A prosperous voyage brought the travellers safely to Ostend.—Castanos found the instructions he expected from the Baron de Ripperda; and he informed his charge, their commands were that they must proceed immediately to the metropolis of Germany, for there he was to meet his father's friend. Surprised, but not displeased at this extraordinary route, Louis cheerfully set forward; and did not permit the curiosity natural to his thirst for knowledge, to detain him a moment in any of the countries through which he travelled.

On a dark evening in January he and his guide arrived at Vienna. The streets were in so profound a gloom, he could not have guessed he was now in one of the most magnificent capitals of the world, had he not received some intimation of its greatness, by the extent of pavement he went over from the point of the town at which he entered to that which was to be his destination. As he drove along, he perceived some other proofs that he was indeed in the modern CÆsarean metropolis. He passed noble houses, whose open gates shewed they were superbly illuminated, and whence proceeded strains of gay music that gave sign of life and festivity within. Castanos remarked, that these were palaces of the nobility. Exhilarated by the splendour of the lights, Louis enquired whether the house he was going to, promised as much consolation after a tedious journey. "But I flatter myself it will," added he, "from what I understand of the general rank of my father's friends."

"As the Baron de Ripperda is a nobleman of an universal acquaintance," replied Castanos, "he has friends of every rank, in every country."

In this instance, as in others, Louis saw he could get nothing satisfactory from his companion, and aware that a little patience must explain whither he was going, and what was to be his errand, he asked no more questions. As his carriage passed out of the brilliant halo which surrounded the immediate vicinity of these palaces, it seemed to enter the regions of tenfold night; so severe was the contrast from gay illumination to rayless darkness.

After an intricate drive of another half hour, the wheels no longer rattled on pavement, but turning abruptly down a narrow avenue, the leafless branches brushed across the carriage windows, as it jolted onward over a very rough road. A speck of light appeared in the extreme distance. As the heavy vehicle rumbled forward, the light seemed to encrease in size, and Louis soon after perceived it to be a flambeau held in the hand of a man. When the carriage approached him, he opened a pair of large iron gates under a high archway, through which the travellers immediately passed. All around was dark, vast, and dreary, as no lamp chased the deep shadows from a court-yard of immense extent.

The man mounted the steps of a huge black building, sufficiently capacious for a palace, but gloomy enough to be a prison. Louis followed his conductor and the flambeau-bearer across a large cold hall, up a wide-painted stair-case, mildewed and crazy, and through a long echoing gallery into a saloon whose distant extremities, like the outer court, were lost in deep shadow. A pair of wax lights, flaring in the wind, stood upon a great claw-table whose once gilded surface was browned by time and neglect. Little more furniture was visible than a couple of chairs of similar fabrick, two or three gigantic pier-glasses, reflecting the persons in the apartment in ghost-like obscurity, and a brasier of newly-kindled fuel, sluggishly glimmering on the hearth.

Louis started at so dismal a reception, so different from the cordial comforts of Morewick-hall; so different from the social welcome of Athelstone-manor; so widely different from the anticipated magnificence of a palace at Vienna, and the hospitable greeting of his father's friend! He paused at the threshold, then smiling at the effeminacy of his disgust, entered light of foot and of heart, saying to himself, "Do I shrink at so poor a trial of my spirit? My father has guessed the sin of my breeding; and thus disciplines the spoiled boy!"

Louis might have been wearied, body and mind. He had travelled since the moment of his landing without other sleep than that he had caught by snatches in his indefatigable vehicle. He might have been hungry, for he had tasted nothing since the break of day. But he felt none of these wants of nature, in his eagerness to meet, if not his father, his father's representative, and to receive from him that father's commands.

When Louis entered the saloon, and so far took possession of its dismal hospitality, as to lay his hat and sword upon the table; Castanos called to the attendant by the name of Gerard, and whispering to him they withdrew together. Louis sat for some time, expecting the re-entrance of the Spaniard, but no one appeared. He looked at his watch: it was near ten o'clock. From the hour, he supposed the taciturn secretary was staying away in his usual care of manufacturing his supper; and that he would presently return with his wine and omelet.

