A few days after the marriage, they bade adieu to the humble roof, which had so many months afforded them a secure asylum; presenting the stock on the farm, and the furniture, to the peasant, who, with his wife, had proved themselves zealous and faithful servants.

By pleasant journeys, Sir Henry and his friends proceeded toward the seat of Mr. Talton, which, as he had informed the Captain, adjoined to the Corbet estate.—On approaching the Parsonage, Edward, who was conversing with his father, checked the pace of his horse, and, pointing it out to his observation, said,—"I can scarcely, my dear Sir, express the pleasure I feel in this return to the scenes of my earlier days. How often have I trodden the spot we are now passing, and plucked the wild heath from its native soil—gayly carolling as the lark soaring over our heads, unconscious of evil, and a stranger to sorrow! Here, too, the worthy Blond, and my generous uncle, would often join Sir Henry and myself, in our boyish amusements; and whilst we inhaled health from the mountain breeze, would, from each object and incident, mix instruction with our pastime. Here, too, I last beheld one of the fairest of nature's creation——."

"Which circumstance," said the Captain, with a smile, "I believe, my son, you remember with as much regret as pleasure. I have, Edward, from the time I first beheld you, imagined your cheerfulness to be forced. Your mother, too, has observed it; and I have wished for the opportunity, which now offers, of inquiring the cause? Make me your confident; nor think, in unbosoming yourself, it is to a rigid censor, but to a father, whose anxiety for your happiness equals—and perhaps exceeds your own."

"I doubt not your indulgence, my dear Sir," answered Edward, after a slight hesitation: "your heart, I am certain, will afford an excuse for the wanderings of mine. I have, as you justly observed, affected a gaiety I am far from feeling, or hope ever again to experience."

"Can you despond," said the Captain still smiling, "with such an example as the loves of your parents before you? But who is the fair-one, who has thus gained your affections, and at the same time reduced you to despair?—Is she above your hopes, or in a state of life too far beneath you?"

"Your questions, my father," answered Edward, "add to my distress: I know not who she is? Her state in life, if I may judge from her appearance, is equal—if not superior—to my own."

"And when, Edward," asked the Captain more seriously, "did you first see this object of your regard? Some acquaintance, I suppose, must have existed—you could not, I imagine, become enamoured merely from seeing a fair face?"

"My acquaintance," said Edward, "if it deserve that epithet, with this truly beloved girl, began nearly three years since. I was returning, with some of my fellow-collegians, from an evening's excursion, toward our college; when a horse, on which was a lady, approached with a rapidity fright only could occasion: the impulse of humanity hurried me to her assistance: I caught at the rein, at the moment when, overpowered by terror, she quitted her hold, and fell senseless to the ground. I failed in my attempt to stop the affrighted animal, who darted along with the utmost velocity; but fortunately so far broke the fall of his lovely burthen, that she received no material hurt. I raised her from the ground, and recollection was returning, when a gentleman, followed by his servant, rode up to us; but, to my great astonishment, instead of expressing any concern at the accident, or inquiring if the lovely object I held in my arms had sustained any injury, he broke into violent exclamations of rage at her mismanagement of her steed, and declared she would only have received her due reward, if she had broken her neck! I could not listen to him with patience, but sharply told him—I should have supposed he designed her to meet the fate he had mentioned, by his trusting her on an animal, more fit for the hands of a horse-breaker than a lady.

"'And who, Sir,' he vociferated, 'asked your opinion of the matter? Cease your impertinence, or talk to your fellows! For you, Madam, you shall ride this horse for six months to come: and, if you dare, repeat this day's behaviour!'

"He then commanded the servant to ride after the horse; in the mean time I endeavoured to encourage the weeping girl, who, however, was too much terrified by the menaces of her father, for such he was, to pay much attention to me.

