the surgeon, and obliged the servant to retire with him. “I leave you, sir, to the care of these gentlemen; and whenever a third person is admitted, I will be his attendant; I will visit you again within an hour.”

He then retired, and consulted his friends below; they were of opinion that no time should be lost. “You will then,” said he, “accompany me into the sick man’s apartment in an hour’s time.”

Within the hour, Sir Philip, attended by Lord Clifford and Lord Graham, entered the chamber. Lord Lovel was in great emotion; the priest stood on one side of the bed, the surgeon on the other; the former exhorted him to confess his sins, the other desired he might be left to his repose. Lord Lovel seemed in great anguish of mind; he trembled, and was in the utmost confusion. Sir Philip intreated him, with the piety of a confessor, to consider his soul’s health before that of his body. He then asked Sir Philip, by what means he knew that he was concerned in the death of his kinsman?

“Sir,” replied he, “it was not merely by human means this fact was discovered. There is a certain apartment in the Castle of Lovel, that has been shut up these one and twenty years, but has lately been opened and examined into.”

“O Heaven!” exclaimed he, “then Geoffry must have betrayed me!”

“No, sir, he has not; it was revealed in a very extraordinary manner to that youth whom it most concerns.”

“How can he be the heir of Lovel?”

“By being the son of that unfortunate woman, whom you cruelly obliged to leave her own house, to avoid being compelled to wed the murderer of her husband: we are not ignorant, moreover, of the fictitious funeral you made for her. All is discovered, and you will not tell us any more than we know already; but we desire to have it confirmed by your confession.”

“The judgments of Heaven are fallen upon me!” said Lord Lovel. “I am childless, and one is arisen from the grave to claim my inheritance.”

“Nothing, then, hinders you to do justice and make restitution; it is for the ease of your conscience; and you have no other way of making atonement for all the mischief you have done.”

“You know too much,” said the criminal, “and I will relate what you do not know.”

“You may remember,” proceeded he, “that I saw you once at my uncle’s house?”

“I well remember it.”

“At that time my mind was disturbed by the baleful passion of envy; it was from that root all my bad actions sprung.”

“Praise be to God!” said the good priest; “he hath touched your heart with true contrition, and you shew the effect of his mercies; you will do justice, and you will be rewarded by the gift of repentance unto salvation.”

Sir Philip desired the penitent to proceed.

“My kinsman excelled me in every kind of merit, in the graces of person and mind, in all his exercises, and in every accomplishment. I was totally eclipsed by him, and I hated to be in his company; but what finished my aversion, was his addressing the lady upon whom I had fixed my affections. I strove to rival him there, but she gave him the preference that, indeed, was only his due; but I could not bear to see, or acknowledge, it.

“The most bitter hatred took possession of my breast, and I vowed to revenge the supposed injury as soon as opportunity should offer. I buried my resentment deep in my heart, and outwardly appeared to rejoice at his success. I made a merit of resigning my pretensions to him, but I could not bear to be present at his nuptials; I retired to my father’s seat, and brooded over my revenge in secret. My father died this year, and soon after my uncle followed him; within another year my kinsman was summoned to attend the king on his Welch expedition.

“As soon as I heard he was gone from home, I resolved to prevent his return, exulting in the prospect of possessing his title, fortune, and his lady. I hired messengers, who were constantly going and coming to give me intelligence of all that passed at the castle; I went there soon after, under pretence of visiting my kinsman. My spies brought me an account of all that happened; one informed me of the event of the battle, but could not tell whether my rival was living or dead; I hoped the latter, that I might avoid the crime I meditated. I reported his death to his Lady, who took it very heavily.

“Soon after a messenger arrived with tidings that he was alive and well, and had obtained leave to return home immediately.

