Slowly and with trembling steps Ellen left the beach, and went towards the village: not many yards had they proceeded ere they were met by Bayfield and two or three of the men-servants. The poor woman had at length been prevailed on to relinquish her infant charge to his nurse, who had overtaken her; and fortunately meeting the men-servants, who, impelled by curiosity, were going to the beach to look at the wreck, she turned back with them, fearing lest any injury should befall her Lord or Lady.

"Thank God, Madam," said the good creature, who still trembled and looked pale, "that you are safe! the dear child is safe also: but where is my Lord? Oh, my dear Lord! sure he has not trusted himself with that wretch alone."

"Be calm, Bayfield, be pacified," said Ellen: "you terrify us with these emotions: your Lord is safe; Mr. Charles Ross and the sailors are with him: but who is this man you seem so much to fear? The poor creature looks not likely to injure any one, for he appears half-dead."

"Oh, my Lady, don't pity him," cried Bayfield: "but are you sure he has no pistols about him? It was a pistol you know, my Lady——, but I forget myself: one word, Madam, if you please." She drew Ellen aside and said—"Your Ladyship will not wonder at my alarm, when I tell you the man you were talking with was the very person my Lord has sought in vain so long; it was that wretch De Sylva! Oh, I remember the glance of his dark malicious eye: it has never left my remembrance since the evening I by accident met him with my late Lady walking in the Cork Grove, three or four days before her death, when I did not know he was within many miles of the place; and starting at seeing them together, he gave me such a look; I never shall forget it: I thought he looked at me just the same on the beach, and I expected every moment when he would draw out a pistol and shoot some of us—perhaps the baby out of spite to my Lord, and that made me run away in that manner: oh, I was not myself, nor shall I be again this night. Oh that my Lord de Montfort was here to have all his cruel doubts put an end to for ever, for sure the villain will confess all now."

Ellen heard her with silent but tumultuous emotion, and hastened as much as possible towards the Parsonage, sending the men however to meet their lord.

The Parsonage being nearer to the beach than the Farm was, Ellen and her friends stopped there, and begged Mr. Griffiths would hasten back to St. Aubyn, and say where he would find her: she then requested Ross would go into his study with her, and there, knowing he was perfectly acquainted with the circumstances which had happened to St. Aubyn in Spain, she entreated his advice how to proceed, and that he would endeavour to calm the violent emotions which the discovery of De Sylva had excited in the bosom of St. Aubyn.

"Surely," said the pious Ross, "the hand of heaven is evident in this extraordinary event! The kind humanity which prompted Lord St. Aubyn to save the poor mariners in the storm, was not only the means by which the life of my son was preserved, and the grey hairs of his mother and myself prevented from going down with sorrow to the grave, but has also, I hope, procured for himself the satisfaction he most earnestly wished, by bringing De Sylva once more within his reach. Wonder-working Providence! from what apparently improbable causes does thy Almighty hand bring forth the most interesting events!"

As he spoke, a bustle was heard without, and St. Aubyn rushed into the room, pale, agitated, almost breathless. Charles Ross, Griffiths, and two or three sailors, followed, leading, or rather bearing the miserable De Sylva: miserable indeed was his whole appearance: his Turkish turban had been torn from his head, and his long black hair streamed round his face in wild disorder. That face which St. Aubyn remembered a few years before glowing with animation and manly beauty, was now pale, haggard, and displayed marks of premature old age.—Those eyes, once so full of life and gaiety, now rolled in horrible dismay; and that form, so agile, so graceful when with the unfortunate Rosolia he led the sprightly dance, was now bowed by sickness, and shrunk by fear.—Oh, what havock does guilt make in the human face and figure! such as he stood, with looks that terrified each beholder. De Sylva was then but little more than thirty years of age, yet the vigour of his constitution, exhausted by excess, his soul a prey to every agony which racks the criminal—his course was run; the grave opened to receive him, and a few short days it was evident must terminate his life and sins together.