"The horse had been stopped by some farmers; and, on the servant's returning with it, her father peremptorily commanded her to re-mount.—'Dear—dear father,' she cried, wringing her hands, 'do not insist on it;—pray let me walk.'

"'Get up this instant,' he replied, 'and do not irritate me, or my whip shall enforce your obedience!'—He was going to execute his threat, when I lifted his trembling daughter on the saddle, and, taking hold of the bridle, told my companions I would soon rejoin them, then, begging her to dispel her apprehensions, for I would guide her horse, led it by the side of her father's.

"She looked her thanks for my care, whilst a faint smile played through her tears; nor was my precaution useless, as the frequent starts of the frightened animal plainly showed he would again have hurried his lovely mistress into danger, if he had not been restrained by a more powerful hand.

"Her father, as his passion subsided, I believe, became more conscious of her danger; for when we had proceeded nearly a mile, he stopped, and, alighting, commanded the servant to change the saddles; the man obeyed with alacrity, and in a few minutes had the satisfaction of seeing her on her father's horse; that gentleman mounting the runaway steed; then, with more politeness than I expected from his preceding behaviour, he thanked me for the attention I had shown his daughter: and wishing me good evening, bowed and proceeded on his way. I remained on the spot, my eyes directed after them, till they quitted the road, when I slowly retraced my way to the college.

"This incident remained, with the image of the lovely girl, impressed for some time on my mind; but in vain I visited every place of public amusement, or inquired amongst my acquaintance, no one knew the person I described.

"Time had nearly effaced the circumstance from my mind, when I received my mother's letter, enjoining me to return to the Parsonage. I obeyed, and, the day after my arrival, was going to the cottage of Owen, for the purpose of meeting Thomas, when, on approaching the spot we have now passed, I beheld three females, and as many children; one, who appeared by her dress to be superior to the others, was seated on a ridge of rock, caressing the infants; one appeared a servant, and the other, by the loudness of her exclamations and thanks, I discovered to be an object of charity, whom the beneficence of the first had relieved. I approached, and with surprise beheld the features of her I had formerly assisted; but, gracious Heaven, how was every charm improved! She as instantly recalled me to remembrance, and, with a blush which heightened every beauty, rose to return my salutation. At that moment I forgot the purport of my walk—my mother—all but the lovely object before me. In answer to my expressions of surprise, at meeting her in such an unfrequented place, she informed me, she was on a visit to a relation of her mother, who resided not more than two miles off; then, in terms as elegant as language could express, or gratitude inspire, she thanked me for the assistance I had formerly afforded her; enumerated each little circumstance of the adventure, and again repeated her thanks. They led to other subjects: the woman and her children retired toward the village, and the time passed imperceptibly, till her maid warned her it was time to return to the house of her friend. I would have escorted her; but she declined my offer, adding—'As I informed you, I am under the care of a relation, whose ideas of propriety are too rigidly severe, to let her pardon such a liberty, should I grant it: and I think you, who so humanely saved my life, would not wish, even for a moment, to render that life unpleasant or unhappy.'

"I could urge no farther, and with a smile which nearly compensated for her refusal, she presented her hand as she bade me farewell.—My peace fled with her! Each look, each word, her vivacity, the animation which sparkled in her eyes, were all impressed on my heart—and too deeply to be ever effaced!

"The moment she disappeared from my sight, I regretted that I had not asked her name; hope, however, whispered I might soon again behold her, and, after vainly endeavouring to catch a glimpse of her between the distant trees, I recalled to mind the cottage of Owen, to which I then directed my steps. Thomas soon joined me, and with the highest exultation of joy, informed me he had obtained the will of my deceased uncle! I hugged the worthy old man in my arms, and with quicker steps than I went, returned with him to the Parsonage.

"The transports of my mother and Mrs. Blond nearly equalled those of Thomas, and joyfully did we anticipate the return of Sir Henry, and his restoration to the honours of his house: but short-lived was our promised happiness! The next morning Thomas returned, and with the bitterest exclamations of sorrow, delivered the account of his death.

