On entering an inn at Monmouth, the Captain was surprised at beholding Mr. Talton, who advanced to meet him with a hasty exclamation, expressive of the joy he felt at the rencounter. Far different were the sensations of Sir Henry; he could not regard Mr. Talton with composure; but, pressing the Captain's hand, bade him remember his promise, and immediately retired to his chamber.

Mr. Talton then inquired the particulars of Sir Henry's restoration, as he had heard an account of his visit to the parsonage, which was afterwards confirmed by the confession of old Owen, of his real existence: and, to the astonishment of the Captain, he learned it was Lady Corbet who had passed them near Painswick, and who, having been informed by Lady Dursley of her son's arrival, was then going to London, to entreat his return to Caermarthen. This instantly accounted to the Captain for Sir Henry's fainting, and his willingness to revisit Wales; he would not, however, comply with Mr. Talton's proposal to apprize Lady Corbet of their destination, that she might see her son: Sir Henry's will, in that respect, he said, should be uncontrolled; he had given his promise, and it should be sacred.

Mr. Talton at last ceased from further importunity; and finding the Captain proposed to stay at Monmouth only that night, expressed his regret at their early separation; accusing the Captain with want of friendship, in not deferring his journey at least for one day.

"Freely, Talton," said the Captain, "would I defer my journey a week, if it depended on myself; but, as I must think Sir Henry's life really in danger, notwithstanding the Physician's affirmation; let that plead my excuse.—Neither, I think, could you experience pleasure in our society; as Sir Henry's dislike—or, term it what you will—must place a restraint on every moment. I do not expect to leave England for some time; and if I recover my Ellenor, most probably shall quit the seafaring life; therefore, depend on it, I will shortly pay you a visit, when you shall find me neither a niggard of my time, nor forgetful of the sentiments I once avowed."

With this assurance Mr. Talton was obliged to retire for the night; but in the morning renewed his solicitations: in which not being able to prevail, he declared he would postpone his journey to London, and return with the Captain to the interior of Wales.

Sir Henry turned pale at this declaration, which Mr. Talton observing, said—"I perceive with sorrow, Sir Henry, the early prepossession you entertained against me is not eradicated; perhaps from mistaking the cause of your conduct, I have acted toward you with a severity foreign to my nature, but which I thought highly authorised by reason! Your reserve to me, on the renewal of my acquaintance with your mother, I imputed, I acknowledge, to interested motives. That I love Lady Corbet, is no secret to you; but that I wished to alienate her fortune—nothing was ever farther from my thoughts! On the contrary, if your amiable mother bless me with her hand, it is my avowed, my earnest wish, that the estates appertaining to the Corbet family, should be resigned to you. My fortune is more than adequate to my wants or desires: and Heaven forbid that I should be instrumental in withholding from you those possessions, of which the injustice of your father would deprive you."

Sir Henry sighed, and Mr. Talton, after a moments pause, proceeded.—"Your mother has consented to resign the name of Corbet, when her son can be prevailed on to return: but whilst he is a wanderer, she cannot experience happiness. Thus, Sir Henry, you see the claims which are made upon you. Your mother's happiness, consequently mine—and I must think your own—depend on your compliance. I, therefore, again entreat your return to the seat of your ancestors; let these seeming mysteries be cleared up, and, by giving me a legal title to the name of father, let me compensate for him you have lost!"

Sir Henry appeared agitated, and, taking the hand of Mr. Talton, "I believe, Mr. Talton, I have mistaken your character. Your affection for my mother I am no stranger to; and sincerely wish it depended but on me to ensure your happiness: but, alas! the means would prove the bane! I will, however, see—will speak to my mother: more I dare not promise; and for that—I may, perhaps, answer with my life!"

Mr. Talton and the Captain regarded Sir Henry with a momentary astonishment—"Your life!" repeated the former—But Sir Henry bowed, and taking Frederick by the arm, left the room.

"May answer with his life!" reiterated Mr. Talton. "What, Howard, can he mean?"