“I instantly dispatched my two emissaries to intercept him on the way. He made so much haste to return, that he was met within a mile of his own castle; he had out-rode his servants, and was alone. They killed him, and drew him aside out of the highway. They then came to me with all speed, and desired my orders; it was then about sunset. I sent them back to fetch the dead body, which they brought privately into the castle: they tied it neck and heels, and put it into a trunk, which they buried under the floor in the closet you mentioned. The sight of the body stung me to the heart; I then felt the pangs of remorse, but it was too late; I took every precaution that prudence suggested to prevent the discovery; but nothing can be concealed from the eye of Heaven.

“From that fatal hour I have never known peace, always in fear of something impending to discover my guilt, and to bring me to shame; at length I am overtaken by justice. I am brought to a severe reckoning here, and I dread to meet one more severe hereafter.”

“Enough,” said the priest; “you have done a good work, my son! trust in the Lord; and, now this burden is off your mind, the rest will be made easy to you.”

Lord Lovel took a minute’s repose, and then went on.

“I hope by the hint you gave, Sir Philip, the poor lady is yet alive?”

“No, sir, she is not; but she died not till after she brought forth a son, whom Heaven made its instrument to discover and avenge the death of both his parents.”

“They are well avenged!” said he. “I have no children to lament for me; all mine have been taken from me in the bloom of youth; only one daughter lived to be twelve years old; I intended her for a wife for one of my nephews, but within three months I have buried her.” He sighed, wept, and was silent.

The gentlemen present lifted up their hands and eyes to Heaven in silence.

“The will of Heaven be obeyed!” said the priest. “My penitent hath confessed all; what more would you require?”

“That he make atonement,” said Sir Philip; “that he surrender the title and estate to the right heir, and dispose of his own proper fortune to his nearest relations, and resign himself to penitence and preparation for a future state. For this time I leave him with you, father, and will join my prayers with yours for his repentance.”

So saying, he left the room, and was followed by the Barons and the surgeon; the priest alone remaining with him. As soon as they were out of hearing, Sir Philip questioned the surgeon concerning his patient’s situation; who answered, that at present he saw no signs of immediate danger, but he could not yet pronounce that there was none.

“If he were mortally wounded,” said he, “he could not be so well, nor speak so long without faintness; and it is my opinion that he will soon recover, if nothing happens to retard the cure.”

“Then,” said Sir Philip, “keep this opinion from him; for I would suffer the fear of death to operate on him until he hath performed some necessary acts of justice. Let it only be known to these noblemen, upon whose honour I can rely, and I trust they will approve my request to you, sir.”

“I join in it,” said Lord Clifford, “from the same motives.”

“I insist upon it,” said Lord Graham; “and I can answer for my surgeon’s discretion.”

“My lords,” said the surgeon, “you may depend on my fidelity; and, after what I have just heard, my conscience is engaged in this noble gentleman’s behalf, and I will do every thing in my power to second your intentions.”

“I thank you, sir,” said Sir Philip, “and you may depend on my gratitude in return. I presume you will sit up with him to-night; if any danger should arise, I desire to be called immediately; but, otherwise, I would suffer him to rest quietly, that he may be prepared for the business of the following day.”

“I shall obey your directions, sir; my necessary attendance will give me a pretence not to leave him, and thus I shall hear all that passes between him and all that visit him.”

“You will oblige me highly,” said Sir Philip, “and I shall go to rest with confidence in your care.”

The surgeon returned to the sick man’s chamber, Sir Philip and the Barons to the company below: they supped in the great hall, with all the gentlemen that were present at the combat. Sir Philip and his Edmund retired to their repose, being heartily fatigued; and the company staid to a late hour, commenting upon the action of the day, praising the courage and generosity of the noble knight, and wishing a good event to his undertaking.

Most of Lord Lovel’s friends went away as soon as they saw him safely lodged, being ashamed of him, and of their appearance in his behalf; and the few that stayed were induced by their desire of a further information of the base action he had committed, and to justify their own characters and conduct.