"Wretched indeed were the moments which succeeded this intelligence; for, in him, we had lost our only protector against the wiles of Lady Corbet: the return of Mr. Talton added to our apprehensions, and the next morning we privately quitted the Parsonage. My expectation and hope of again beholding this enchanting girl, were thus destroyed: in my mind she is ever present; but, from that period I have never beheld her."

"Your heart, Edward," said the Captain after a pause, "I am afraid, has been too susceptible: yet my love for your mother was as sudden, and equalled that of yours for this fair Unknown. You are, however, returned to the most probable place to gain intelligence of her; if, as she said, she have relations residing so near Mr. Talton. Seek and inquire after her; and if you find—and she prove worthy of you, neither fortune, nor your father's consent, shall be wanted to ensure your happiness."

Edward thanked his father with a vivacity he had rarely before shown; adding—"Often have I wished to acquaint my mother with my predilection for this Unknown, and intreat her permission to seek her; but, the difficulties we have been involved in, her fear of being discovered, and her superior fear that I should quit her maternal arms to seek a father (whom I knew not, till the report of Sir Henry's death, to be in existence), has repeatedly checked the confidence I ever designed to place in her."

They continued conversing, till Mr. Talton inquired the cause of their desertion; when they hastened to rejoin him, and soon after arrived at the seat of that gentleman; where they received intelligence that Lady Corbet had returned to the Hall the preceding day.

She had, indeed, been informed, when near London, by a gentleman, whom she accidentally met, and who was personally acquainted with Sir Henry, of his seeing him at Bristol with Captain Howard; she, therefore, gave up the idea of going to London, and immediately proceeded to Bristol, where she learned, the Captain had some time since gone on an excursion into the country; but to what part no one could inform her. Perplexed at this account, and fatigued with her journey, she resigned her first intention of pursuing Sir Henry, and resolved to return to the Hall; as the vigilance of Mr. Talton, she doubted not, would soon recover her son, without her immediate assistance in the search. To her great astonishment, a few days after, she was informed Sir Henry was a visitant at Mr. Talton's; and, unable to reconcile the circumstance with that gentleman's professions of attachment to herself, wrote to him, to request the favour of an interview."

"I shall certainly comply with her Ladyship's desire," said Mr. Talton, on perusing her note; "as I hope, by alarming her with a pretended recourse to justice, I shall induce her to resign the estates of Sir Henry; and, as witnesses may be proper, shall beg the attendance of you, Howard, and Lieutenant Booyers."

These gentlemen readily assented; but before they were prepared for their departure, perceived her Ladyship's equipage advancing up the avenue. Sir Henry started on beholding it.

"Would to Heaven," he cried, "this interview were over! I think, Mr. Talton, I had better retire."

"Louise, my love," said Harland, "let me conduct you to your apartment. Your pallid looks convince me, an interview with your mother ought not now to take place."

"No, Harland," answered Louise, "let me stay. Long have I ardently wished to be blessed with the sight of her who gave me being; to hear the voice of a parent, though circumstances forbid my hoping to receive a blessing: then, I entreat you, let me stay. Believe me, if I tremble, it is for her; unprepared to answer so serious an accusation; to meet those she has so greatly injured!"

Harland reluctantly consented.

"You can stay, my dear girl," said Mrs. Blond; "but, as my presence is not necessary, I shall beg leave to accompany Sir Henry:" and a servant then announcing the arrival of their visitant, she took Sir Henry by the arm, and hastily quitted the room.

With that innate elegance which marked her demeanour, Lady Corbet entered the drawing-room: the appearance of such an unexpected party, for a moment checked the smile which played on her lips; but, quickly recovering herself, she informed Mr. Talton of the report which had reached her, and begged to know if Sir Henry were actually under his roof, or if it were the appearance of the youth she beheld, which gave rise to the rumour?

