Bernard, without making a reply, took from her hand the proffered packet, and, at the same time, again gazed earnestly in her face. As he did so, his eyes gradually lit up with anger, and he seemed, from his altered manner, and the change that passed over his pale face, suddenly to regard her with a rooted enmity. Indeed, he was now sensible who she was, and, in her pallid but lovely features, he recognized the Popish heiress of Neville Grange.
“Well,” he said, on making this discovery, “thou shall hear how he commends thee to me.”
Thus speaking, he tore open the packet, and proceeded to give his promise effect. There were three enclosures; but the upmost one, though carefully folded, was unsealed, and engaged his attention first. Thrusting the others under his arm, he held the one specified up to the light; and in a tone which was originally bitter, but which gradually grew mild and agitated, read these words:—
“To my right trusty and singular good friend, Master Bernard Gray, at the sign of the Angel, these:—
“Worthy Bernard.—Herein thou wilt find my last will and testament, bequeathing to thee, in case I should hap to die, the whole of my effects, with my entire right and interest, in the entail of Clifford Place; and a letter of trust to my noble friend and patron, the renowned Sir Walter Raleigh. And now, good Bernard, I prefer to thee the bearer hereof, and I beseech thee, by the duty thou owest God, and thy love for my murdered mother, to give her the hand of faith and fellowship, and in all things, to the very death, to stand her abettor, as thou wouldst do service to thy loving friend,
“Hildebrand Clifford.”
The last few lines of the letter, which he read in a tremulous voice, awakened in Bernard’s bosom the deepest emotion. It was evident, too, that his emotion was of a conflicting character, and did not leave him in full possession of his judgment. The passions were mingled in his face; and his naturally kind impulses, which the sex and loveliness of Evaline, no less than his attachment to Hildebrand, and the pathetic appeal of the letter, had not failed to invoke, were restrained and pressed down by his prejudices, and his intentions lost by indecision.
It was a full minute before he spoke. By that time, however, he seemed to have made up his mind, and the hesitation described was no longer manifest.
“I cannot help thee,” he said: “thou art a Papist.”