The remainder of the autumn was passed in Lindisfarne by the different members of the Pastor\'s family, with no change in the tranquil routine of their occupations, and little apparent alteration in themselves.

Sir Anthony had made ample apologies to his nephew, and concessions to his uncle, to justify a renewed reconciliation. He pleaded surprise and infatuation; and as the eccentric planet, whose influence created both, had some time reached its perihelium; it was hoped the attraction would be too powerful to allow of its return. Mr. Athelstone, therefore, permitted his nephew to visit as usual at the castle, till the closing in of winter rendered the shores dangerous,[240] and commanded the emigration of his family to the more sheltered regions of Morewick-hall.

Louis\'s elastic mind, like the principle of life shooting into every faculty of vigorous manhood, recovered all its spring; and allowing himself to think no more of his father nor of Duke Wharton, than what was sufficient to keep his emulation in active career to attain the patriotic talents of the one, and the disinterested enthusiam of the other; he devoted himself, heart and soul, to the perfect acquirement of every branch of study which could possibly promote the great ends of his ambition. Accustomed to labour, the buoyancy of his spirit never admitted the touch of fatigue. Bodily exertion could not weary his practised limbs; nor diversity of mental pursuits, distract nor overstrain his faculties. In the full power of health, and of a mind which care had never traversed, all things were easy to him. One hour he was[241] absorbed in mathematics, history, or languages; and the next saw him in the chace, with his gun on the moor, or bounding along the icicled heights of Morewick, by the side of Cornelia.

Alice alone had exhibited a change in her person and manners since the visit of the noble Spaniards. She, who used to be the most constant companion of her cousin, now hardly ever joined him in his rambles; and always refused to be his partner in the evening dances, which usually diversified the amusements of the hall, when any of the neighbouring families made a part of its winter fire-side. Her spirits and her bloom were gone; and Mrs. Coningsby at length became so alarmed, that she seriously talked with the Pastor about taking her in the spring to some milder climate. Louis was not insensible to the alteration in his cousin. But those anxious attentions which, in any former indisposition, she had always received from him with grate[242]ful affection, were now, not merely avoided, but repelled with evident dislike. At first he attributed this strange conduct, to some unintentional offence on his part; and he tenderly asked her if it were so. She burst into tears as she hurryingly replied in the negative, and left the room. On mentioning the circumstance to Mrs. Coningsby, it only confirmed her opinion of her daughter\'s illness being a latent consumption; and that her present distaste to what before gave her pleasure, was a symptom of that fatal disorder.

Such was the state of the family; when about four o\'clock, one dreadfully severe day in December, a person of a middle age and a gloomy aspect, alighted from a chaise at the door of Morewick-hall; and almost speechless with cold, was ushered into the presence of Mr. Athelstone. The Pastor was alone in his library: and the stranger in brief and broken English, announced himself as[243] the Senor Castanos, confidential secretary to the Baron de Ripperda, and a messenger to the guardian of his son. While he spoke, he presented two packets; one from the Baron, the other from the Marquis Santa Cruz. With his accustomed hospitality, Mr. Athelstone bade his guest welcome; and was enquiring after the health of the Baron and the Marquis, when Louis entered the room. In passing through the hall, the porter told him that Peter had just shewn an outlandish gentleman in to his uncle; and impatient to know whether he came from Spain, Louis hastened to the library.

"My child," said the Pastor, "I believe you are near the goal of your wishes.—This gentleman comes from your father."

The secretary bowed to the son of his patron. And Louis, looking first at him, and then at his uncle, exclaimed—"my father!—and does he—?" He hesitated,[244] he stopped; the eagerness of his hopes interrupted his articulation.

"We will open this packet, and see," returned the Pastor, taking that from the Baron into his hand. But glancing at the shivering figure of his guest, who had drawn near the fire, he did not break the seal, but desiring Louis to ring the bell, requested the Senor to permit the servant who attended, to shew him to an apartment where he should have a change of warm garments, and proper refreshment after so inclement a journey.

As soon as the Spaniard had withdrawn, Mr. Athelstone opened the packet. It presented one for himself, and another for his nephew. Never before had Louis received a letter directed to himself, from his father. Though he always persevered in the duty of addressing his only parent, yet, until this moment, the answers were never more than acknowledging messages through his guardian. It was, therefore, with a peculiar feeling[245] of recognition; a conviction of being now owned by his father\'s heart as his son; that Louis opened the first letter he had ever received from his hand.—

Its contents were these:

    "My dear Son,

    "I hear from the Marquis Santa Cruz, that you are worthy the name you bear.—That your acquirements do credit to the liberality of your education; and that you are not deficient in ambition to bring these implements to the test. I offer you an opportunity. Accompany the bearer of this, to the continent.—He is my secretary:—and has my commands to present you to a person there, who will put your talents to the trial. Should the result be to your honour, you shall not be long withheld from the embrace of your father, William

    Baron de Ripperda.

    "Madrid,
    "November, 1725."

Louis pressed these welcome com[246]mands to his lips: then turning, to communicate their happy tidings to Mr. Athelstone, he saw the eyes of the venerable man still bent on the other packet; while the spectacles, which he held in his hand, bore tearful proofs how little was his sympathy with the joy that beat in the heart of his nephew. Louis took that trembling hand, and kissed it without speaking.

"I know, my child, that you are going to leave me.—I know that you are glad to go;—and it is natural, but an old man\'s tears are natural too."