"I do not wonder at your Ladyship's perceiving the resemblance of Captain Howard's son to Sir Henry," said Mr. Talton; "it is indeed an uncommon one. But this young gentleman is too well known in these parts, although you, Madam, never before beheld him, to be mistaken for Sir Henry, who, as you have been informed, is certainly in my house. It was my intention to have waited on your Ladyship, as I have a circumstance of some importance to unfold: the present period, however, may answer as well; and, as Sir Henry has chosen me his joint-guardian with Captain Howard, we will, if you please, come to the point at once."

Lady Corbet bowed, and Mr. Talton continued—"Disagreeable is the task I have imposed on myself: but, as I think it my duty to make reparation, as far as lies in my power, for the injuries I have, however unintentionally, committed; your Ladyship must pardon me for espousing a cause, which will prove so detrimental to yourself."

"I cannot comprehend, Mr. Talton," interrupted Lady Corbet, "to what you allude; and will thank you to come, as you said, to the point at once. My son, you inform me, has chosen you his guardian: I would wish to know from what motive; or what induced you to accept the trust?"

"To reinstate him in his rights, Lady Corbet," answered Mr. Talton; "of which, I am sorry to say, you have deprived him."

"This is an accusation, Sir," said Lady Corbet, haughtily rising, "you have no right to make; and an insult I did not expect from you."

"I do not wish to discompose you, Madam," said Mr. Talton, coolly; "pray be seated. This accusation, though of a most serious nature, is not the only one I have to offer. Injuries designed against myself I can pardon; but, not those you wished to make me the instrument of committing toward others. But this is deviating from the principal charge—your Ladyship, I presume, is conscious the will produced, and by which you hold the possessions of the late Sir Henry, is a false one?"

"I can now pardon the treatment I have received," answered Lady Corbet, recovering her composure. "My unhappy son, I perceive, has been relating a tale, originating in his own distempered imagination: yet, surely, you might have acted with greater delicacy, than to accuse me thus in company, even had you, my friend, supposed the improbable account to be true."

"It is past supposition, Lady Corbet," said Mr. Talton: "proofs have confirmed its truth. As for Sir Henry being insane, the idea is absurd: although, I acknowledge, the treatment he received at your hands, was more than sufficient to have deprived an indifferent person of their senses, much less a son, who ought to have expected a different conduct in his mother!"

"Conduct!" repeated Lady Corbet. "I know not, Sir, what you would insinuate: but my conduct as a mother, and in every respect, will bear any scrutiny you can make!"

"It must soon be brought to the proof," said Mr. Talton; "though I greatly fear it will not stand the test!"

"What mean you, Sir!" exclaimed Lady Corbet, exalting her voice. "I would not have you imagine, because I have demeaned myself, by permitting an intimacy, that you are authorised to treat me with this freedom! Lady Corbet, Sir, believe me, will not be insulted with impunity!"

"Have you not deserved this treatment, Lady Corbet?" asked Mr. Talton solemnly. "Nay more!—Look round this circle—here are more than one to prove the injustice of your conduct. This Lady, you falsely informed me, your husband kept previously to his marriage—an abandoned mistress: and, as such, did you not drive his sister destitute on the world?—Demeaned by my acquaintance!—There sits a living proof of that existing between yourself and the Steward of your father. This young lady was left an infant at Rennes, nearly twenty years since, by Mallet; and is, as I have been informed, the daughter of her whom I am now addressing, and entitled to the sum of thirty thousand pounds, bequeathed in trust to you, by the late Miss Louisa Holly! I mention these circumstances, Madam, just to convince you—"

"Spare—spare my mother!" shrieked Louise, wringing her hands, "I want no fortune! Force not a parent's curses on my head!"

"Compose yourself, my Louise," said the alarmed Harland; "and let consideration for your husband calm these transports!"—But, breaking from his arms, she threw herself at the feet of the apparently horror-stricken Lady Corbet; clasped her hand to her bosom, and, faintly murmuring—"Oh my mother!" sunk insensible on the floor.

