The morning's light saw the Marquis Santa Cruz step into the post-chariot that was to convey him to London. He had advised Louis not to distress the apprehensive mind of the Marchioness, by imparting to her, or to any of the travelling group, the afflicting scene at Morewick; besides, under the dangerous circumstances which enveloped Wharton's asylum there, the fewer who were privy to the secret, the better for all parties.

Immediately after a breakfast by sun-rise; when the Marquis had driven away, Louis led the Marchioness to her carriage. Ferdinand had already placed his sister within it, and Don Garcia de Lima, the family physician, with the female attendants of the ladies, took his station in de Montemar's travelling chaise. A cold Northumbrian morning, which, though at deep Midsummer, is sometimes saturated with fog, chilled the delicate frame of Marcella, and wrapping herself within her pelisse, she drew close into the corner of the coach.

The first start of the horses from the inn-gate, re-lit hope in the breast of Louis. And as they flew along the northern road, the pinions of his soul seemed to extend themselves; while with the animating glow of renewed confidence in Wharton, and the sanguine expectation of soon avowing it at his side, dilated his heart, he appeared to the eyes of his companions a new being. Marcella sighed as she contemplated that radiant, unobserving countenance; she saw it was happiness that shone there. Happiness in returning whence he came! for his eyes were directed forward with an eagerness which plainly declared that at that moment he thought not of any one in the carriage. She was unconscious that she sighed; and feeling the fresh air particularly bleak at that instant, even shuddered.

"You are cold, Lady Marcella!" said Louis, hearing the gentle shiver, and drawing up the window that was next her; "I fear our Northumbrian breezes are rough in their welcome!"

Marcella did not speak, but bowed her head.

This little incident recalled Louis's attention to those around him. They remained ignorant of what was in his thoughts; and the mournful comfort which the Marquis's communications had infused there, influenced him throughout the journey, to complete it with greater cheerfulness than he could have affected, had his mind been still weighed down with the conviction that he lamented an unworthy friend.

Over and over again he felt that a perfect reliance on the virtue of a beloved object, and his acceptance with the source of all-purity, is what takes the mortal sting from death; and though sorrow and anxiety were full in his heart, the shafts of despair and horror were extracted, and he thought himself equal to seeing his friend pass that bourne—where, he trusted, one day to follow him into the land of peace.

All this genial impetus of spirit succeeded very well, until the morning of the third day, when the travellers assembled in the breakfast-room of the inn where they had slept, and prepared to renew their journey. Marcella became so powerless of exertion, from the exhaustion consequent to the two preceding days rapid travelling, that she fainted in her way to the carriage, and was brought back in the arms of Ferdinand into the house. Her mother, (the physician's chaise having been some time driven on,) applied the usual restoratives; and when she was sufficiently recovered to comprehend what was said, the Marchioness tenderly assured her, she should not be hurried by proceeding that day; for the Marquis de Montemar was already gone out to order the carriage to be put up.

"At your request, Mamma?" slowly articulated Marcella.

"Yes, my child; and he complied immediately."

But how complied, the apprehensive eye of Marcella saw at once, when he re-entered the room. His countenance was pale and troubled. He approached her couch, but his eye roved over it.

"His wishes, his anxiety," said she to herself, "are in another place!—It is this incomparable Cornelia, this beloved cousin he is so eager to rejoin!—And my illness shall not detain him."

"I thank you, my dear mother!" cried she, "and you too, Marquis; but after this fit of weakness, I am well enough to go on." "Impossible!" cried the Marchioness, "the fatigue would destroy you."

"No;" replied Marcella, with a wan smile, "I can only be destroyed by finding myself an incumbrance, and I know Ferdinand thinks every moment an age till he arrive at Lindisfarne."

"Not while you are so ill, my kindest sister," replied he, "to-morrow will find you stronger, and six fleet horses will soon make up for the delay."

Louis turned towards the window. It might in the meeting of lovers, who had yet many happy years before them! but an hour, or a moment, might be sufficient to divide him for ever in this life, from the friend of his heart!—Marcella was ill; but she was not dying; and the determination to delay a whole day and a night, struck him with an agony he turned away to conceal. But Marcella caught the look; its whole expression entered her heart, and she took an instant resolution. Perhaps an emotion of resentment; the first she had ever known in herself, at least, the first she had ever acted upon, roused her to extraordinary powers; for she felt that no consideration of her possible peril, could awaken in this devoted, impatient lover, this ungrateful kindless de Montemar, one wish to linger a moment for her sake.

She pressed the arm of Ferdinand and whispered him.

He kissed that soft hand, and immediately withdrew. The Marchioness, suspecting that embassy was to recall the carriage, hastened up to Louis, and whispering him in her turn, begged him to prevail on Marcella, not out of indulgence to her brother's haste to reach Lindisfarne, to run herself into any risk. Before she could receive an answer, she glided out of the room in pursuit of her son, to stop his counter-orders, and to reprove his persisted selfishness.