Louis grieved for the grief of his uncle: and anticipated his own pangs in the moment of separation from so paternal a friend; from an aunt and cousins so beloved: but he did not feel the most distant wish to escape these pangs an hour, by delaying the journey that was to draw him nearer to his father, and to the indistinct, but, he hoped, sure objects of his ambition. He was indeed drawn by two attractions: the one tender and per[247]suading; the other, powerful and imperative; and his soul leaped to the latter, as to its congenial element.

In a few minutes Mr. Athelstone recovered his wonted serenity. "The time is now come," said he, "when I must put forth from my bosom the sacred deposit I have so fondly cherished.—Yes, Louis; your spirit, more than your years, demands its active destination; and I will not murmur that the moment for which I have educated your mind and your body, is at last arrived!" He then read aloud, and with composure, the letter which the Baron had addressed to him; but it was not more explanatory than the other, of the circumstances in which he meant to place his son.

The secretary soon after re-entered. On Mr. Athelstone putting some civil questions to him respecting his present fatigue, and his late long journey; he abruptly answered, "That as his arrival had been delayed by contrary winds at[248] sea; and the severity of the season did not promise a more propitious voyage, in returning; it would be necessary for him and Mr. de Montemar to take leave of Morewick-hall the following morning."

The Baron\'s letter to Mr. Athelstone, told him that Louis must yield implicit deference to the arrangements of Castanos. And in reply to some remonstrance from the Pastor, for a less hasty departure, the Senor coldly observed—"That at Ostend, he and his charge were to meet instructions for proceeding: and should they arrive there a day later than the one fixed by the Baron, the consequence might be fatal to their safety. Indeed, that no appendage should encumber their progress, his Lord had commanded him to deny to Mr. de Montemar the indulgence of taking a servant from England."

Mr. Athelstone made many enquiries, to gather something of the object of so peremptory a summons; but he received no satisfaction from the secretary, who,[249] with even morose brevity, continued to affirm his total ignorance of what was to follow the introduction of his charge to his new guardian. His own office went no further than to conduct Mr. de Montemar by a particular day to the continent: but who he was to meet there, or how he was to be employed, future events must explain. The frank-hearted Pastor, became uneasy at this mystery. And the more so, as from the secretary\'s hint, (which he appeared vext at having dropped) it seemed connected with danger. "Yet it is his father, who summons him into such circumstances!" said he to himself; "and surely I may trust a father\'s watchfulness over his only son!"

Louis\'s imagination had taken fire at what chilled the heart of his uncle. That there was a demand on his courage, in the proposed trial, swelled his youthful breast with exultation. He thought, as yet he had only tried his strength like a boy; in exercise, or in pastime. He[250] wanted to grapple with danger, with the heart and the arm of a man; and for a cause that would sanctify the hazard of his life. "And to something like this," cried he mentally, "my father calls me! He calls me, as becomes the son of his race, to share the labours, the perils, of his glorious career! I am now to prove my claim to so noble a birth-right.—And I will prove it! O gracious Heaven, give me but to deserve honour of my father; and I ask no other blessing on this side of eternity!"

Mr. Athelstone saw that strong emotions were agitating the occupied mind of his nephew, and reading their import, in the lofty expressions of his countenance, he did not check their impulse, by recalling his attention to present objects; but proceeded in silence to open the packet from Santa Cruz: hoping that its contents might cast a light upon the destiny of Louis.

The letter was short: chiefly thanking[251] the Pastor and his family, for their kindness to himself and his son during their visit at Lindisfarne. Writing of Ferdinand, he added that his health was materially improved, though his spirits were yet very unequal. To remedy these remains of his indisposition, he meant to engage himself in the expected hostilities between Austria and Spain, who were likely to quarrel on a question of maritime and commercial prerogative. The Marquis concluded his letter by saying, that he enclosed three packets from Don Ferdinand, as offerings of respect to the ladies of Lindisfarne.

Mr. Athelstone believed he had found a clew to the affair of danger, to which Louis was to be introduced. He did not doubt but that the Baron also meant to engage his son in the anticipated warfare between their Catholic and C?sarian majesties. The halting at Ostend seemed to corroborate this surmise, as its new commercial company was the very dis[252]pute between the rival Powers. But still, the immediate peril which threatened any delay in arriving there remained as unexplained as before.

When Louis perused the Marquis\'s letter, he also supposed he was called to a military life; and as that was the point to which he had most wistfully directed his glory-attracted eye, the intimation at once fixed his vague anticipations; and rising from his seat, while his thoughts glanced on Wharton\'s gay demand to write man upon his brow, he smiled on his uncle and said, "this is the Toga virilis that has ever been the object of my vows!"

"God grant," cried the Pastor, mournfully returning his playful smile, "that it may not be steeped in blood!"

"And if found in the bed of honour," replied Louis, "I should not rest the worse for it!"

"Yon sport, my child, with these gloomy suggestions; and may you ever have[253] the same cause for smiling at the advance of death! I know the passion of your soul is to be always in the path of duty; and that in such pursuit, the rugged and the smooth, the safe or dangerous, are to you alike. Nourish this principle as that of your part in the covenant of your salvation. But keep a clear eye in discerning between duty and inclination. Remember, that no enterprize is great that is not morally good: that war is murder, when it commences in aggression; and that policy is villainy, when it seeks to aggrandize by injustice. In short, in whatever you do, consider the aim of your action, and your motive in undertaking its accomplishment. Be single-minded in all things, having the principle of the divine laws, delivered by the Son of God himself, as the living spring of every action throughout your life. Then, my Louis, you may smile in life and in death! You will be above the breath of man, beyond his power to disappoin............