The next morning Sir Philip entered into consultation with the two Barons, on the methods he should take to get Edmund received, and acknowledged, as heir of the house of Lovel. They were all of opinion, that the criminal should be kept in fear till he had settled his worldly affairs, and they had resolved how to dispose of him. With this determination they entered his room, and enquired of the surgeon how he had passed the night. He shook his head, and said but little.

Lord Lovel desired that he might be removed to his own house. Lord Graham said, he could not consent to that, as there was evident danger in removing him; and appealed to the surgeon, who confirmed his opinion. Lord Graham desired he would make himself easy, and that he should have every kind of assistance there.

Sir Philip then proposed to send for the Lord Fitz-Owen, who would see that all possible care was taken of his brother-in-law, and would assist him in settling his affairs. Lord Lovel was against it; he was peevish and uneasy, and desired to be left with only his own servants to attend him. Sir Philip quitted the room with a significant look; and the two Lords endeavoured to reconcile him to his situation. He interrupted them. “It is easy for men in your situation to advise, but it is difficult for one in mine to practise; wounded in body and mind, it is natural that I should strive to avoid the extremes of shame and punishment; I thank you for your kind offices, and beg I may be left with my own servants.”

“With them, and the surgeon, you shall,” said Lord Graham; and they both retired.

Sir Philip met them below. “My lords,” said he, “I am desirous that my Lord Fitz-Owen should be sent for, and that he may hear his brother’s confession; for I suspect that he may hereafter deny, what only the fear of death has extorted from him; with your permission I am determined to send messengers to-day.”

They both expressed approbation, and Lord Clifford proposed to write to him, saying, a letter from an impartial person will have the more weight; I will send one of my principal domestics with your own. This measure being resolved upon, Lord Clifford retired to write, and Sir Philip to prepare his servants for instant departure. Edmund desired leave to write to father Oswald, and John Wyatt was ordered to be the bearer of his letter. When the Lord Clifford had finished his letter, he read it to Sir Philip and his chosen friends, as follows:—

“RIGHT HON. MY GOOD LORD,—I have taken upon me to acquaint your Lordship, that there has been a solemn combat at arms between your brother-in-law, the Lord Lovel, and Sir Philip Harclay, Knt. of Yorkshire. It was fought in the jurisdiction of the Lord Graham, who, with myself, was appointed judge of the field; it was fairly won, and Sir Philip is the conqueror. After he had gained the victory he declared at large the cause of the quarrel, and that he had revenged the death of Arthur Lord Lovel his friend, whom the present Lord Lovel had assassinated, that he might enjoy his title and estate. The wounded man confessed the fact; and Sir Philip gave him his life, and only carried off his sword as a trophy of his victory. Both the victor and the vanquished were conveyed to Lord Graham’s castle, where the Lord Lovel now lies in great danger. He is desirous to settle his worldly affairs, and to make his peace with God and man. Sir Philip Harclay says there is a male heir of the house of Lovel, for whom he claims the title and estate; but he is very desirous that your Lordship should be present at the disposal of your brother’s property that of right belongs to him, of which your children are the undoubted heirs. He also wants to consult you in many other points of honour and equity. Let me intreat you, on the receipt of this letter, to set out immediately for Lord Graham’s castle, where you will be received with the utmost respect and hospitality. You will hear things that will surprise you as much as they do me; you will judge of them with that justice and honour that speaks your character; and you will unite with us in wondering at the ways of Providence, and submitting to its decrees, in punishing the guilty, and doing justice to the innocent and oppressed. My best wishes and prayers attend you and your hopeful family. My lord, I remain your humble servant,

“CLIFFORD.”

Every one present expressed the highest approbation of this letter. Sir Philip gave orders to John Wyatt to be very circumspect in his behaviour, to give Edmund’s letter privately to father Oswald, and to make no mention of him, or his pretensions to Lovel Castle.

