The Gothic Terror MEGAPACK™: 17 Classic Tales (54 page)

Edmund revived, he embraced and welcomed the gentlemen. Father Oswald received his embrace with peculiar affection, and gave him his benediction in a most affecting manner.

Edmund exclaimed, “Pray for me, father! that I may bear all these blessings with gratitude and moderation!”

He then saluted and shook hands with all the servants, not omitting the meanest; he distinguished Joseph by a cordial embrace; he called him his dear friend.

“Now,” said he, “I can return your friendship, and I am proud to acknowledge it!”

The old man, with a faltering voice, cried out:

“Now I have lived long enough! I have seen my master’s son acknowledged for the heir of Lovel!”

The hall echoed with his words, “Long live the heir of Lovel!”

The Baron took Edmund’s hands in his own:

“Let us retire from this crowd,” said he; “we have business of a more private nature to transact.”

He led to the parlour, followed by Sir Philip and the other gentlemen.

“Where are my other children?” said he.

William retired, and presently returned with his brother and sister. They kneeled to their father, who raised and embraced them. He then called out, “William!—Edmund!—come and receive my blessing also.”

They approached hand in hand, they kneeled, and he gave them a solemn benediction.

“Your friendship deserves our praise, my children! love each other always! and may Heaven pour down its choicest blessings upon your heads!”

They rose, and embraced in silent raptures of joy. Edmund presented his friend to Sir Philip.

“I understand you,” said he; “this gentleman was my first acquaintance of this family; he has a title to the second place in my heart; I shall tell him, at more leisure, how much I love and honour him for his own sake as well as yours.”

He embraced the youth, and desired his friendship.

“Come hither, my Emma!” said the Baron.

She approached with tears on her check, sweetly blushing, like the damask rose wet with the dew of the morning.

“I must ask you a serious question, my child; answer me with the same sincerity you would to Heaven. You see this young man, the heir of Lovel! You have known him long; consult your own heart, and tell me whether you have any objection to receive him for your husband. I have promised to all this company to give you to him; but upon condition that you approve him: I think him worthy of you; and, whether you accept him or not, he shall ever be to me a son; but Heaven forbid that I should compel my child to give her hand, where she cannot bestow her heart! Speak freely, and decide this point for me and for yourself.”

The fair Emma blushed, and was under some confusion; her virgin modesty prevented her speaking for some moments. Edmund trembled; he leaned upon William’s shoulder to support himself. Emma cast her eye upon him, she saw his emotion, and hastened to relieve him; and thus spoke in a soft voice which gathered strength as she proceeded:

“My lord and father’s goodness has always prevented my wishes; I am the happiest of all children, in being able to obey his commands, without offering violence to my own inclinations. As I am called upon in this public manner, it is but justice to this gentleman’s merit to declare, that, were I at liberty to choose a husband from all the world, he only should be my choice, who I can say, with joy, is my father’s also.”

Edmund bowed low, he advanced towards her; the Baron took his daughter’s hand, and presented it to him; he kneeled upon one knee, he took her hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom. The Baron embraced and blessed them; he presented them to Sir Philip Harclay—“Receive and acknowledge your children!” said he.

“I do receive them as the gift of Heaven!” said the noble knight; “they are as much mine as if I had begotten them: all that I have is theirs, and shall descend to their children for ever.” A fresh scene of congratulation ensued; and the hearts of all the auditors were too much engaged to be able soon to return to the ease and tranquillity of common life.

After they had refreshed themselves, and recovered from the emotions they had sustained on this interesting occasion, Edmund thus addressed the Baron:

“On the brink of happiness I must claim your attention to a melancholy subject. The bones of both my parents lie unburied in this house; permit me, my honoured lord, to perform my last duties to them, and the remainder of my life shall be devoted to you and yours.”

“Certainly,” said the Baron; “why have you not interred them?”

“My lord, I waited for your arrival, that you might be certified of the reality, and that no doubts might remain.”

“I have no doubts,” said the Baron; “Alas! both the crime and punishment of the offender leave no room for them!” He sighed. “Let us now put an end to this affair; and, if possible, forget it for ever.”

