"None knew me personally but Pharold himself; and he pledged himself solemnly to conceal the fact of my existence from every one. It was agreed that his tribe should instantly remove to a distance, carrying me with them; while he remained, in order to watch the subsequent proceedings of my family, and give me information thereof. He was absent for several days; and when at length he rejoined his people, I found that he had been himself arrested, and in some degree suspected of having murdered me. He told me, however, that my brother had been the first to assert his innocence, and to effect his liberation. This conduct pleased me; and I resolved to linger in England some time longer, in order to mark your father's after proceedings. Through the exertions of Pharold, I learned all that took place. I found that, however he might have acted in other circumstances, my brother acted nobly towards my child; and I took some pleasure, the first that I had known for months, in viewing the emotions of his heart through the conduct to which they led. The pleasure, however, was of a very mingled nature; and at length I prepared to set out for Ireland, with the intention of proceeding thence to America. At Holyhead I removed from the tents of the gipsies, with whom I had hitherto continued, because I was aware that Sir William Ryder, an old acquaintance both of my brother's and my own, was to visit Pharold on Edward's account, in order to ensure more perfectly the gipsy's silence. He came at length, but in coming his horse took fright, threw him, and nearly killed him on the spot. He likewise was borne into the gipsies' tents, and for some days hovered between life and death. I saw him often, without being seen, and many a time as I stood in the shadow, while Pharold conversed with him, I heard him express bitter sorrow and repentance for all the follies into which he had been led, and depict vividly the writhings of a noble spirit under the consciousness of having dipped deeply in vice and become a participator in crime. I became interested in him, and determined in other lands--for he also was following exactly the same track towards America as myself--to let him know of my existence; which would at least relieve a part of the load under which he suffered. He partially recovered, and proceeded to Ireland; but he never reached America; for ere he could embark, the consequences of the injuries he had received in his fall assumed a severe character, and at a small inn, in a small and wretched Irish port, I found him dying and alone. His surprise on seeing me had nearly killed him; but he soon regained composure, and I remained with him till his last hour.
"By his advice, and authorized by his own hand, I took his name; and by means of papers which he gave me at his death, have received ever since the annuity of a thousand per annum, which my brother had settled upon him; nor did I think myself unjustified in either of these actions, for I only assumed a rank inferior to my own, and received money which to all intents and purposes was mine. However, as Sir William Ryder had a numerous acquaintance, it became necessary to fix my abode in such a spot as would remove every chance of my assumed name being questioned. My feelings too at this time led me to seek solitude, and an entire change, not only of scene, but of all the circumstances of life. Thus I retired to the spot where you found me, during the late war; and there, in the midst of savage life, and various sources of interest and excitement, I gradually recovered calmness and peace. Of my life in America I need give you no picture, as you have seen how it passed; and I have now only to explain further the motives of my return.