The Captain could not resolve the question, and, after a few unsatisfactory surmises, they followed Sir Henry and Frederick, who were already on horseback. Sir Henry's reply, however, had given rise to such a confusion of ideas in the mind of Mr. Talton, he could by no means reconcile them; he therefore asked an explanation: but Sir Henry's answers tended only to increase the mystery.

In the afternoon, willing to avoid the revival of the subject, he lingered behind with Frederick; whilst the Captain and Mr. Talton, being engaged in a discourse highly interesting to the former, as it concerned his Ellenor, were not aware of the separation till they had gained the summit of a hill, where, on turning round, the Captain perceived them and their attendants nearly two miles behind. He immediately proposed to wait for them, and, retiring beneath the shade of an oak, began to descant on the prospect before them, which presented one of the richest scenes of autumn.

The non-appearance of Sir Henry and Frederick, however, soon recalled their attention from the beauties of nature; and the Captain, declaring his apprehension that some accident had happened, with every mark of impatient concern, descended the hill, followed by Mr. Talton and his servant. Their party, however, was not to be perceived. They had, indeed, taken a road, which led in a different direction from the bottom of the hill, and which the Captain now first observed. Anxious to overtake them, he hastened the pace of his horse, but no appearance of them could be discovered; and the road branching off into a variety of others, added to his perplexity. In this dilemma, he followed the advice of Mr. Talton, and entered that which, from its direction, they supposed would lead to Brecon: but it soon became so intricate, that they at last agreed to relinquish the attempt, and endeavour to trace their way back.

This, however, they found as difficult to accomplish, nor was it till night had spread her glooms over the surrounding scenes, that they entered a road, which, from the plainness of its tracks, they imagined to be the one they had formerly quitted. Mr. Talton could not refrain from a hasty exclamation against the young men, for their carelessness: which was answered by expressions of concern on their account by the Captain.

Slowly they ascended the hill; when, to the consternation of Mr. Talton, he discovered they had entirely mistaken their road: they had, however, no alternative, but to proceed, trusting to Providence for guidance; and continued their way, till they arrived at a place where the road again taking different directions, involved them in their former perplexity.

"What is now to be done?" asked Mr. Talton. "By Heavens, I think some dÆmon has placed a spell in our path, to mislead and confound us! Fools that we were, to travel without a guide!"

"The road was sufficiently plain," answered the Captain, "if we had not negligently missed it. But hark! I think I hear the trampling of horses. If it be Sir Henry and my nephew, I shall think little of passing the night under the canopy of Heaven: and in the morning we may easily rectify our mistake."

He listened attentively; but, two horsemen only approached: he, however, hailed them, and on being answered, briefly recounted the manner in which he had been separated from his nephew, his subsequent search, and the unpleasant situation he was then in, begging to know if they had accidentally seen the objects of his anxiety, or would direct him to some hamlet or town, where he and his friend might procure accommodations for the night?

"I am sorry, Sir," said the stranger, who had first answered the Captain's salutation, "it is not in my power to give you any intelligence respecting your friends. In regard to a night's lodging, it is at least three miles to the next village, whence I now come, and the road is very indifferent; I reside about half a mile from this place, and if you will accompany me home, although I cannot promise you splendid entertainment, I can insure you a hearty welcome."

Pleased with the frankness of the offer, the Captain and Mr. Talton accepted it, and, turning their horses, followed the benevolent stranger. The uncertainty, however, of Frederick's and Sir Henry's safety, destroyed the momentary satisfaction of the Captain, nor could he help expressing his fears to the stranger.

"Hope for the best, Sir," he replied: "my humble dwelling, though screened on this side from observation, commands an extensive view over the lower part of the country; where, from your account, I am induced to think your friends have strayed: and whence the light from our window will most probably serve them as a guide."

"May it prove a favourable beacon!" said the Captain. "Yonder is the place of our destination," continued the stranger, extending his hand toward a distant light.

