BOOK THE THIRD.
CHAPTER I.
The Mother of our Hero, being at the Point of Death, takes her last Farewell of her Father-in-law.
The order of our history requires us to attend upon the worthy grandfather of our hero to the death-bed of his daughter-in-law, who had expressed a wish to see him. She took his hand, and pressing it to her heart, said—I thank you, sir, for this and all the proofs of kindness, which you have uniformly been pleased to show me, though I am conscious it has never been my happy lot to contribute to your comforts, or to reflect either grace or ornament upon your family, even in the slightest degree. Of your son my husband I forbear to speak; when he took his departure, and left me on the plea of providing a retreat for me upon the continent, I was too well apprised of my situation not to know that we should meet no more, and under that impression I took leave of him for ever. I have given an heir to your name and family, for whose dear sake, from his birth to the present moment, my agitated heart, though I have laboured to appear composed, has secretly been racked with sad forebodings. I am a woman, sir, and those presentiments, which your strong sense would spurn, sink deep in my weak mind—
Here her speech failed her; her breath fluttered, and quitting the hand of De Lancaster, she snatched at the sheet, as if convulsion had began to seize her. Cecilia was at hand, but tears had furnished the relief, which she was advancing to administer, and the subject, which this short alarm had interrupted, was resumed as follows—
My seeming dereliction of that darling child must have degraded me in your opinion; you could not fail to think me void of those affections, which are natural to a mother, and despised me for my seeming insensibility. Alas, how very different was the state of my too fond, too feeling heart! But there were reasons, over-ruling reasons—I cannot tell them now—They will come to your knowledge—Let the charge lie by, till the defence can meet it. It would have blessed me to have seen my father; but he cannot come to me, and when I go to him, it will be only in my body’s passage to its grave. He has kindly anticipated my wishes, by leaving my dear son sole heir of his estate. Though it is but little that I have to devise, yet I have made a will; for so much in it as concerns my son, I trust he will fulfil the obligations I impose upon him. If he shall live to be of age, and you survive, (which Heaven in mercy grant) to see that day, all may be well: I leave him in your care; I have done so always, and have kept my word; I have not made him that disgustful thing, a mother’s favourite son. Ah sir, correct the errors of his youth, but control not the affections of his heart. If, overlooking rank and fortune, they should honourably and worthily be fixt on merit in obscurity, do not I implore you—it is my last, my dying petition—do not oppose his choice. There is an humble being in the world, lovely and full of promise—oh, if she—if she should—
Whilst these words were yet upon her lips, she sunk down upon her bed as one, whose life had left her in that moment. Whilst Cecilia and the women in attendance were busied in assisting her, De Lancaster stood in deep and pensive meditation with his eyes fixed upon her pallid countenance, and as the tear dropt upon his aged cheek, he said to his daughter—Your endeavours to restore her will be fruitless: and, if an easy death is what we helpless mortals ought to wish for, ’tis hardly to be hoped you may.
This said, he withdrew, and turning into the gallery discovered John alone, and intent upon the perusal of a paper, which upon seeing his grandfather he hastily folded up and thrust into his pocket.
John, I would speak to you, said the old gentleman, and bidding him sit down, addressed him in these words—Young as you are, you are not now to learn what a precarious tenure we frail mortals hold in any thing on this side death, to which we all must come.
I understand you, sir; you come to tell me of my mother’s death.