The venerable man leaned back in his chair, and shutting his eyes in silent recollection, in a few minutes repeated these words of the letter.
"Congratulate me, my brother!" said he, "This morning I have bestowed the hand of our darling Louisa upon William de Montemar Baron de Ripperda. I need not enlarge in his praise: I have named the Baron de Ripperda; and in that name all human excellence is comprised. My full heart, overflowing with happiness, has but one wish ungratified. Richard, am I ungrateful to the Giver of all good? But my tears are now falling, that I enjoy it without the participation of her beloved mother. Oh, that she had lived to see this blissful day!"
The pious narrator paused a moment, drew his hand over his eyes; and then resumed his story in his usual manner.—
"Thus did my brother write, in the exultation of his heart. And every succeeding letter contained similar intelligence of Louisa's happiness; of the high-minded patriotism of her husband; of the honour in which he was held by the States; and of the anxious joy which agitated them all, in the prospect of an heir to this treasure of felicity. Think then, my dear Marquis, what were the feelings with which I read a long-expected letter from the Hague! I had impatiently awaited what seemed so strangely withheld. It was to tell me of the birth of the anticipated blessing. The letter came, sealed with black.—An heir had been born, according to hope, but the mother was no more.—Louisa's delicate frame had perished in the trial of that dreadful period. She lingered three weeks after the morning of her child's birth, and then died in the arms of her husband and of her father. Next day the afflicted parent wrote to me. How differently did this letter conclude from the one in which he announced her marriage!"
Again the Pastor leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes; but he also pressed them down with his hand, as he proceeded to quote his brother's words.—
"I come to you, Richard, with all that remains to me of my too precious Louisa.—So young, so beautiful, so beloved!—Ripperda has resigned her infant to my care. When he consented to my earnest supplication, he pressed the poor unconscious babe to his weeping face, and then putting him into my arms:—Take him, Sir Hedworth! (cried he) What compensation is too dear to the father of my lost Louisa? He then rushed from the room, and I have not seen him since. I thank my God, her mother is spared this last blow, which has laid my grey hairs in the dust."
As Mr. Athelstone closed these remembrances, with a silent address to the Being in whose peace now rested the parent with his child; the Marquis wiped the starting tears from his eyes,—a pause of a few minutes ensued; and then the good man, turning with a serene aspect to his auditor, resumed.—
"My brother returned to Bamborough-Castle. He found me there, with his sole-remaining daughter. Early in the succeeding year, Catherine gave her hand to Mr. Coningsby. Not to leave my brother quite alone, I henceforth continued to divide my time between the exercise of my parochial duties, and assisting him in the delightful task of unfolding the mental faculties of my infant nephew. But the drooping spirits of Sir Hedworth were daily depressed by cares more heavy to be borne than anxiety for the sick, or sorrow for the dead. Almost every post brought him accounts of his son's follies at college, or in town; and few were the weeks which past without calling on his purse for some disbursement to redeem the pledged honour of this unthinking young man. Mr. Coningsby died the sixth year after his marriage; and not leaving a son, his entailed property went to the male heir; but his daughters have, nevertheless, very noble fortunes. Sir Hedworth and myself were constituted their guardians; and as the best means of rendering them protection, my brother invited their mother from the dismal associations of a jointure-house, to her former home. Poor Catherine gladly obeyed the paternal voice:—and time went smoothly over our heads, till the day on which Louis de Montemar attained his tenth year. It was always a sacred anniversary with my brother; and on that evening, while kneeling in his closet, he was called to a blessed re-union with her he had so long mourned.
"My nephew Anthony hurried from London to take possession of his inheritance. He expressed satisfaction at finding his uncle and his young nephew in the Castle; and requested his sister to honour his table by keeping her place at its head. Notwithstanding the happy promise of this conduct, (for Sir Anthony is kind and liberal to objects in his sight;) we soon found that Bamborough, under its new master, was not a fit residence for Mrs. Coningsby and her children. In short, he was too much a man of pleasure to allow of even the common restraints usual in a family on the recent loss of its head. Whilst the hatchment was yet over the door, the Castle continued to overflow with visitors of the gayest order; and amongst the most conspicuous were the dissipated Earl of Warwick, and the no less worthless Duke of Wharton. Hunting all the morning; feasting all the day; and revelling all the night with wine, cards, music, and dance; formed the unvarying diary of the so lately revered Bamborough. In vain I remonstrated with my nephew on these pursuits; on the evils of his example to the county; and the prejudice he was doing to his fortune and his reputation. To be rid of my arguments, he frequently admitted their reasonableness; but they produced no amendment in his conduct. In short, the castle of my fathers had now become a Babylon, from which I saw the necessity of bearing away my innocent charges, while they were yet too young to be contaminated. In right of my mother Lady Cornelia Percy, Morewick-hall, on the Coquet, belongs to me. But as my pastoral care was constantly required at Bamborough, or in this island, I had never resided on my inheritance. I now wished to make it the home of my niece, and her children, till they became of age. She gladly embraced my proposal. And the young Louis, though the indulged-plaything of the whole party, so far from expressing regret at leaving the castle, heard our arrangement with joy. This may appear more than natural in a boy hardly eleven years of age; but a little affair which took place at that time, will make his acquiescence very credible.
"It was during the Christmas of the very year in which you met Duke Wharton at Paris, that he made his brilliant but baneful appearance at Bamborough. He took an immediate fancy to Louis; who was a fine spirited boy, full of enterprize and invincible good-humour. The Duke delighted in betting on his youthful talents, against the maturest acquirements in the castle. He exulted in the leaps he made him take on horseback; on the precision of his eye, in firing at a mark; and the dexterity with which he disarmed almost every man, but himself, in the practice of the foils. Even in this there was much to blame. But one evening, when Sir Anthony and the Duke were wearied of the rest of the company, and withdrawn to another room were sitting over their wine, a sudden whim seized their own half-tipsey fancies, to send Louis in masquerade to surprise the boisterous group below. Louis was summoned; and, innocent of their intention, hastened to his uncle. In the ardour of their frolic, they told him they meant to dress him in vine branches, and priming him with wine, introduce him as the festive god to the worship of the revellers in the dining-room. The natural good-sense of the boy started at the proposal; and he modestly refused to comply.—They persuaded, they flattered, they threatened; but in vain. Both resolutely, and with tears, he declared he would not, for his life, do any thing so wicked. Sir Anthony's passionate nature was in a blaze at this opposition. Mad with intoxication, he threw the helpless child on the floor, and holding him there, called on his profligate companion to give him the Burgundy. Wharton obeyed; and the inhuman uncle poured so great a quantity down the throat of his struggling victim, that the poor child was taken up insensible. He was carried to bed; and passed the remainder of the night in delirium and fever.