Louis turned round to utter persuasions so foreign to his heart; but a severe look from Marcella checked him: yet he drew near. She again turned her eyes upon him; but there was an expression of distress in his face which disarmed her resentment; and being sensible to an undefinable sympathy, for whatever might be his motives for this, to her, unfeeling haste, she paused a moment to consider what she should say. A certain spirit of female dignity, that resisted, while it felt too powerfully his influence over her, and something of her usual habit of self-denial, impelled her to rally all her strength at once. And, alike contemning her body's feebleness, and that weakness of heart which had been its origin, she rose into a sitting position on the sofa; and, with every nerve braced, and a lofty, though compassionate air, she interrupted him as he began to speak.

"You are very kind, Marquis, to intend to obey my mother. But I am well, and shall proceed." Louis made an attempt to answer, but again she intercepted his first words; and, rising, rung the bell.

"Tell my mother," said she to the person who entered, "that I am ready to attend her to the carriage."

Louis looked on her with agitation. She observed him, and turned away her head, though with an air of unaffected serenity. Marcella was always serene after any struggle in her soul, when the conquest was gained.

The Marchioness, on receiving the message hurried into the room, and found her arguments for delay, answered in every point by the steady step and cheerful voice of her daughter. Ferdinand rejoiced in the change, without investigating the cause; but his mother looked towards Louis. She saw that it was some observation Marcella had made upon his conduct, which had produced this dangerous resolution. Experience convinced her, that so quick an alteration could not arise naturally; but she feared to oppose the effect, and durst not conjecture the cause.

In half an hour, they were re-seated in the carriage; and, by the orders of Ferdinand, who had received a whispered command from his sister, the drivers kept their horses to their fullest speed.

Little conversation passed in this day's journey. The spell of the two former ones was broken by the check in the morning. Louis wondered how he could have felt the ignis fatuus hope which that check had extinguished; and, with proportioned despondency, he silently counted the hours which, he believed, had too surely cut him off from the last moments of his friend.

Marcella spoke little; for she durst not spare any waste of strength, from the exertion necessary to bear the casualties of the journey and to satisfy the frequent anxious inquiries of her mother. The eyes of Louis turned often on her, with an expression of solicitude that penetrated her heart. But the effect it produced, favoured the first deceit she had ever practised in her life. It drove the blood from that heart to her cheek; and she looked well when her soul was almost fainting within her.

It was ten o'clock, on the third night after their leaving Harwich, that the harassed party entered on Morpeth-moor, within a stage of Alnwick. The darkness, during this latter dozen miles, concealed from his companions the increasing discomposure of Louis. Every step drew him now so near to Morewick, he was ready to break from the carriage, and escape at once to the side of his dying friend. These twelve miles seemed a hundred to his impatience; and, when the drivers drew up before the door of the inn at Alnwick, he sprung out, as if it had been into his Uncle's house.

Marcella would fain have made a proposal to go on, even during the night; but nature was at last subdued; and she did not chuse to speak, when she knew, that the now hardly articulate powers of her voice, would too truly proclaim that she had already done too much.

The Marchioness having alighted, Louis drew near to assist Ferdinand in bearing out his sister; but Marcella merely bowed to him, and gently waved him away with her hand. Ferdinand threw his arms round her waist, and supported her failing steps into the house.

She was seated, pale and silent, in a chair by the fire-side, (for the night was cold and wet,) when Louis re-entered from giving orders respecting their apartments. Don Garcia's hand was upon her pulse.

"Donna Marcella had best retire immediately," said the physician. "You want rest, my child!" rejoined the Marchioness, putting her daughter's arm within her's.

"But I shall be ready to re-commence our journey to-morrow at day-break!" answered she, gently turning her head towards Louis. He bowed, with a full heart; and she left the room, leaning on her mother and the physician.

"Ferdinand," said Louis, "it is not necessary to disturb your sister so early as she intimates. I have business at Morewick,—it is only a few miles off,—I shall take a horse immediately; and return—" His lip became convulsed, and he could not proceed.

"Why, what is the matter at Morewick?" hastily inquired the young Spaniard; "Your family are at Lindisfarne!"

"All excepting Cornelia. But spare me further questions. When we meet again—" Again he interrupted himself, and then resumed in a more collected voice. "Rest is necessary, both for your mother and your sister, after the hard travelling of three such days; therefore, do not allow them to be disturbed till noon. I shall be with you long, very long, before that!"

"This is very strange, de Montemar!" said Ferdinand, with rather a tone of offended pride.

"For no other cause than the one that impels me," returned Louis, "would I leave their side. But when you know it, they and you will pardon and pity me."

"I ask no farther," said Ferdinand.