CHAP. XVIII.
The letters from Morewick, which announced to Sir Anthony Athelstone, the return of his nephew, found the Baronet at Cheltenham, just recovering from a fit of the gout. He was seated in his great-arm chair, and Cornelia reading by his footstool, when the tidings were brought in. Under these circumstances, for either to set out on an immediate journey northward, was impossible; but the raptures of both were not less eloquent; and was expressed with boisterous joy, by the one; and the mild transport of perfect happiness, from the lips of the other.
Sir Anthony wrote to Morewick, that his physicians would allow him to set forward in a very short time; when six horses should bring him with all speed to the banks of the Coquet. But this permission was not granted so soon as he expected; and, when it was accorded, the haste he made in travelling was so hostile to his convalescent state, that, within a stage of his own place of Athelstone-manor, he was seized with a relapse. Cornelia got him to the house, but no farther; the gout had now made prisoners of both feet; and he was laid upon his couch, for, perhaps a month to come, when she wrote to her cousin to tell him of this prevention to their progress.
The anticipated answer to this information was not disappointed. Louis set out for Athelstone. His reception there, was like that of the lost sheep being found; or the prodigal son, returned from his hopeless wanderings. The fatted calf was killed; and all the costly apparel brought forth, by the tenantry to honour the re-appearance of their master's future heir. Sir Anthony fell on his neck; and the happy Cornelia, standing bright in her beauty, like the palladian goddess her form and character resembled, looked on him with a sister's love beaming through her tears.
Time flew in this dear domestic circle. Louis and Cornelia successively read, and conversed; and amused the good-humoured invalid, in every possible way. And what was less agreeable to the cousins, the neighbouring gentry were curious to renew their acquaintance with the young and always animating de Montemar; but who was now returned amongst them, a politician and a soldier. Some enjoyed his society, with the zest of highly intelligent minds. Others gathered from his observations, information and pleasure; while the rest (and some of the older sort,) listened, and questioned; and marvelled with an absurd wonder, at such extraordinary knowledge in a man not yet four-and-twenty.
During his first visit to Athelstone, which was lengthened to more than a month, he received letters from Spain, from Martini and Ferdinand. The former told him, that he was still an unmolested occupier of the castle on the Guadalquivir. There was but one sentiment along its banks, with regard to him: lamentation for Ripperda, whom they still designated under the title of the Great Duke, while they accused the present ministry of Spain, of having forced him into rebellion. His dying in the arms of the church was a sufficient propitiation, in their eyes, for his short defection. But that was not enough for their love; and masses were daily said throughout Andalusia for the repose of his soul.
Martini's duty of charity proceeded in a manner equally grateful to the son of Ripperda. General ****, in Gibraltar, and Ismail Cheriff in Barbary, continued zealous coadjutors in the good work; and many slaves were ransomed, who had since arrived in Spain, full of thanksgiving to the hands which gave them freedom.
Ferdinand's letter was of a less agreeable complexion. An air of restraint pervaded its communications; which induced Louis to believe that his friend did not wish to let him see the whole hostility of the Spanish court against his father's fame, and his own claims on the country. He wrote of armaments by sea and land. This could no longer excite its former interest in the mind of his correspondent. He added there were great schisms in the Sanctum Sanctorum of the Queen; but there was one head acknowledged infallible by all parties, and that was Duke Wharton. He rode the government, as Jupiter did his cloud; and in the same invisible manner shot his thunderbolts; every body knowing whence the shaft came, but nobody daring to mention the name that launched it. However, he was lately gone to Paris, to meet the Electress of Bavaria.
"I would, I might never read of him, or hear of him again!" exclaimed Louis, as he turned to the pages, which spoke of the Marquis Santa Cruz's journey into Italy, for the benefit of Marcella's health.