"Retire, my love," said St. Aubyn to his trembling wife: "this is no place for you: you know I perceive who this wretched being is: this cross, which he offered to you, was that which the ill-fated Rosolia wore the very evening she went to meet this villain in the Hermitage: see here my cypher upon this plate of gold, for this, with the rich necklace from which it depended, was my gift.—Go, my love: the story which this wretched man has engaged to tell is unfitted for your tender sensibility to partake of."

Ellen instantly and gladly obeyed, and the sailors also were sent away, for the unhappy man, faint and exhausted, was too ill to make any attempt at escaping, nor could he speak till some restoratives had been administered.

During this pause, Ross suggested to St. Aubyn the propriety of having some person present to receive De Sylva's confession who was able to take it exactly as delivered, of which St. Aubyn, who alone was sufficiently master of the French language to do so, was rendered incapable by his extreme agitation; besides, it occurred to Ross, that this person should be totally unconnected with Lord St. Aubyn, that his testimony might be totally free and uninfluenced.

St. Aubyn perfectly agreed with him, but was at a loss on whom to fix, when suddenly Ross recollected the Catholic priest, who was at that moment actually in the house, and whom St. Aubyn had never seen.

This respectable old man was accordingly summoned, and St. Aubyn in a few words explained to him the nature of the service required of him; and he readily agreed to take, and witness, the deposition of De Sylva.

He spoke in French, and with frequent breaks and interruption, which his weakness and emotion occasioned.

"I am by birth a Frenchman, but entered the Spanish service at an early age, my father being dead, and my maternal relations of that nation engaging to take care of my future promotion.

"I need not, my Lord, repeat the commencement of my acquaintance with you, nor the kindness with which you received me at your villa near Seville, a reception, the hospitality of which I afterwards so ill repaid.

"The beauty of Lady St. Aubyn attracted every eye, and mine in particular, for her eye beamed kindly on me in return.

"I will not, my Lord, offend you by detailing the progress of our intimacy: you became displeased at it, and suddenly removed her to a villa near Sierra Morena. By the aid of Theresa, her favourite maid, she contrived to let me know where she was gone; and as soon as I could obtain leave of absence, I followed her."

"We met frequently in the woods about the villa, and once were met walking in the Cork Grove by your housekeeper, Mrs. Bayfield, and I had reason to believe she afterwards watched her Lady's actions.

"Lady St. Aubyn, tired of the dreary life she led, proposed to escape with me and go to Paris: to this end she furnished me with several sums of money, and a great number of valuable jewels, amongst them a very fine ring, which, she told me, was yours, my Lord, and highly valued by you; and she owned that she had taken that ring in particular, because she knew the loss would vex you; and she hoped, as Bayfield only had access to the jewels, the loss of this valued jewel would lead you to suspect her, and bring disgrace upon the woman we both hated."

Here St. Aubyn hid his face, and groaned: he grieved to hear the woman he had once loved could have been so atrociously wicked.

"A few nights after this, my Lord," continued De Sylva, "you saw me attempting to climb by a rope ladder the window of Lady St. Aubyn's apartment: what followed is well known to you; but nothing was ever farther from my intentions than meeting you at the place appointed; on the contrary, I informed Rosolia by means of Theresa of what had passed, and named that very hour to meet her at the Hermitage, whither I proposed to bring a boy's habit, and elope with her under that disguise; for which purpose I procured two horses, and stationed them in a thicket between the Hermitage and the Posada at the foot of the mountain, where I had resided since my arrival in that neighbourhood.

"I told you, my Lord, I had a friend there; but that was false, and I only said it to induce you to wait till the next evening, that we might have each a friend to witness our encounter.

"Rosolia watched you from the house after your return from Alhama, whence, as you came alone, we concluded you had vainly sought your friend; and, I am ashamed to say, in the few minutes we were together, how much we diverted ourselves at the idea of your vain and fruitless trouble."

"Go on, Sir," cried St. Aubyn, fiercely—"spare this detail, and hasten to the conclusion of this detestable story."