"Aye—and there, Sir," said his attendant, "is Argus barking most furiously. What, in the name of wonder, can ail the beast? Surely the house is not beset by thieves."

The stranger stopped his horse for a moment, and listened—the barking continued without intermission, and a distant shout likewise assailed their ears.

"Something, I am afraid, has indeed happened," he cried in a voice of concern. "If you please, gentlemen, we will hasten forward."

The shouts increased, mixed with the deep-mouthed tones of Argus: but not as they had apprehended, in a direction from the house. They, however, still hastened forward.—"It may be our fugitives," said the Captain.—"Ah! I hear Frederick's voice!" He now exerted his own, and in a few minutes, was joined by the wanderers.

"Thank heaven, my dear uncle, we have found you!" said Frederick exultingly—"a circumstance, from the various accidents we have met with, beyond my hopes. But for this noble dog, we should most probably yet have been in a morass, we incautiously entered."

The Captain could scarcely express his concern at the difficulties they had experienced, ere they arrived at the gateway, leading to the ancient though not extensive dwelling of the hospitable stranger. An aged man-servant attended the summons of his master: Sir Henry started on beholding him, and, anxiously grasping the Captain's arm, cried—"O gracious Heaven!—haste, haste, Captain!" and hurrying him past their kind invitor, entered the house.—The Captain had not time to ask the meaning of his behaviour, before Sir Henry, with a trembling hand, threw open the door of a parlour.

A cheerful fire blazed on the hearth, round which were seated a gentleman, a lady, and two lovely girls.

"Is that my Edward?" the lady asked; and, raising her head, discovered to the Captain, the features of his Ellenor!

"My Ellenor!" he exclaimed, rushing to her, "Yes, it is your Edward! my loved—my long-lost Ellenor!"

A scream of surprise and delight escaped her as he caught her in his arms, and faintly articulating his name, she sunk inanimate on his bosom.

Mrs. Blond, who had been engaged in an adjoining room, alarmed by the scream, flew to the assistance of her friend, at the moment Mr. Talton, Frederick, and young Howard, entered the room: but the appearance of the former, in an instant obliterated every other idea, and, wildly clasping her hands, she stood the image of horror!

"My mother!—Do I once more behold you?" said Sir Henry, hastening to meet her—but she heeded him not, her eye was fixed on Talton: nor was it till the repeated exclamation of—"Sir Henry! my benefactor!" roused her from her stupor. Franticly she threw her arms round Sir Henry; but Talton again attracting her eye, she as hastily pushed him from her, crying—"Fly—fly, my Harry; destruction awaits thee! It is Talton himself. Fly to Howard, he only can protect thee! Oh! Ellenor—Ellenor, ruin awaits us all."

The surprise which had been depicted on the countenance of Mr. Talton, now yielded to embarrassment, as his name was faintly echoed on every side: Sir Henry vainly attempted to persuade them Talton was not an enemy: Mrs. Blond still urged him to fly, till overpowered by the agitation of her mind, she sunk in a state of insensibility on the floor.

All was incoherence and confusion: the friendly Booyers had been assisting the Captain and young Howard, to restore Ellenor to life; he now ran distractedly from her to Mrs. Blond, in vain calling for help: the entrance of the servants but added to the distress which prevailed.

At last the Captain, with joy perceived the current of life re-animate the features of his Ellenor; who, in a few minutes, became conscious of her situation. With a smile of inexpressible delight, she took the hand of her son, and placing it in that of the Captain, encircled them in her arms. The action spoke more than words; nature confessed it: Edward intuitively bent his knee, and as the Captain raised, and pressed him to his heart, he felt that moment more than recompensed for all he had suffered.

A faint groan from Mrs. Blond now reached the ear of Ellenor, and, leaving her Edward, she flew to the side of this companion in her afflictions: but her attentions were equally unavailing to recall her senses, and she was therefore conveyed to her chamber, followed by her daughter and Ellen. Ellenor would likewise have attended, but was prevented by Sir Henry, who, affectionately taking her hand, was beginning to congratulate her on her restoration to the Captain, when the door was again thrown open, and the old servant-man rushed into the room.

