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Lady de Morney, father Anselm, the abbess, Madeline, and Agnes de Clifford, were severally introduced. The abbess, as she expressed her approbation of her niece's lover, told her sister that she saw in this animated and expressive countenance a likeness of her regretted Henry. De Clavering and the rest were not silent. Never can there be found a happier party than were at that time assembled in Bungay-castle. The gloom, which had so long enveloped them, disappeared with every threatening cloud, and was succeeded by the brightest sunshine. Various reports were in rapid circulation respecting the circumstances which had so wonderfully concurred to promote and secure the happiness of Walter and Roseline; and, while some were pitying, others blaming the bride that should have been, the parties themselves were congratulating each other on account of that very disappointment which had been productive of joy as great as it was unexpected.

Roseline, eager to disrobe herself of her bridal ornaments, which, in spite of herself, carried her reflections back to the agonizing conflicts she had endured when putting them on, retired with her young friends, and then in the fulness of heart, as she embraced them with delight, unmixed with self-reproach or doubt, informed them of her long and tender attachment to the poor, helpless, and unknown prisoner.

Edeliza declared he was almost as handsome as De Willows. "But not half so merry and good humoured as Mr. Camelford, (said Bertha;) but I will try to make him romp with me, and then perhaps I shall like him as well."

Roseline smiled with complacency at her sister's artless observations, in which she read the sentiments of hearts which had not yet learned the art of concealing what they felt, and which already yielded to the influence of the same blind god who had conducted her through such varying scenes of hope, despair, and misery, to a prospect of the most enviable happiness.

The whole company were invited to spend the remainder of the day at the Castle, notwithstanding the purpose for which they came had been defeated. Father Anselm, who, though a very pious and rigid Catholic, had no objection to good living, very readily accepted the invitation. The doors of the Castle were ordered to be thrown open; every one that chose was permitted to partake of the hospitality and good cheer, and, though the company were disappointed of being at a wedding, it would have been impossible for an indifferent spectator to imagine any matter of such consequence could have happened, as mirth, pleasure, and satisfaction, revelled in every eye, and every countenance was drest in the serene and placid smiles of joy and contentment.

Roseline was closeted half an hour with her mother and aunt; she received their congratulations and caresses with that pure delight which ever attends the heart when duty and affection are united. Lady de Morney could not withhold her praises; yet once or twice gently adverted to the dangers which might have arisen from the duplicity of her conduct in concealing an attachment of so much importance to her future peace, had not the holy virgin condescended to watch and guard her. The abbess bestowed her most pious benediction on her lovely niece, who, she pronounced, had acted under the influence of her guardian saint, and was entitled to the ample reward which appeared to wait her acceptance.

CHAP. VI

When the party met at dinner, the simple elegance of Roseline's engaging figure, divested of those ornaments which a few hours before had been so lavishly put on her by the fingers of taste, appeared far more captivating: her eyes were illumined with an expression of joy and satisfaction to which they had long been strangers; the change conveyed a train of the most enchanting sensations to the heart of her admiring lover, and did not pass unobserved by her friends. To Sir Philip they carried a silent reproach for having so long robbed them of their lustre.

Roseline was seated between the Baron and his son, and, though this was the first time Walter had ever dined with so large a party, or witnessed the comforts of a plentiful table, laden with the rarities of art and nature, he was neither awkward not embarrassed; for his friend Albert, to fill up the heavy hours as they slowly crept away during their long and tedious imprisonment, had described to him the manners and customs of the world, among all ranks of people, with the utmost accuracy and care, and by these means prepared him for scenes which must otherwise have astonished, and in many instances alarmed, him.

The good Albert was placed between De Clavering and De Willows, who took this opportunity of shewing him their most flattering attention, and, in consequence, he was encouraged to hold a very respectable part in the conversation. As he had before given undeniable proofs of the goodness of his heart, he now unfolded to the company the excellence of his understanding, and convinced them, that, if the prisoner had been educated amidst the bustle of the world, he could not have found a better preceptor as to sound judgement and useful knowledge. – Thus honoured and happy, he found in part a reward for the integrity and humanity of his conduct, while the approving eye of his grateful master spoke a language which conveyed a joy to his heart that is rarely felt, and cannot be defined.

Edwin and De Willows paid every attention to their fair enslavers, no longer fearing the penetrating eyes of the governor, who was too much taken up with the eclaircissement of the morning to suspect any other lovers were present.

After the company rose from the table, at the Baron's particular request, they went to look into those dreary apartments to which the prisoner had been consigned at his first coming to the castle. Edwin produced the key of the trap-door, and conducted them down the same stairs which he and his trembling companions had descended when they were alarmed by the unusual noises they heard in the lower part of the castle. Every minute circumstance was interesting to the company; but to the Baron they were connected with a tale that awakened every feeling of his heart. Few therefore can be at a loss to guess his sensations when he entered the cold, gloomy, and unwholesome dungeon in which this darling son, the child of his Isabella, had lingered so many months, and was told by Albert, that it was far more comfortable and commodious than the one he had been inclosed in many long and tedious years.