Lord Clifford gave his servant the requisite precautions. Lord Graham added a note of invitation, and sent it by a servant of his own. As soon as all things were ready, the messengers set out with all speed for the Castle of Lovel.

They stayed no longer by the way than to take some refreshment, but rode night and day till they arrived there.

Lord Fitz-Owen was in the parlour with his children; Father Oswald was walking in the avenue before the house, when he saw three messengers whose horses seemed jaded, and the riders fatigued, like men come a long journey. He came up, just as the first had delivered his message to the porter. John Wyatt knew him; he dismounted, and made signs that he had something to say to him; he retired back a few steps, and John, with great dexterity, slipped a letter into his hand. The father gave him his blessing, and a welcome.

“Who do you come from?” said he aloud.

“From the Lords Graham and Clifford to the Lord Fitz-Owen; and we bring letters of consequence to the Baron.”

Oswald followed the messengers into the hall; a servant announced their arrival. Lord Fitz-Owen received them in the parlour; Lord Clifford’s servant delivered his master’s letter, Lord Graham’s his, and they said they would retire and wait his Lordship’s answer. The Baron ordered them some refreshment. They retired, and he opened his letters. He read them with great agitations, he struck his hand upon his heart, he exclaimed, “My fears are all verified! the blow is struck, and it has fallen upon the guilty!”

Oswald came in a minute after.

“You are come in good time,” said the Baron. “Read that letter, that my children may know the contents.”

He read it, with faultering voice, and trembling limbs. They were all in great surprise. William looked down, and kept a studied silence. Sir Robert exclaimed—

“Is it possible? can my uncle be guilty of such an action?”

“You hear,” said the Baron, “he has confessed it!”

“But to whom?” said Sir Robert.

His father replied, “Lord Clifford’s honour is unquestionable, and I cannot doubt what he affirms.”

Sir Robert leaned his head upon his hand, as one lost in thought; at length he seemed to awake.

“My Lord, I have no doubt that Edmund is at the bottom of this business. Do you not remember that Sir Philip Harclay long ago promised him his friendship? Edmund disappears; and, soon after, this man challenges my Uncle. You know what passed here before his departure; He has suggested this affair to Sir Philip, and instigated him to this action. This is the return he has made for the favours he has received from our family, to which he owes every thing!”

“Softly, my son!” said the Baron; “let us be cautious of reflecting upon Edmund; there is a greater hand in this business. My conjecture was too true; It was in that fatal apartment that he was made acquainted with the circumstances of Lord Lovel’s death; he was, perhaps, enjoined to reveal them to Sir Philip Harclay, the bosom friend of the deceased. The mystery of that apartment is disclosed, the woe to the guilty is accomplished! There is no reflection upon any one; Heaven effects its purposes in its own time and manner. I and mine are innocent; let us worship, and be silent!”

“But what do you propose to do?” said Sir Robert.

“To return with the messengers,” answered the Baron. “I think it highly proper that I should see your Uncle, and hear what he has to say; my children are his heirs; in justice to them, I ought to be acquainted with every thing that concerns the disposal of his fortune.”

“Your Lordship is in the right,” answered Sir Robert, “it concerns us all. I have only to ask your permission to bear you company.”

“With all my heart,” said the Baron; “I have only to ask of you in return, that you will command yourself, and not speak your mind hastily; wait for the proofs before you give judgment, and take advice of your reason before you decide upon any thing; if you reflect upon the past, you will find reason to distrust yourself. Leave all to me, and be assured I will protect your honour and my own.”

“I will obey you in all things, my lord; and will make immediate preparation for our departure.” So saying, he left the room.

As soon as he was gone, Mr. William broke silence.

“My Lord,” said he, “if you have no great objection, I beg leave also to accompany you both.”

“You shall, my son, if you desire it; I think I can see your motives, and your brother’s also; your coolness will be a good balance to his warmth; you shall go with us. My son Walter shall be his sister’s protector in our absence, and he shall be master here till we return.”