"It is—it is Sir Henry!" he exclaimed, throwing himself at his feet. "Little did I think, when I opened the gate, it was to admit the son of my beloved master. Yet my old eyes could not distinguish you: but since the news arrived that you were drowned, they have been more dim than they were wont to be! Ah! many a tear has been shed for your loss, my master; and as often have I wished, I could have recalled your life, by resigning my own."

"I thank you, my good old friend," said Sir Henry, raising him; "sincerely thank you for your love: and may one day have it in my power to acknowledge it more effectually, than by words; though, for myself, Thomas, the tomb of my father is the only inheritance I covet!"

His head drooped on his bosom, whilst the starting tear too plainly evinced the painful recollection of the moment. With looks of the tenderest pity, Ellenor folded him in her arms.

"Forgive me," continued Sir Henry, returning her embrace. "At such a moment as this, I ought not to let a single idea of myself intrude, to cast a gloom on your happiness. For your sake—for the sake of my beloved Eliza, and her mother, I will break through those ties, which have hitherto restrained me, and act according to the dictates of justice!"

"The means are in our power!" cried old Thomas, exultingly. "The night before my Lady returned from London, with the account of your death, I entered the closet of my deceased master; the event answered our expectation: and now let the guilty beware!"

Sir Henry sighed; but in a moment assuming a more cheerful aspect, reminded Thomas, they were weary travellers, who, for some hours had not received refreshment.

Thomas instantly left the room; and Sir Henry congratulated the Captain and his Ellenor on the late happy discovery. Young Howard and Lieutenant Booyers likewise claimed his attention; he introduced them to Frederick and Mr. Talton, who, already prepossessed in their favour, eagerly accepted, and returned their proffered friendship. The name of Talton caused a momentary alarm in the bosom of Ellenor: involuntarily she threw herself into the arms of the Captain, for protection; but, on his assuring her of Talton's friendship, apologized for her mistrust, and extending her hand, welcomed him with all the cordiality she had formerly shown.

"I believe, Mrs. Crawton," said Mr. Talton, "my appearance here is as surprising to you, as the events of this evening have been to me. Some strange mistake exists; but as an explanation is beyond my power, I can only assert my innocence of intentional wrong toward you, or your friends!"

"No more apologies, Talton," said the Captain; "let the past be forgotten; for your conduct in future, I will be answerable; and, as the first proof of your friendship, shall demand your attendance again on my Ellenor, as a father.—Your Howard," he continued to Ellenor, "is, thank Heaven, at last at liberty, and here claims your promise, of again uniting your fate to his for ever!"

A tear of grateful delight swelled in the eye of Ellenor, as she gave him her hand, and assured him her promise was not forgotten.

The entrance of Ellen and Eliza, with the account that Mrs. Blond was fallen into a gentle sleep, added to their satisfaction: "And as I was anxious," said Ellen with a smile, "to see my adopted brother, I persuaded Eliza to leave her mother to the sweets of repose, and return with me to our friends."

A blush overspread the beautiful face of her companion, as Sir Henry said—"And did Eliza require persuasion, to return to the presence of her Henry? A welcome from her was the first wish of my heart, and is she then the last to give it?"

"Do more justice to the sentiments of Eliza," said young Howard.—"Deeply has she mourned the loss of Corbet; and her heart, I am certain, if not her tongue, sincerely welcomes, and rejoices at his return."

Sir Henry pressed the hand of the blushing girl to his lips, and, with a heart more replete with happiness than he had long experienced, attended the summons to the supper-table. The restraint which the presence of Mr. Talton at first created, gradually wore off; as, willing to eradicate the idea he was certain they entertained of him, he exerted those powers of pleasing, which he possessed in an eminent degree; and on their retiring for the night, each secretly wished he might prove himself as amiable as he had that evening appeared to be.