The Baron shuddered with horror, sat down on the humble and uneasy couch which had been Walter's only bed, during a long and dangerous indisposition, and again called upon Albert to describe his first interview with Roseline; the tale was again repeated, and lost none of its effect by repetition. – Walter, the tear trembling in his eye as it was fondly bent on Roseline, grasped her hand, and poured out the warm effusions of his grateful and enamoured heart.

To trace the progress of nature, unvitiated by false taste, and uncorrupted by guilt, is, in my opinion, (said De Clavering,) the most entertaining and instructive history we can read, and far more useful is the language it contains than all the crabbed and unfeeling documents of the most studious philosopher, who loses the gentle propensities of his nature by snuffing up the dust of ancient libraries, till the spiders have woven their cobweb-looms in his head, and left no space for nature to creep in, and shew her unadulterated face; but, in my opinion, the chief happiness, both of man and woman, consists in the knowledge and practice of all the social affections."

The Baron, struck with these observations, held out his hand to De Clavering, requesting to be better acquainted with him, and apologizing for his former neglect, which was chiefly owing to the singularity of his situation, which made him behold every man younger than himself with envy and suspicion; "but now (added he) I have resigned all my pretensions to the prior claims of my son, wishing to atone for my past errors, and to prove myself worthy the esteem of all those to whom he owes an obligation."

"To me lord, (replied De Clavering,) your son owes nothing: till a few days back I knew not of his residence in the castle: to my respect and esteem I considered him as having a just claim. From the first hour I had the honour of being introduced to him, I felt a desire to serve him; but all I ever did was to accompany him from the castle to the chapel, for which I never expected to be pardoned by your lordship."

"But, as his lordship offers you his friendship, (said the giddy and spirited Hugh Camelford,) you had petter accept it now he in the the humour. Lorts are not always in the mind to be coot friends with teath and the toctor."

This essay of elocution obtained the Baron's notice, and, by making every one smile, succeeded to his wish. Camelford, thus encouraged, gave way to the unbounded cheerfulness of his disposition, by again renewing his attack upon his friend De Clavering, telling him it was high time for him to be prushing away the cobwebs of old patchelorship, and pecome a man of the world, otherwise no laty, maid, or witow, would undertake the care of his old pones, and the pones of those he had pought out of their craves. De Clavering, who seldom felt himself in the humour to be displeased with his young friend, owned that he was as singular in his sentiments as the ladies, he was afraid, might think him in his manners and appearance.

"You must endeavour to become more modern, and like one of us, (said De Willows.) To be better known cannot fail to secure you a most favourable reception."

"A piece of advice I have often given him myself, (said Sir Philip.) To make our progress through life with credit and advantage to ourselves, we must so far become men of the world, as to seek for those favours it is not willing to bestow unsought or unsolicited."

"But, for a man to be able to get through it with uninterrupted success, (replied De Clavering, I have sometimes thought he must be brought up a rascal from the first. I own I should find so many places that would tempt me to halt in my way, that I should certainly be prevented reaching the envied and contested goal; for, before I would submit to have my house crowded with a succession of what might be called good company, I would take an inn, and, in the character of mine host, flay a safer, and as pleasant a game. I should not then be under the necessity of sacrificing my sentiments, or more of my time, than I found answered the purpose of keeping house to accommodate all comers and goers."

"What! (said Camelford,) would you be peat py a prother toctor, because you would not apply a strengthening plaister of goot and smooth worts to make it stick close? would you not gif the laties a healing cordial of compliments ro reconcile them to their lofs of peauty, their lap-dog, or their lofer? Fie, man, they would not suffer you to toctor their cat!"

"What I might be tempted to do, or how far I might relax from my system, to please the ladies, (replied De Clavering,) I cannot tell till I become more a man of the world, and feel myself more attached to many of its customs: but this I do know, there are a set of patients to whom I could not sacrifice my own sentiments to obtain the command of their purses. For instance, – can a man, who has wasted his youth in vice and debauchery, justly complain of a premature old age? or ought he to excite the pity of any one who knew the source whence his miseries originated? Can we sympathize with the man of business, who has brought upon himself the torturing paroxysms of a fever by the disappointment of some monopolizing plan, the success of which must have been productive of distress and misery to many hundreds of their fellow-creatures. Can the voluptuary and the drunkard think themselves entitled either to flattery or compassion, when their sufferings have been occasioned by eating till they gained a surfeit, or by drinking so hard as to make a kind of turnpike-road from their stomachs to their bowels."

"All in the way of business, (said Edwin.) Instead of quarrelling with the cause, you have nothing more to do, my good friend, but to turn their follies to your own account, and do as thousands have done before you – make them contribute in some way or other to the good of the community."

"If we were disposed to quarrel with vice and folly every time we encounter them, (said Camelford,) we should be engaged in a perpetual contest, and should only ket proken pones and the plister of contention for our pains."

