In this pause of the narrative, Louis wrung his hands, and bitterly exclaimed:
"What an extreme and false judge have I been of this unexampled friend! And just is my punishment, that I should lose him for ever, in the moment I know his invaluable worth!" "Be not unjust to yourself, my dear de Montemar," answered the Marquis, "Philip Wharton did not open to me only half his soul. When we pledged our faith to each other, on two sacred subjects, (one of which was your restitution to your rights; but which coalition to your advantage, was not to be revealed to you till it was successful:) he confessed to me, that he deserved your warmest resentment; for, the sin of his life, since he knew you, was an incessant attempt at rendering you in all things like himself! De Montemar was bright and ambitious," said he, "too likely to outshine his master, unless I gave his towering soul a little of my own ballast. I tried him, where man is most vulnerable. Marquis! I was so very a wretch, that the clearer I saw my power over him, with a more devilish zeal I thrust him into the fire. In the garden of the Chateau de Phaffenberg was the scene of my last attempt! His resolution, not only to meet ruin himself, but to consign his idolized father to the same, rather than rescue either by a dereliction from virtue, was a sword, that cut asunder marrow and spirit! Since that hour, I have regarded that boy as a Mentor, worth all the bearded sages, from Socrates to the Cambray Bishop!"—
"So spoke the animated Duke," continued Santa Cruz; "and he has honoured his model! For, from that time, (although it was long before I shared his secret,) he has been your unsuspected and efficient friend. The re-enrolment of your father's name in the national archives; and, these parchments, containing your own restituted rights without condition or substraction, but the Dukedom of Ripperda, (which none but a Catholic can bear,) are undeniable witnesses of this fact."
"Marquis!" replied Louis, walking the room in insupportable agony of spirit; "you heap coals of fire upon my head! Oh, why must I remember, whose voice denounced him to this government; who proclaimed him a traitor to the House of Hanover!—His own rights in this country are wrested from him by that hand!—a price is set on his head,—and hidden like a thief, he lies, murdered by assassins, under the very roof which ought to have been rent with acclamations, when he sought it as a refuge!—Oh, my venerable friend, I cannot bear what is pressing on my brain!"
The Marquis saw that Louis was in no condition to listen with attention, much less with complacency, to any thing else he had to impart; and aware that his greatest proof of kindness would be to hasten his return to Morewick, to yield him some chance of seeing his friend alive; he declared that such was first in his thoughts; and he soon withdrew, to give corresponding directions to his family.
CHAP. XXII.
The morning's light saw the Marquis Santa Cruz step into the post-chariot that was to convey him to London. He had advised Louis not to distress the apprehensive mind of the Marchioness, by imparting to her, or to any of the travelling group, the afflicting scene at Morewick; besides, under the dangerous circumstances which enveloped Wharton's asylum there, the fewer who were privy to the secret, the better for all parties.
Immediately after a breakfast by sun-rise; when the Marquis had driven away, Louis led the Marchioness to her carriage. Ferdinand had already placed his sister within it, and Don Garcia de Lima, the family physician, with the female attendants of the ladies, took his station in de Montemar's travelling chaise. A cold Northumbrian morning, which, though at deep Midsummer, is sometimes saturated with fog, chilled the delicate frame of Marcella, and wrapping herself within her pelisse, she drew close into the corner of the coach.