“If it will not be too painful to you, my lord, I would intreat you, with these gentlemen our friends, to follow me into the east apartment, the scene of my parents’ woes, and yet the dawning of my better hopes.”

They rose to attend him; he committed the Lady Emma to the care of her youngest brother, observing that the scene was too solemn for a lady to be present at it. They proceeded to the apartment; he showed the Baron the fatal closet, and the place where the bones were found, also the trunk that contained them; he recapitulated all that passed before their arrival; he shewed them the coffin where the bones of the unfortunate pair were deposited: he then desired the Baron to give orders for their interment.

“No,” replied he, “it belongs to you to order, and every one here is ready to perform it.”

Edmund then desired father Oswald to give notice to the friars of the monastery of St. Austin, that with their permission the funeral should be solemnized there, and the bones interred in the church. He also gave orders that the closet should be floored, the apartment repaired and put in order. He then returned to the other side of the Castle.

Preparations being made for the funeral, it was performed a few days after. Edmund attended in person as chief mourner, Sir Philip Harclay as the second; Joseph desired he might assist as servant to the deceased. They were followed by most people of the village. The story was now become public, and every one blessed Edmund for the piety and devotion with which he performed the last duties to his parents.—Edmund appeared in deep mourning; the week after, he assisted at a mass for the repose of the deceased.

Sir Philip Harclay ordered a monument to be erected to the memory of his friends, with the following inscription:

“Praye for the soules of Arthur Lord Lovele and Marie his wife, who were cut off in the flowere of theire youthe, by the trecherye and crueltie of theire neare kinnesmanne. Edmunde theire onlie sonne, one and twentie yeares after theire deathe, by the direction of heavene, made the discoverye of the mannere of theire deathe, and at the same time proved his owne birthe. He collected theire bones together, and interred them in this place: A warning and proofe to late posteritie, of the justice of Providence, and the certaintie of Retribution.”

The Sunday after the funeral Edmund threw off his mourning, and appeared in a dress suitable to his condition. He received the compliments of his friends with ease and cheerfulness, and began to enjoy his happiness. He asked an audience of his fair mistress, and was permitted to declare the passion he had so long stifled in his own bosom. She gave him a favourable hearing, and in a short time confessed that she had suffered equally in that suspense that was so grievous to him. They engaged themselves by mutual vows to each other, and only waited the Baron’s pleasure to complete their happiness; every cloud was vanished from their brows, and sweet tranquillity took possession of their bosoms. Their friends shared their happiness; William and Edmund renewed their vows of everlasting friendship, and promised to be as much together as William’s other duties would permit.

The Baron once more summoned all his company together; he told Edmund all that had passed relating to his brother in-law, his exile, and the pilgrimage of Zadisky; he then related the circumstances of Sir Robert’s engagement to Lord Clifford’s daughter, his establishment in his uncle’s seat, and his own obligations to return time enough to be present at the marriage: “But before I go,” said he, “I will give my daughter to the heir of Lovel, and then I shall have discharged my duty to him, and my promise to Sir Philip Harclay.”

“You have nobly performed both,” said Sir Philip, “and whenever you depart I shall be your companion.”

“What,” said Edmund, “am I to be deprived of both my fathers at once? My honoured lord, you have given away two houses—where do you intend to reside?”

“No matter,” said the Baron; “I know I shall be welcome to both.”

“My dear Lord,” said Edmund, “stay here and be still the master; I shall be proud to be under your command, and to be your servant as well as your son!”

“No, Edmund,” said the Baron, “that would not now be proper; this is your castle, you are its lord and master, and it is incumbent on you to shew yourself worthy of the great things Providence has done for you.”

“How shall I, a young man, acquit myself of so many duties as will be upon me, without the advice and assistance of my two paternal friends? Oh, Sir Philip! will you too leave me? once you gave me hopes—”

He stopped greatly affected.

Sir Philip said, “Tell me truly, Edmund, do you really desire that I should live with you?”

“As truly, sir, as I desire life and happiness!”

“Then, my dear child, I will live and die with you!”

They embraced with tears of affection, and Edmund was all joy and gratitude.

