The Marquis raised his daughter from the neck of her friend; and, having embraced her himself, as she leaned on his bosom put her hand again into that of Louis, and pressing them together: "There, my children!" said he, "receive a father's blessing, as you continue to love each other; and are worthy of this providence of God!"
Marcella fell on the breast of her lover, and Louis bore her in his enraptured arms into the next room, to the extended ones of her mother.
Mr. Athelstone had not stood mutely by, during this blameless eloquence of nature; but in the moment of the Marquis's separating his daughter from Cornelia, he clasped the hands of Wharton and Cornelia's in his;—and said, in a low and impressive voice:—"Though he has lain in ashes, yet he shall have wings like a dove! And, against what the Lord hath purified, who shall dare make an exception!"
Cornelia trembled every where, but in her stedfast heart. She could not withdraw her hand, or speak; and Wharton softly whispered:—"Oh, my Cornelia, what that sacred hand has joined together, let not thy voice put asunder!" With the words, he gently glided a ring from his own finger, upon hers; and firmly added—"We have met to part no more!"
She sighed convulsively, and her head fell upon the shoulder of her Pastor-uncle. He had seen the ring; and pressing her to his breast, tenderly rejoined: "Be to him, my Cornelia, as a lamp to his paths! and, at the resurrection of the just, he will be to you as the sun at noon-day; encreasing your glory, by the brightness of his light!"
She put the hand of her uncle, which again clasped her's and the Duke's, to her lips; and her tears were left on Wharton's in the action. "Oh, the bliss of virtue! and of virtuous love!" exclaimed he, to himself as he dried them with a fervent kiss.
Those tears relieved her oppressed bosom, oppressed by the love she bore him; oppressed by the boundless and precious disclosure of his; and with her determination to inflict a penalty on each. She raised her head from Mr. Athelstone's breast, and turning upon Wharton, with a look which betrayed all the tenderness of her soul while she declared her final sentiments, she gently, but steadily said:
"I do not return you, your ring:—It shall go with me to my grave. But, I was weak; and you know it. I must redeem myself to you, and to the world, by not giving you this hand, until a year's trial at least. When you are far from me, and the precepts of my uncle, your conduct must prove to all, that his niece gives herself to the virtuous, as well as charming Duke of Wharton!" She uttered the last epithet, with a tearful smile; but she would hear of no change in her resolution; and as it was dictated by the truest principles of love and honour, Wharton was at last prevailed on by her approving uncle, to acquiesce.
This scene passed without any other auditor than themselves; for when Mr. Athelstone first perceived the great agitation of his niece, he had made a sign to her mother, to draw the rest of the party into another apartment.
The next day saw the Marquis and Marchioness Santa Cruz, with the elders of the Athelstone family, meet in the Pastor's library, to arrange every plan for their children's future happiness.