“I hope, my dear father, that will not be long; I shall not be happy till you come home,” said the fair Emma.

“It shall be no longer, my dearest, than till this untoward affair is settled.”

The Baron desired to know when the messengers were expected to return. Oswald took this opportunity to retire; he went to his own apartment, and read the letter, as follows:—

“The Heir of Lovel, to his dear and reverend friend, father Oswald.

“Let my friends at the Castle of Lovel know that I live in hopes one day to see them there. If you could by any means return with the messengers, your testimony would add weight to mine; perhaps you might obtain permission to attend the Baron; I leave it to you to manage this. John Wyatt will inform you of all that has passed here, and that hitherto my success has outrun my expectation, and, almost, my wishes. I am in the high road to my inheritance; and trust that the Power who hath conducted me thus far, will not leave his work unfinished. Tell my beloved William, that I live, and hope to embrace him before long. I recommend myself to your holy prayers and blessing, and remain your son and servant, Edmund.”

Oswald then went to the messengers; he drew John Wyatt to a distance from the rest, and got the information he wanted. He stayed with him till he was sent for by the Baron, to whom he went directly, and prevented his questions, by saying, “I have been talking with the messengers; I find they have travelled night and day to bring the letters with all speed; they only require one night’s rest, and will be ready to set out with you to-morrow.”

“‘Tis well,” said the Baron; “we will set out as soon as they are ready.”

“My Lord,” said Oswald, “I have a favour to beg of you; it is, that I may attend you; I have seen the progress of this wonderful discovery, and I have a great desire to see the conclusion of it; perhaps my presence may be of service in the course of your business.”

“Perhaps it may,” said the Baron; “I have no objection, if you desire to go.”

They then separated, and went to prepare for their journey.

Oswald had a private interview with Joseph, whom he informed of all that he knew, and his resolution to attend the Baron in his journey to the north.

“I go,” said he, “to bear witness in behalf of injured innocence. If it be needful, I shall call upon you; therefore hold yourself in readiness in case you should be sent for.”

“That I will,” said Joseph, “and spend my last remains of life and strength, to help my young lord to his right and title. But do they not begin to suspect who is the heir of Lovel?”

“Not in the least,” said Oswald; “they think him concerned in the discovery, but have no idea of his being interested in the event.”

“Oh, father!” said Joseph, “I shall think every day a week till your return; but I will no longer keep you from your repose.”

“Good night,” said Oswald; “but I have another visit to pay before I go to rest.”

He left Joseph, and went on tip-toe to Mr. William’s room, and tapped at his door. He came and opened it. “What news, father?”

“Not much; I have only orders to tell you that Edmund is well, and as much your friend as ever.”

“I guessed,” said William, “that we should hear something of him. I have still another guess.”

“What is that, my child?”

“That we shall see or hear of him where we are going.”

“It is very likely,” said Oswald; “and I would have you be prepared for it;—I am confident we shall hear nothing to his discredit.”

“I am certain of that,” said William, “and I shall rejoice to see him; I conclude that he is under the protection of Sir Philip Harclay.”

“He is so,” said Oswald; “I had my information from Sir Philip’s servant, who is one of the messengers, and was guide to the others in their way hither.”

After some farther conversation they separated, and each went to his repose.

The next morning the whole party set out on their journey; they travelled by easy stages on account of the Baron’s health, which began to be impaired, and arrived in health and spirits at the castle of Lord Graham, where they were received with the utmost respect and kindness by the noble master.

The Lord Lovel had recovered his health and strength as much as possible in the time, and was impatient to be gone from thence to his own house. He was surprised to hear of the arrival of his brother and nephews, and expressed no pleasure at the thoughts of seeing them. When Sir Philip Harclay came to pay his respects to Baron Fitz-Owen, the latter received him with civility, but with a coldness that was apparent. Sir Robert left the room, doubting his resolution. Sir Philip advanced, and took the Baron by the hand.