“My good Lord,” said Sir Philip, “you have disposed of two houses, and have none ready to receive you; will you accept of mine? It is much at your service, and its being in the same county with your eldest son, will be an inducement to you to reside there.”

The Baron caught Sir Philip’s hand.

“Noble sir, I thank you, and I will embrace your kind offer; I will be your tenant for the present; my castle in Wales shall be put in repair, in the meantime; if I do not reside there, it will be an establishment for one of my younger sons.”

“But what will you do with your old soldiers and dependants?”

“My lord, I will never cast them off. There is another house on my estate that has been shut up many years; I will have it repaired and furnished properly for the reception of my old men: I will endow it with a certain sum to be paid annually, and will appoint a steward to manage their revenue; I will continue it during the lives of the first inhabitants, and after that I shall leave it to my son here, to do as he pleases.”

“Your son,” said Edmund, “will make it the business of his life to act worthy of such a father.”

“Enough,” said Sir Philip, “I am satisfied that you will. I purpose to reside myself in that very apartment which my dear friend your father inhabited; I will tread in his footsteps, and think he sees me acting his part in his son’s family. I will be attended by my own servants; and, whenever you desire it, I will give you my company; your joys, your griefs shall be mine; I shall hold your children in my arms, and their prattle shall amuse my old age; and, as my last earthly wish, your hands shall close my eyes.”

“Long, very long,” said Edmund, with eyes and hands lifted up, “may it be ere I perform so sad a duty!”

“Long and happily may you live together!” said the Baron; “I will hope to see you sometimes, and to claim a share in your blessings. But let us give no more tears to sorrow, the rest shall be those of joy and transport. The first step we take shall be to marry our Edmund; I will give orders for the celebration, and they shall be the last orders I shall give in this house.” They then separated, and went to prepare for the approaching solemnity.

Sir Philip and the Baron had a private conference concerning Edmund’s assuming the name and title of Lovel. “I am resolved,” said Sir Philip, “to go to the king; to acquaint him briefly with Edmund’s history; I will request that he may be called up to parliament by a writ, for there is no need of a new patent, he being the true inheritor; in the mean time he shall assume the name, arms, and title, and I will answer any one that shall dispute his right to them.” Sir Philip then declared his resolution to set out with the Baron at his departure, and to settle all his other affairs before he returned to take up his residence at the Castle.

A few days after, the marriage was celebrated, to the entire satisfaction of all parties. The Baron ordered the doors to be thrown open, and the house free for all comers; with every other token of joy and festivity. Edmund appeared full of joy without levity, of mirth without extravagance; he received the congratulations of his friends, with ease, freedom, and vivacity. He sent for his foster father and mother, who began to think themselves neglected, as he had been so deeply engaged in affairs of more consequence that he had not been particularly attentive to them; he made them come into the great hall, and presented them to his lady.

“These,” said he, “are the good people to whom I am, under God, indebted for my present happiness; they were my first benefactors; I was obliged to them for food and sustenance in my childhood, and this good woman nourished my infancy at her own breast.” The lady received them graciously, and saluted Margery. Andrew kneeled down, and, with great humility, begged Edmund’s pardon for his treatment of him in his childhood. “I heartily forgive you,” said he, “and I will excuse you to yourself; it was natural for you to look upon me as an intruder that was eating your children’s bread; you saved my life, and afterwards you sustained it by your food and raiment: I ought to have maintained myself, and to have contributed to your maintenance. But besides this, your treatment of me was the first of my preferment; it recommended me to the notice of this noble family. Everything that happened to me since, has been a step to my present state of honour and happiness. Never man had so many benefactors as myself; but both they, and myself, have been only instruments in the hands of Providence, to bring about its own purposes; let us praise God for all! I shared your poverty, and you will share my riches; I will give you the cottage where you dwell, and the ground about it; I will also pay you the annual sum of ten pounds for the lives of you both; I will put out your children to manual trades, and assist you to provide for them in their own station; and you are to look upon this as paying a debt, and not bestowing a gift; I owe you more than I can ever pay; and, if there be any thing further in my power that will contribute to your happiness, you can ask nothing in reason that I will deny you.”