Louis sat composedly ten minutes after ten minutes, but at last his impatience to know why he was brought to so deserted an abode, and who he was to see, got the better of his determination to quietly await events, and he rose to ring the bell. He took one of the candles to seek for this indispensible piece of furniture, but in no corner of the grim-visaged tapestry could he find even its remains. He opened the door, and called Castanos. No voice made answer, but the dull vibration of his own from the numerous vacant apartments. With the candle in his hand he retraced his way to the great hall, still calling on Castanos, and then on Gerard, and with as little success.

Determined to find somebody, he turned down a paved passage to the quarter that seemed to lead to the offices. Not a living creature presented itself, and all doors which appeared likely to open to the air were padlocked, and therefore resisted his attempts to force them. He returned to the hall to examine the great door, and found it unbolted, but locked, and the key taken away. He now comprehended that Castanos, and the only apparent inmate of the house, had left the place, that he was alone, and fastened in; but for what purpose he was thus betrayed into solitary confinement, time only could shew. To quell the vague alarm that rose in his breast, he had again to recollect he was brought into these circumstances by his father's orders.

"But at any rate," thought he, "whether I am to meet friend or foe, there is no harm in keeping my sword at my side. It is just possible Castanos may not be honest. He may not hold the rank in my father's establishment, to which he pretends, he may not be the very Castanos; should he be a menial domestic, instead of a confidential secretary, (and from his avoiding my presence at all opportunities, and being so unwilling to converse, when obliged to be with me, it does not appear very doubtful!) then I may, indeed, be in the hands of a villain. He knows the generosity of my two uncles, has made me a no contemptible object for plunder, and—in short, I do not like appearances!" With these ideas he hastily re-ascended the stairs to the saloon. He found his sword safe, and lost no time in returning it to his belt. "What," cried he, "would be the reproaches of Sir Anthony, could he guess my present situation? What the distress at dear Morewick, did they know that their Louis, for the first time in his life, now feels the touch of fear?"

Murder in this loneliness! To die under the hands of ruffians, and be no more heard of by the beings he loved best, haunted his imagination while he walked to and fro, examining again and again the locks of his pistols. He had one in his hand, when he heard the rumbling of wheels in the court-yard. Shortly after, the steps of a man sounded in the gallery, and the saloon door being open, Louis saw Castanos approaching with his usual slowness. He entered the apartment, and laid a letter on the table.

"For me?" said Louis, "from whom?" "Its contents will tell you, Senor."

When Louis glanced on the superscription, he saw it was the hand-writing of his father. While he broke the seal, Castanos disappeared again. The letter was as follows:

"Louis!—It was the dying injunction of your mother to your grandfather Athelstone, that you should be brought up to honour me with a double duty. You can never forget the contents of the letter which she wrote to her infant son from her death-bed, and which your uncle Richard was to open to you on your twelfth birth-day. It told you to love your father as she had done, and to commit yourself in all things to his guidance.

"You are now called upon to act by this sacred exhortation. To be obedient in love and in fear, to a parent who received her legacy of tenderness for you, in his own bosom, and who will hereafter pay it with interest from his heart.

"Now that she is gone, you are the only creature existing with whom I can identify my own being, that is, communicate my thoughts and my actions without reserve. Your interest is my interest: and till time and experience have given you judgement to guide your own proceedings, my judgement must be yours. You are yet a boy in years; though a manly person, and, I understand, a mind of no common capacity, give you at twenty the appearance of maturity. But remember, it is appearance only. Talents and good dispositions are the implements of wisdom, not wisdom's self, she is born of time and experience, and shews her proof in hard probation. The scenes in which you have hitherto been an actor, amongst the simple inhabitants of a remote province in England, are child's play to the parts you may now be called to perform. I am about to present you to the world, to aspiring, subtle, treacherous mankind!—You must be instructed in every movement; prompted, and supported. I have provided means to these ends; and all you have to do, is to resign yourself with docility to the masters I set over you. Should impertinent curiosity, or refractory wilfulness, or any other perversity in your conduct, traverse my present trial of your character, we never meet! You shall return whence you came; and only as one dead, hold a place in the memory of your father. The child of my spotless wife shall not be denied an ample provision; but I will never cherish as my son, one who is an alien to my spirit.

"On the night of your arrival at Vienna, my secretary Castanos has my commands to introduce you to a person, who will give proof of coming from me, by shewing you a duplicate of that picture of your mother, which your grandfather bequeathed to me.—Being so assured, you must revere and obey that person in word and deed, as you would revere and obey me; and ever hope to behold the face of your father, William,

"Madrid. "Baron de Ripperda."

