"No, my Lord," returned Louis, "I have too British a spirit, to regret the feudal power which was founded on the vassalage of my fellow-creatures,—and though my father may have forfeited all claim to the restitution of his paternal rights in Spain, by having become a proselyte to the religion in which I have been educated; I cannot deem any depression of rank a debasement, which is incurred in so sacred a cause."
Santa Cruz drew his arm from his companion. Such adherence to principle, had it been on his side of the argument, would have filled the Marquis with admiration; but in the present case, it gave his growing partiality for the son of Ripperda, so severe a shock, that he sunk into stern silence and turned out of the abbey. Not a word was spoken during their walk homeward. And when they entered the Parsonage, the Marquis bowed coldly to the Pastor; while, with a similar air of reserve, he accepted the seat presented to him by the side of Mrs. Coningsby.
The whole party were now assembled; but an embarrassing gravity pervaded them all. None knew exactly how to explain it; but it arose, rather from the several individuals thinking too intensely of each other, than from indifference to each other's society. Louis alone had straying thoughts; and they were wandering far and wide:—sometimes with his noble friend, throwing himself in loyal gallantry at the feet of a dethroned Queen and her Son. Then the image of his father, and of Spain, would occupy his mind. He seemed to be present with him in that country; where, though denied the honours of his race, the fame of his services proclaimed that he did more than possess them—he deserved them!—"I am not fallen;" said Louis to himself; "when sprung from such a father! What is there in mere title or station, to render a man truly great?—It is action, that makes the post, that of honour, or disgrace.—And, God of my fathers! give me but the opportunity to serve my country; and no man shall say the name of Ripperda has suffered degradation!"
Louis started from his chair, in the fulness of his emotion, and hastily crossed the room. He chanced to take the direction to a recess between the book-case and the porcelain cabinet.
"You are right to remind Cornelia of her duty," cried the Pastor, "open the door; and she will then recollect, that nearly an hour has elapsed since she ought to have given us our Sunday's evening anthem."
Louis immediately threw open a pair of small folding-doors, and discovered an organ, with the oratorios of Handel on its music-stand. Cornelia did not require a second reminder.—She took her seat before the instrument; and with tones that might—
"Create a soul under the ribs of death,"
sang the divine strains of "I know that my Redeemer liveth."
As the pealing organ swelled the note of praise, the Marquis almost imagined himself in his own oratory; and that he heard the seraphic voice of his daughter Marcella, chaunting her evening hymn to the Virgin. Tears Filled the father's eyes; he drew near the instrument; and crossing his arms over his breast, with the silent responses of the heart, he re-echoed every word and every note of the holy song. When Cornelia struck its last triumphant chords, and was rising from her seat, he entreated her to prolong strains so well suited to the vesper-hour, and the feelings with which he listened.
Mr. Athelstone joined in the request; remarking, that as he loved a peculiar consecration of the instruments of worship, he never permitted this organ to be opened but on the seventh-day, or other holy festivals; and, that when it was once touched by his Saint Cecilia, his greatest pleasure was to hear its sounds, till the hour of night closed them in prayer. Cornelia re-commenced, with the overture of the Messiah; and the evening ended in unison with the piety of her uncle and his guest: in hymns to the great Author of universal harmony.