"Ah! that voice, is still his own!" cried Mrs. Coningsby, throwing herself upon his bosom, and weeping afresh. "Yes, Catherine;" said the Pastor, regarding the agitated groupe, with all the tenderness of his sainted spirit. "A veil has fallen over the lustre of that beauty you used to prize so much! but it is a veil only; the light of heaven is still behind it!"
It was not until this day of emotion was quite over; and that both Mrs. Coningsby and Alice had given their hands to the kneeling obeisance of Lorenzo, with rather the welcome of kindred than of superiors; and the calming solitude of night had schooled every heart to the necessity of, at least, assuming tranquillity, that the little circle at Morewick could fully feel the happiness of re-union.
Before Louis quitted his chamber next morning, the usual domestic groupe were assembled in the breakfast room. Mr. Athelstone, with pious gratitude, remarked to Mrs. Coningsby on the trying circumstances of his nephew's yet early life; and exulted in the integrity with which he had passed so fiery an ordeal.
"Yes," returned she, "many begin their contest when he has finished his. But he has not escaped the marks!" and she shuddered while she wiped the starting tear from her eye.
"Man's contest," rejoined the Pastor, "is not finished till he grounds his arms in the grave. That our nephew has so soon commenced his combat; that he has so bravely resisted what has overcome more veteran spirits; is a sign that much remains for him to do. The soldiers of our heavenly captain, are not taught in vain: they must struggle and conquer until the end; and then they will receive their rest and their reward!"
"Hitherto," replied Mrs. Coningsby, with almost audible sobs, "his discipline has been severe indeed! but altered as he is, never did I behold affliction so dignified. His eyes, in their brightest happiness, never looked so lovely as last night, in the wordless anguish of his soul."
"And yet, Catherine, you lament his bloom!"
"No, Mr. Athelstone, it is the cause of its loss, that fills me with regret."
"But I do;" cried Alice, "I lament the loss of all that was my former Louis! his light, ethereal step,—his look of radiance,—and his voice of such soul-entrancing gladness!—But now, his movements are slow; his cheek is wan and faded; and his voice is so full of pity, I could weep whenever he speaks."
"Give him time, my child," returned the Pastor; "the hand of recent sorrow is yet heavy on him. He must yield his tribute to Nature. Suffer him now, and Nature will reward us with an ample restoration of all his delighting powers."