“My Lord,” said he, “I rejoice to see you here. I cannot be satisfied with the bare civilities of such a man as you. I aspire to your esteem, to your friendship, and I shall not be happy till I obtain them. I will make you the judge of every part of my conduct, and where you shall condemn me, I will condemn myself.”

The Baron was softened, his noble heart felt its alliance with its counterpart, but he thought the situation of his brother demanded some reserve towards the man who sought his life; but, in spite of himself, it wore off every moment. Lord Clifford related all that had passed, with the due regard to Sir Philip’s honour; he remarked how nobly he concealed the cause of his resentment against the Lord Lovel till the day of combat, that he might not prepossess the judges against him. He enlarged on his humanity to the vanquished, on the desire he expressed to have justice done to his heirs; finally, he mentioned his great respect for the Lord Fitz-Owen, and the solicitude he shewed to have him come to settle the estate of the sick man in favour of his children. Lord Clifford also employed his son to soften Sir Robert, and to explain to him every doubtful part of Sir Philip’s behaviour.

After the travellers had taken some rest, the Lord Graham proposed that they should make a visit to the sick man’s chamber. The lords sent to acquaint him they were coming to visit him, and they followed the messenger. The Lord Fitz-Owen went up to the bedside; he embraced his brother with strong emotions of concern. Sir Robert followed him; then Mr. William.

Lord Lovel embraced them, but said nothing; his countenance shewed his inward agitations. “Lord Fitz-Owen first broke silence.

“I hope,” said he, “I see my brother better than I expected?”

Lord Lovel bit his fingers, he pulled the bed-clothes, he seemed almost distracted; at length he broke out—

“I owe no thanks to those who sent for my relations! Sir Philip Harclay, you have used ungenerously the advantage you have gained over me! you spared my life, only to take away my reputation. You have exposed me to strangers, and, what is worse, to my dearest friends; when I lay in a state of danger, you obliged me to say any thing, and now you take advantage of it, to ruin me in my friends’ affection. But, if I recover, you may repent it!”

Sir Philip then came forward.

“My Lords, I shall take no notice of what this unhappy man has just now said; I shall appeal to you, as to the honourable witnesses of all that has passed; you see it was no more than necessary. I appeal to you for the motives of my treatment of him, before, at, and after our meeting. I did not take his life, as I might have done; I wished him to repent of his sins, and to make restitution of what he unjustly possesses. I was called out to do an act of justice; I had taken the heir of Lovel under my protection, my chief view was to see justice done to him;—what regarded this man was but a secondary motive. This was my end, and I will never, never lose sight of it.”

Lord Lovel seemed almost choaked with passion, to see every one giving some mark of approbation and respect to Sir Philip. He called out—

“I demand to know who is this pretended heir, whom he brings out to claim my title and fortune?”

“My noble auditors,” said Sir Philip, “I shall appeal to your judgment, in regard to the proofs of my ward’s birth and family; every circumstance shall be laid before you, and you shall decide upon them.

“Here is a young man, supposed the son of a peasant, who, by a train of circumstances that could not have happened by human contrivance, discovers not only who were his real parents, but that they came to untimely deaths. He even discovers the different places where their bones are buried, both out of consecrated ground, and appeals to their ashes for the truth of his pretensions. He has also living proofs to offer, that will convince the most incredulous. I have deferred entering into particulars, till the arrival of Baron Fitz-Owen. I know his noble heart and honourable character, from one that has long been an eye-witness of his goodness; such is the opinion I have of his justice, that I will accept him as one of the judges in his brother’s cause. I and my ward will bring our proofs before him, and the company here present; in the course of them, it will appear that he is the best qualified of any to judge of them, because he can ascertain many of the facts we shall have occasion to mention. I will rest our cause upon their decision.”