There were family references in this letter, which affected the heart of a son;—and though the style was generally severe, yet there was also a promise of such full future confidence, that Louis could not but press it to his lips as the earnest of a fellowship with his father he was determined to deserve. The first sight of the letter had removed all suspicion of his guide from his mind; and having read it with a beating heart, he walked up and down the room, impatiently awaiting the introduction of his father's friend.

Again he heard the approach of steps; but it was now of two persons. He stopped in the middle of the floor, his eyes rivetted to the door, which, in a few minutes was thrown open by Castanos; and a man of a commanding stature, wrapped in a cloak, and with a large hat flapped over his brows, entered alone into the chamber. The door was immediately closed. He stepped a few paces forward; and putting up the projecting brim of his hat, over which hung a heavy black plume, that still threw a deeper shade over his eyes, their piercing glance shot at once through the soul of Louis.

The stranger stood; and, without speaking, continued to look steadfastly on his future charge. With a progressive movement of his powerful eye, he perused the lineaments of Louis's face and figure from head to foot. Louis gazed on him in turn; and wondered at the awe he felt of an unknown being, whose haughty port and unceremonious investigation, rather announced the future tyrant, than guardian of his conduct. Hitherto his independent spirit had been wont to start like fire from the flint, at any touch of oppression; and he could not but marvel within himself, why he should both fear and respect the stern aspect of this extraordinary man. The loftiness of his mien was well adapted to the countenance which the raised brim of the hat disclosed. Dark mustachios and a pointed beard marked his lip and chin; while the marble hue of his commanding features seemed to turn even luridly pale, as the brightness of his deeply-set eyes flashed from under their shadowy brows, upon his immovable companion. Louis could not withdraw his riveted eye from the searching gaze of the stranger; and he said to himself, "I am thus struck, because it is the representative of my father that stands before me: it is he, who that father has commanded me to reverence as himself!"—As he ended this short soliloquy, he unconsciously obeyed the sentiment of his mind, and respectfully bowed his head.

This action seemed to recall the stranger from the abstraction with which he was scanning his future pupil; and approaching him with a step which mingled a prince's dignity with the firmness of a soldier, he took Louis's hand, grasped, and wrung it, as if with some sudden sting of mental anguish; and then abruptly relinquishing it, threw himself into a chair, and pulling the beaver of his hat over his face, sat for some time leaning his head upon his hand, and preserving the silence which had not yet been broken.

Louis stood opposite to him, contemplating with interest and expectation, the further developement of this friend of his father. At last the stranger spoke.—

"Louis de Montemar," said he.

At the sound of his name, ejaculated by one who had continued so portentously silent, Louis started; and his heart laboured in his breast. He was now going to be told the secret of his destiny!—What it was his father demanded of his strength of mind, or bodily exertion; and how he was to prove himself worthy to be received as his son.

The stranger had paused, on uttering his first address.—But it was only for a moment. Again the lightning of his eyes flashed upon the face of his auditor, and he resumed; but what he said was in the French language.

"Louis de Montemar, you have read the letter which I conveyed to you, from your father the Baron de Ripperda?"

"I have."

Again the stranger bent his head on his hand. The long plumes covered his face from observation; but Louis perceived that his whole frame trembled. After another, and a longer pause, he spoke again.—"And you are prepared to obey your father's injunctions, contained in that letter?"

"I am. For I believe my father would not so entirely commit the temporal, and therefore eternal, welfare of his son, to any man who is not worthy of the charge."

The stranger rose from his seat.—"I am the man to whom your father has confided this awful trust; and I accept your obedience. Know me as the Sieur Ignatius: and whatever else I may seem hereafter, it is not your interest to pry into. Your duty is to know of me no more than what I tell you; and to obey me, as if you knew me without reserve. To-morrow, at noon, your task shall be appointed.—Meanwhile, stir not hence. Refresh yourself from the fatigues of your journey; and rest confident in me and your father. There is my pledge."

Before Louis could find words in a foreign language, to answer, satisfactorily to himself so extraordinary a speech, the Sieur Ignatius laid the promised miniature of the late Baroness upon the table, and disappeared from the room.