"Rosolia then," resumed De Sylva, "told her brother she had a bad head-ache, and would endeavour to walk it off. From this young man she was grieved to part, and left him with emotion. She hastened to the Hermitage: we had no time to lose: she had brought with her all the valuables she could collect, and had round her neck the fine necklace of rubies you had given her at Seville, and that very cross I just now offered to those ladies on the beach.

"I pressed her to change her dress quickly, and was retiring for a few minutes, while she adjusted her male attire.

"Fearing a surprize, and thinking it might be wanted to defend us in our flight, I had brought with me the pistol, you, my Lord, gave me the night before: this I took in my hand, lest any one should approach to seek Lady St. Aubyn, determined if any did, to put an end to their existence; and (I will confess all) I should not have been sorry had Bayfield crossed my path.

"But as I turned to leave the Hermitage, my foot struck against an inequality in the floor, and endeavouring to recover myself, the pistol went off in my hand, and the ball entered the head of the unfortunate Rosolia.

"She fell instantly—one groan alone escaped her. I approached, hoping she was only alarmed by the report, or but slightly hurt; but to my astonishment and horror she was a breathless corpse.

"In this dreadful moment, my first idea was instant flight, since that alone could save me.—But why, thought I, since she is dead, should I leave behind those valuable ornaments?—And O!—how hardened was my heart!

"The woman I had admired, and professed to love, had that instant breathed her last—fallen by my hand, though from an unintended stroke, and in the very moment, when, by a guilty flight, she had resolved to give me the greatest proof of love, and unite her fate with mine: yet so little impression did these dreadful circumstances make upon me, that I had sufficient composure to unclasp the costly necklace from her neck, and the bracelets from her arms, though that body, lately so blooming and so animated, was not yet cold in death.—Such is the love of the wicked!

"By some means, as I afterwards discovered, I dropt, and lost the valuable ring I mentioned before; and as I knew I had it just before I entered this fatal Hermitage, I concluded it was there I had lost it.

"I now fled as fast as possible towards the place where my horses stood, and mounting one, and leading the other, I galloped off at full speed.

"Concluding the first search for me would be amongst the mountains, I took a road immediately opposite, and reached the little town of Andurar that night: I there sold my horses, and bought a change of garments, lest those I wore should identify my person; for I concluded I should be suspected of the murder, either wilful or accidental, of the unfortunate Countess; but I was also convinced I should have two or three hours the start of my pursuers, as she was in the constant habit of rambling about at least that time, and consequently would not be missed.

"I travelled, however, chiefly by night, lurking by day either in thick woods, or the remains of Moorish castles, and only venturing near a town or village when provisions were indispensably necessary; for now the fear of being arrested as a deserter, my leave of absence having been some time expired, made the strictest caution necessary for my security.

"In about a week I reached Almaneca, and disposing of some of my jewels, I embarked on board a vessel which was going to Venice, where I meant to remain some time, and then assuming another name, to go to Paris, where I knew my speaking French like a native would prevent me from being recognized. We had not been but three days at sea when an Algerine corsair bore down upon us, and after a short but severe conflict we were captured, and carried into Algiers.

"Here, robbed of all my ill-gained riches, except that cross, which some remains of affection for the memory of the unfortunate Rosolia had induced me to conceal so cautiously that it was not discovered, I found myself a prisoner, and seemed doomed to end my days in slavery.

"It was my fortune to be purchased by a master high in favour with the Dey, who, pleased with my vivacity, and the skill I had in music, received me into his favour, and at length tempted me with such high offers, if I would become a Mahometan, that I, who never knew what true religion was, and held my principles too lightly to be very strenuous in their support, soon consented to be what he would have me, and solemnly abjuring the Christian faith, I became his adopted son, and heir to all his riches. By this means too I was certain of escaping any search that might be made for me; for who could think of looking for De Sylva under the turban of a Turk, and in the adopted son of the Bey Abdallah?