"Every human thing is weak in its resolves, and I not less than others; but still, in some degree, it is happy that it should be so; for our determinations are always the children of circumstances, and upon circumstances also must their execution ever depend. Like a madman and a fool, I had fancied that in Marian's mother I had found imperishable happiness; and when she was suddenly snatched from me, my whole feelings, my very soul, seemed turned into bitterness and disappointment. In bitterness and disappointment, then, I had resolved never to love another human being, and to cast off every tie that could bind me to human affections: but time brought resignation and consolation; and a longing, a thirst to see my child and my native land often came upon me with overpowering force. I sought not to resume wealth or station. I sought not to mingle again in cultivated society; but the yearning of the heart of a father and a man towards my daughter and my country were sometimes hardly to be resisted. That my child was well, happy, and protected, I learned from the constant correspondence which I kept up with the gipsy Pharold; and, at the same time, the interest which I took in the wild tribes around me, and the love they evinced towards me, acted as a strong tie to the land in which I had settled. I wavered often, but I resisted long; till, at length, I became acquainted with your admirable friend Manners, and through him first personally knew yourself. Your very name was full of interest to me; but how much was that interest increased when, by some casual words which passed between you and your friend, I learned that you were destined to become the husband of my only child. All the faults of your father's character rose up before my imagination his very faults towards your mother were remembered and when I pictured to myself my dear Marian suffering under similar conduct, my heart was in an agony of doubt and apprehension. From that moment I watched your every word and action with eager anxiety, striving to judge your mind and heart. I did judge you, Edward, and I judged you wrongly. There was a fastidiousness, an irritability, an impatience, a degree of pride, that put me strongly in mind of your father; and although I thought I saw some nobler traits, yet I was anxious, doubtful, ill at ease; and I determined, at any risk, at any cost, to try you to the uttermost, ere you received the fate of my child into your hands. I did try you, Edward, and somewhat too severely; and both for having mistaken your nature, and made you suffer deeply, I now ask your forgiveness. At the time you left me, I was engaged in negotiating the purchase of a large tract of land to be reserved for certain tribes of Indians, but a larger sum was required than I could command; and this, with the other circumstances I have mentioned, hastened my return to England. I arrived in my native country even before you did; but a thousand difficulties surrounded me which I had not foreseen; and my anxiety and eagerness made me act with less caution than I should have done. I had no agent in whom I could confide but the gipsy Pharold; and although he wrought in every thing exactly under my directions, yet a thousand circumstances, over which we had no control, turned our actions from their course, and led to results that neither of us anticipated. My intention was not to claim either my name or my estates, if I found that you were worthy of my child: but I have been forced forward, from step to step, as if by the strong hand of fate, till at length it became an imperative duty to disclose myself, in order to deliver the innocent from persecution. One satisfaction, however, I have obtained, which is, that I can now feel unbounded confidence in the man to whom I leave the happiness of my child in charge. Remember also, Edward, that I have resumed my own rights, without compromising the honour or reputation of your father--"
"Indeed! indeed!" cried De Vaux, starting up, and grasping his uncle's hands. "Thanks, thanks, my dear sir! That is a blessed relief indeed! But will not people suspect--"
"They cannot do so reasonably," replied Lord Dewry. "The secret, my dear boy, remains with you and me alone, and never to a living creature shall it pass my lips, as I hope for happiness hereafter."
"But the gipsy!" cried De Vaux, "the gipsy!"
"The gipsy is no more!" replied his uncle, a shade coming over his countenance. "Persecution and severe laws have driven him to despair, and despair to death. And now, Edward, to-morrow you are about to visit your father; in regard to letting him know what information you possess, act as you shall think fit. Were I in your circumstances, if possible, I should conceal from him that I knew aught beyond common report; but if you do communicate to him the knowledge you have obtained, add that for all and every fault towards myself I forgive him from my heart and soul, but that his conduct towards Pharold the gipsy rests dark upon my mind; and that, perhaps, it would be better if we did not meet again till time had softened the remembrance. Present him, Edward, with this packet also. It contains a deed which will prevent him from feeling any great change of fortune from my return."
De Vaux coloured as he took it; and his uncle added,--"You must not again make me deem you proud, Edward."
"No, no, my dear sir," replied De Vaux. "What I have suffered has not only been a trial, but will, I trust, prove a cure; for the errors that you saw and justly feared, were fully as real as apparent. I cannot but feel pained, however, that we should have so small a right to expect--to expect--" He paused, hesitated a moment, and then added,--"to expect bounty at the hand which now bestows it."
"Call it not bounty, my dear Edward," answered his uncle, "nor couple yourself with others in any shape, for in this deed you are in no degree interested. The fortune which Marian inherits from her mother will render you independent, till my death renders you wealthy. And now to conclude, ere I wish you good-night:--I have been forced to speak to you long of your father. In doing so, though I have tried not to spare my own faults, I have been obliged to dwell for long upon his; but I have done so once for all, and I never more mention them again, either to his son or to any one else. It has been as painful for me to speak, as for you to hear. It is over; and now, good-night!"