Lord Graham applauded Sir Philip’s appeal, affirming his own impartiality, and calling upon Lord Clifford and his son, and also his own nephews who were present. Lord Clifford said—

“Sir Philip offers fairly, and like himself; there can be no place nor persons more impartial than the present, and I presume the Lord Lovel can have no objection.”

“No objection!” answered he; “what, to be tried like a criminal, to have judges appointed over me, to decide upon my right to my own estate and title? I will not submit to such a jurisdiction!”

“Then,” said Sir Philip, “you had rather be tried by the laws of the land, and have them pronounce sentence upon you? Take your choice, sir; if you refuse the one, you shall be certain of the other.”

Lord Clifford then said—“You will allow Lord Lovel to consider of the proposal; he will consult his friends, and be determined by their advice.”

Lord Fitz-Owen said—“I am very much surprised at what I have heard. I should be glad to know all that Sir Philip Harclay has to say for his ward, that I may judge what my brother has to hope or fear; I will then give my best advice, or offer my mediation, as he may stand in need of them.”

“You say well,” replied Lord Graham, “and pray let us come directly to the point; Sir Philip, you will introduce your ward to this company, and enter upon your proofs.”

Sir Philip bowed to the company; he went out and brought in Edmund, encouraging him by the way; he presented him to Baron Fitz-Owen, who looked very serious.

“Edmund Twyford,” said he, “are you the heir of the house of Lovel?”

“I am, my Lord,” said Edmund, bowing to the ground; “the proofs will appear; but I am, at the same time, the most humble and grateful of all your servants, and the servant of your virtues.”

Sir Robert rose up, and was going to leave the room.

“Son Robert, stay,” said the Baron; “if there is any fraud, you will be pleased to detect it, and, if all that is affirmed be true, you will not shut your eyes against the light; you are concerned in this business; hear it in silence, and let reason be arbiter in your cause.”

He bowed to his father, bit his lip, and retired to the window. William nodded to Edmund, and was silent. All the company had their eyes fixed on the young man, who stood in the midst, casting down his eyes with modest respect to the audience; while Sir Philip related all the material circumstances of his life, the wonderful gradation by which he came to the knowledge of his birth, the adventures of the haunted apartment, the discovery of the fatal closet, and the presumptive proofs that Lord Lovel was buried there. At this part of his narration, Lord Fitz-Owen interrupted him.

“Where is this closet you talk of? for I and my sons went over the apartment since Edmund’s departure, and found no such place as you describe.”

“My Lord,” said Edmund, “I can account for it: the door is covered with tapestry, the same as the room, and you might easily overlook it; but I have a witness here,” said he, and putting his hand into his bosom, he drew out the key. “If this is not the key of that closet, let me be deemed an impostor, and all I say a falsehood; I will risk my pretensions upon this proof.”

“And for what purpose did you take it away?” said the Baron.

“To prevent any person from going into it,” replied Edmund; “I have vowed to keep it till I shall open that closet before witnesses appointed for that purpose.”

“Proceed, sir,” said the Baron Fitz-Owen.

Sir Philip then related the conversation between Edmund and Margery Twyford, his supposed mother.

Lord Fitz-Owen seemed in the utmost surprise. He exclaimed, “Can this be true? strange discovery! unfortunate child!”

Edmund’s tears bore witness to his veracity. He was obliged to hide his face, he lifted up his clasped hands to heaven, and was in great emotions during all this part of the relation; while Lord Lovel groaned, and seemed in great agitation.

Sir Philip then addressed himself to Lord Fitz-Owen.

“My Lord, there was another person present at the conversation between Edmund and his foster-mother, who can witness to all that passed; perhaps your lordship can tell who that was?”

“It was father Oswald,” replied the Baron; “I well remember that he went with him at his request; let him be called in.”

He was sent for, and came immediately. The Baron desired him to relate all that passed between Edmund and his mother.

Oswald then began—

“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.”

“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.”