"About a year ago my adoptive father died; and weary of the supine and inactive life the Turks usually lead, I determined to fit out an armed vessel, and amuse myself by sailing up the Archipelago, and visiting some of the Grecian islands, not without a latent intention of quitting Algiers altogether, and returning to some European state: to which end I carried with me all the wealth I could make portable: this design I executed accordingly, but I had not long quitted Algiers, when we were attacked and captured by a French frigate.

"From that moment I have never known peace.

"Fearing to be discovered, knowing that the punishment for desertion must be mine, should we touch at any Spanish port, and I should be recognized; dreading to be accused of the murder of Lady St. Aubyn, of which, though innocent, I could not clear myself; and, above all, my conscience awakened, by being once more amongst Christians, to the sin I had been guilty of in apostatizing from my religion, I have led a life of fear, inquietude, and anguish—a life which I feel will soon be terminated: and, oh, how dreadful the reflection that my punishment is but beginning.

"Oh, Sir," added the poor wretch, throwing himself at the feet of the venerable priest, who, as well as all present, had heard the detail of his crimes with horror, "you are a priest, a Catholic of that church I so wickedly abandoned. Can you give me hope? Will you pray for me?"

"I am a priest, and a Catholic," replied the old man, "and shall be willing and desirous of giving you all the consolation in my power. At present you have given the best proof of repentance, by the confession you have made, and to confirm it, you must sign it with your name, and acknowledge the truth of what I have written, before all present."

He then gave the paper to De Sylva to read, who signed it, and declared it was correct.

"I would swear it," he added, in heart-broken accents: "but oh! by what can a wretch like me swear, and be believed!"

He was now conveyed to a decent bed in Ross's house, who, like a true Christian pastor, would not abandon him to his despair; but placed by his bed-side, strove in conjunction with the Catholic priest, De la Tour, by the most consoling attentions, and hopes founded on his present repentance, to beat away the busy meddling fiend, who laid strong siege unto the wretch's soul.

The miserable De Sylva lingered nearly a week, racked with guilty fears, and scarcely daring to hope for mercy: yet for mercy his pious comforters bade him hope, since he repented deeply, and sought it in that holy name, which, though once he had denied, he now most humbly acknowledged.

On the sixth evening he expired.

"Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all."

As soon as De Sylva's confession had been received, St. Aubyn sent an express messenger to the proper persons in London, requesting permission to dispatch Jean Batiste de la Tour, a French priest, into Oxfordshire, where he understood Lord de Montfort then was at one of his seats, with papers of the utmost importance to that nobleman and to himself, De la Tour having witnessed the confession of a prisoner since dead, which involved concerns of the most material interest. He also requested permission for De la Tour to remain attached to Lord de Montfort's suite, or to be at liberty on his parole at Castle St. Aubyn, till he could obtain the consent of government to his returning to his native country; for St. Aubyn could not bear that this helpless and venerable old man should remain as a prisoner of war, and end his days in a strange country.

The answer was favourable to his Lordship's wishes, and Charles Ross undertook to escort De la Tour into Oxfordshire: in the meantime a detachment arrived to guard the other prisoners to the depÔt in Shropshire.

Ross and De la Tour departed together, taking with them the deposition of De Sylva, the cross of the unfortunate Rosolia, which had been found in his possession, and every other document which could carry conviction to the mind of De Montfort.

Tranquillity seemed now restored to the village of Llanwyllan, but in spite of the satisfaction St. Aubyn felt in being thus completely able to exonerate himself from whatever suspicion might yet lurk in the bosom of Edmund, his own mind was by no means tranquil.

Painful was the retrospect the confession of De Sylva had forced upon him: every misery he had so many years before experienced seemed renewed, and his imagination dwelt upon the horrid scenes of the Hermitage. The bleeding body of Rosolia lay again in fancy before him, and his pity for her wretched fate "cut off even in the blossom of her sins," made him forget all the crimes she had been guilty of towards him.

For many days he continued exceedingly dejected, and it required all Ellen's tender attentions, and the cheering smiles of his lovely boy, to chase from his mind those painful impressions which the late discovery had planted there.

