The morning's sun witnessed the agitated, though happy meeting between Louis and Cornelia, while their venerable uncle was gone to prepare the awakened invalid for the entrance of his friend. Much circumlocution was not suffered to precede a re-union, after which the Duke panted, as if it were the earnest of all his future good. Louis was not less eager to forgive, and be forgiven; and to throw himself on the breast of the man he had always loved, (whether in admiration, or in forbearance;) with at last the sanction of the best guardians of his youth and virtue.

When he was told he might approach the chamber; the permission, and the clasp of Wharton's arms around his body, seemed the action of one instant. Mr. Athelstone closed the door on the friends, and left them alone. The gallant heart of the Duke, and the soul of Louis melted at once into one stream of mingling tenderness; and, sweet were those manly tears. They were as the "Pool of Bethesda;" whence each arose strengthened; and restored to a friendship, deathless as their souls.

All was recapitulated; all was explained. And Wharton now stood before his friend, without a shadow, without a mystery. But in the deep and intricate enfoldment of the snares which lurked in the gay assemblies of the Hotel d'Ettrees, Louis often shuddered in the depths of his heart.

"I found you there;" continued Wharton; "I doubted, and I tried you! But like the light, you pass through the impurest objects without defilement!—Yet, when you are a father, de Montemar, never advise your sons to make a similar experiment."

"Never! never!" returned Louis, with every agonized recollection in his voice.

The Duke resumed; and as he, in like manner, unwound the devious clew of policy, and shewed him all its labyrinths, and gins, and hidden places—where

The spirit of Louis mourned within him, that such paths had been those of his friend; that in those trackless wildernesses his beloved father had perished.

"But it was to kill the Minotaur, I entered his den!" replied Wharton.

"Yes," answered Louis, "but you did not escape the taint of his breath!—Let me thank Heaven, I was so soon beaten from the same ground!"

"No;" replied the Duke, "the politics of Europe are only to be redeemed from Machiavelian villanies, by honest men turning their talents to fulfil the trust, of which those talents are the warrant."

"But then the mode of warfare!" rejoined Louis, "all the evil passions are aroused; and who would enlist with such leaders?"

"Reverse the order, and make them your followers!" replied Wharton. "Man must be ruled by our knowledge of his nature. To the noble, give noble stimulus; to the base, the scourge. You must take the world as you find it; use it according to its own worthlessness, and not by the measure of yourself. To talk of virtue to some statesmen, would be casting our pearls before swine! And, we should certainly share the mud in which the hogs would trample them. To act virtuously is our command; and obedience will work its way. Your uncle reads us a parable to this effect?"

"He does, Wharton!" replied Louis, pressing his friend's hand; "But he also reads—Let not thy good be evil spoken of! and, has it not been too much the case with thine?"

"Granted!" returned the Duke, "What has been, shall not be again. And, if God grant me life," continued he, "you shall hear of me, to the satisfaction of your heart, and to the confusion of my enemies!"

The spirit of Wharton seemed in such vigour during this lengthened interview, that it embraced every subject that could interest Louis or himself; and readily fell in with Mr. Athelstone's project of his accompanying the family of Santa Cruz, to Lindisfarne.

"And will those holy walls open to receive me?" asked the Duke; "de Montemar, I have not seen the rocks of Lindisfarne, since I forced you into its waves! It is not my interest to woo your Cornelia on that spot."

"Take her then, to the mountains of Genoa!" replied Louis. He had not, before mentioned his knowledge, that it was Wharton who preserved his father from assassination in those mountains; and, the reference now, shot such a hope into the breast of the Duke, that catching the hand of his friend to its beating pulse, he exclaimed:—

"Be you my advocate with that unsullied being! Oh! how different from the meretricous syrens who beguiled me of my youth—who made me doubt all of her sex's mold, till I beheld her! Her sentiments, language, and manners, are like her frame; made in the image of man, but possessing every softening grace of female nature. Four years ago, little did I know the treasure that islet contained; else I would have leapt the rock, by your side:—And, what a waste of life, might then have been spared me!"

This avowal from Wharton enraptured his friend. His former Duchess, (a wife, only in name,) had been long dead; and Louis would have been glad that Cornelia had been his sister; that the bonds which might unite them, could have been nearer to himself; he expressed this with animation; and the Duke as earnestly replied:—

"My dearest Louis! Is not kinsman, brother, cousin, all comprised in the precious name of friend? Intercede as such, for me, with your beloved cousin: and she will not then silence the pleadings of her own generous bosom. I am too well-read in woman, not to see she does not hate me. And I also see she can reject the thing she loves—when she doubts its worthiness!"

"Cornelia, could never love, what she thought unworthy;" replied Louis, "therefore, my friend, repose in that faith, till we meet again!"