She was immediately conveyed from the room by her husband, followed by Mrs. Howard, Ellen, and Eliza. Mr. Talton's agitation, which he in vain strove to conquer, prevented his immediately proceeding; but, the Captain perceiving Lady Corbet recovering from her surprise, said,

"I believe, Madam, you will no longer wonder at Mr. Talton's becoming, with me, the guardian of your son; who, at length, has consented to commit his cause to the decision of justice: and, the ensuing term, will commence a suit, which, I am afraid, will render you an object of abhorrence in every worthy heart."

"And who art thou?" asked Lady Corbet, scornfully, "or by what right dare you impute these crimes to me—or threaten me with an appeal to justice? The estates—the property I hold—are mine; nor can you deprive me of them. By the will of my husband I hold them; and, protected by the law, I will enjoy them!"

"The will you hold them by, Madam," repeated Mr. Talton, "is a false one! and so it shall be proved, to your utter confusion!"

"Assuredly," cried Lady Corbet, "I ought to discredit my senses, which tell me it is Talton who addresses me; or, you, perhaps, my good friend, are affected by the phantasms of your new ward! I can prove him insane from the evidence of my servants; think then, what weight his accusation will have in a court of judicature!—But, if the will, which awarded this property to me, be false—where, Sir, is the real one?—Produce it!—and by that, if you can, prove the illegality of my tenure!"

"As I told you, Madam," said Talton, "neither proofs—nor witnesses, substantial ones too, are wanting. To oblige Sir Henry, who does not forget you are his mother, though you have proved unmindful of that tie, I should have waited on you, that you might not be unprepared for the charge: for there are many circumstances, too tedious to be now discussed, which must be explained in a court of justice! The real will of the late Sir Henry is found, and now in my possession: from whence it will pass to that of the Lord Chancellor; together with a packet, likewise of your husband's writing, containing an account of your proceedings and conversations with your favourite, Mallet; which he overheard, by means of a closet in the private room adjoining your apartment; and by which means, the present Sir Henry is likewise well informed of every artifice you have used to make him appear insane, and your intentions to have destroyed the will, could you have discovered it!"

He was prevented from proceeding, by the horror which appeared in the countenance of Lady Corbet. An universal trembling seized her frame, and, had not the Captain supported her, she would have sunk on the floor: he replaced her on the settee, and when she had in some degree recovered from this agitation of guilt and fear, he said:—"A candid confession on your part, Lady Corbet, with the restoration of the property bequeathed Sir Henry, by his father, are the only means to avoid the ruin which threatens you. It is not my wish, nor Mr. Talton's, far less Sir Henry's, to bring his mother to a public trial; but justice, either by your hand or ours, shall be rendered him! If you refuse to afford it him—all shall be discovered!"

"All is discovered!" cried Lady Corbet, distractedly. "But never shall Henry triumph over me, in a court of justice! No—sooner shall my own hand plunge me into eternity!"

"Little are you prepared for so serious a change," said Talton. "You may fly from the accusations of a son, but would meet those of a husband, injured in every respect, before a Being from whom there is no escape: and whose justice, though blended with mercy, is equal to his power! Rather, Lady Corbet, endeavour to atone for your past actions, and by a life of repentance, seek that mercy, you at present so little deserve!"

This address, delivered in a manner, equally solemn and affecting, appeared to increase the horror of Lady Corbet.

"Louise, too;" she faintly articulated;—"would I had not seen her! But no matter, there is still a resource!"—She burst into tears; then, after a moment's pause, hastily continued—"I presume, Sir, you have nothing farther to communicate, and I am now at liberty to depart?"

Mr. Talton bowed, and ringing the bell, Lady Corbet, in a state approaching nearly to derangement, followed the servant to her carriage, and returned to the Hall.