In as short a time as was possible, a messenger returned from Lord de Montfort. He acknowledged his full conviction of St. Aubyn's innocence, and implored his pardon for those years of uneasiness his suspicions had made him suffer: he expressed the greatest gratitude for the forbearing kindness of St. Aubyn's whole conduct towards his unhappy sister, of which he now had such convincing proofs, and a horror of her guilt, which was too overwhelming to be dwelt upon. De la Tour he requested to retain in his suite till arrangements could be made for his returning to France, should the old man ultimately wish to do so.

In a short time after this letter arrived, Ellen received one from Lady Juliana, in which she expressed some dissatisfaction at their long stay in Wales, and bade them consider that at her time of life she could not hope to enjoy much more of their society, and the smiles of her darling Constantine, whose growth and improvement she longed to witness.

This letter determined Lord and Lady St. Aubyn to quit Wales as soon as possible: indeed, the autumn was now advancing, and they feared for their young traveller the miserable roads, and of course wished to be at the Castle before the summer was ended.

Lady St. Aubyn had however set her heart on being witness to Joanna's marriage, and seeing every thing arranged for the removal of the Rosses to the Farm: it was also necessary for Charles Ross to go to London on his own concerns; Joanna therefore was induced to give her hand to Griffiths sooner than she had intended, and early in August the ceremony was performed by the venerable Ross. Lord St. Aubyn gave away the bride, and when the ceremony was ended, said—

"May you, my dear Joanna, and your worthy husband, but experience as much happiness as I and my dear Ellen have since this altar witnessed our mutual vows, and you will indeed be as happy as humanity can hope to be."

Ellen tenderly embraced her early friend, and with tears of affection joined in the kind wishes of her beloved Lord.

The whole of the bride's wardrobe had been the present of Lady St. Aubyn, who shewed her judgment, by ordering every thing excellent in its kind, but nothing fine or shewy.

Lord St. Aubyn presented the newly-married couple with several useful and handsome articles of plate and furniture; and when they left Llanwyllan, they had the happiness of knowing that the worthy Powis would be rendered truly comfortable by his new inmates, and that all Ellen's first connections were blessed to the extent of their wishes.

Charles Ross travelled part of the way with Lord and Lady St. Aubyn, full of grateful thanks for all their kindness to him and his family; and having conquered every aspiring wish, he was delighted to witness the happiness of his once-loved Ellen, without envying that of her excellent Lord.

They had soon after the pleasure of hearing that all matters relative to his late disastrous voyage had been happily and honourably adjusted, his prize had safely reached the destined port, and through Lord St. Aubyn's interest, Charles Ross was soon promoted to the rank of Captain and the command of a fine frigate.

The St. Aubyns found Lady Juliana waiting their arrival at St. Aubyn Castle: and her intended chidings for their long stay were turned into tears of joy at the sight of her darling Constantine, now able to walk alone, and with expressive looks of love endeavouring to articulate, though yet but imperfectly, the sweet names of papa and mamma, and soon learning to distinguish Lady Juliana with smiles of affection, and little arms twined round her neck, whenever she approached him.

Just before Christmas, Sir Edward and Lady Leicester arrived at Rose-hill, where they spent some weeks. De Montfort passed that evening at the Castle, with several other visitors. The once gloomy and eccentric Edmund was become another creature; and his manners, now animated and cheerful, were very elegant, and the trifling degree of singularity which still at times shewed itself in his expressions, only seemed to give an air of originality to his character.

We have now brought our narrative to a close; for scenes of continued peace and happiness, however desirable to the possessors, are but insipid in delineation.

St. Aubyn and his charming wife long enjoyed that serene happiness their virtues merited; and diversifying the scene, by occasional excursions into Wales, they had there the comfort of finding their friends surrounded by blessings, for which they were to them indebted. At the Castle, or in London, surrounded by their lovely young family, they still acknowledged that in domestic life they found their dearest felicity; and with no more sorrow than is inseparable from humanity, their years glided on amidst the joys of friendship, and the delights of connubial and parental love.

THE END.