"True, (replied the venerable father Anselm, who till now had observed a placid silence as he listened to the above conversation,) we should all agree to make the same allowance for the failings and frailties of others as we are inclined to do when we sit in judgement upon our own, and rather strive to find excuses than causes to condemn; like the blessed master we all unite to serve, whose precepts and practice were calculated for the good and happiness of all mankind."

"Just so would mine be, my dear father, (said De Clavering,) so far as an erring mortal can be supposed to copy a divine original; but I would not flatter people with a belief that I could feel for the miseries entailed by vice as I would for those which originated from any other cause. There are moments when I see the patient and virtuous sufferer looking up to me for health and life, that I would compound with pleasure to be any thing rather than what I am."

"Rather (said Sir Philip) endeavour to rest satisfied with being what you are, – the true Samaritan, the friendly physician, who assumes the appearance of misanthropy, without having a grain of it in his composition."

"In order to conceal feelings that do ho-honour to his profession and to human nature."

The Baron, having looked at every thing, and asked innumerable questions, the party next visited the rooms where Edwin and Roseline risked so much in daring to remove Walter, and in which he had so long remained undiscovered by the family. Here Walter himself described, in his own artless manner, the delight he felt when he, for the first time, saw the rising sun, and contemplated the brilliant scene which the moon and stars presented to his astonished sight; he mentioned likewise his rapture when first convinced that the fair Roseline felt for him a mutual passion. He then described the conflicts he endured on the morning when he knew she was really gone to give her hand to another, and owned the miseries of that moment surpassed those of his whole life, and, if thrown into a scale against them, would have weighed down all. He then adverted to his feelings when he approached the altar, and to the awe and respect he felt at sight of the Baron.

In the evening it was proposed to take a ramble through the gardens belonging to the castle, now profusely decorated with all the variegated beauties of the soul-enlivening spring, which were on the eve of giving place to the succeeding charms of summer. Here it was that the happy, the grateful Walter met such a succession of wonders and delight as rendered the scene doubly pleasing to those who partook in his raptures.

Every flower, plant, and shrub, every tree, leaf, and vegetable, excited his admiration and gratitude. The distant fields, – the rising hills, – the water, – the numberless houses, – all were admired in turn, and became the theme of his praise. – It was a charming world, – it was the paradise of which he had read, – the very garden of Eden, such as our first parents possessed, and Roseline the magnet which gave such sweet attraction to all he saw, and all he should enjoy in it.

So much was he delighted with the scene, it was not till the shades of evening began to approach, and throw a gloom over the face of nature, that even the gentle admonitions of Roseline could prevail upon him to return to the castle. Like another Cymon, he found liberty too great a blessing, too pleasing to be willing to part with it when once he had tasted its soul-reviving influence.

Many of the following days were spent in making excursions round the country, and in shewing him every thing worthy of notice. He visited the neighbouring towns and villages, looked into the churches, saw the sea, and was conveyed on board a ship, whose wonderful construction, and the vast world of waters on which it so majestically floated, awakened every sensation of astonishment. He was next indulged by sailing on the river Waveney in an open boat, rowed by some of our old English sailors, whose rough and cheerful humour gratified and entertained him.

A house was likewise procured for him: he soon learned to ride, and became so fond of the exercise, that few days passed without his going some miles about the country. His fine figure, expressive countenance, and conciliating manner, his gentleness, and unceasing good humour, made him an universal favourite, and all the inhabitants of Bungay welcomed his appearance among them with every testimony of respect, joy, and satisfaction.

The Baron and his friend, Sir Philip, had many consultations respecting the intended marriage of their children, whose youth and total ignorance of the world, of which Walter could scarcely be called an inhabitant, rendered it absolutely necessary that he should be properly introduced at court, in order to have his birth made known, and his right and titles ascertained. It was equally necessary that he should become more conversant with the customs and manners of that world, on whose stage he was now to make so distinguished a figure; and, as he had been prevented seeing foreign countries, it was a duty the Baron thought incumbent upon him to take care he should be well acquainted with his own, and instructed in the value of its just and equitable laws, which, he had cause to lament, were sometimes abused by the designs of artful and wicked men, though the envy of every other nation in the world.

When these designs were made known to Walter, the distress it produced is not to be described. To be separated from Roseline! – the thought was agony; – without seeing her every day, without being in the same place with her, it was not to be borne. He should never be able to acquire any knowledge unless the gentle maid, to whom he was indebted for life, was near, and by her soul-enlivening presence animated his endeavours, while in her smiles he should find a bright reward for the unwearied pains he should not shrink from encountering for her sake.

Roseline was not at all better reconciled to the plan, nor more at ease than himself. She was apprehensive he might in the great world see some one he like better than herself. She had heard men inconstant and prone to change. The heart she had gained in the dungeon of Bungay-castle might perchance, when engaged in the great world, surrounded by pleasure, and besieged by the bright eyes of beauty, stray from her bosom to that of a more lovely and accomplished mistress; – to a more fond and faithful on it could not be entrusted; but, as no one, she supposed, could refuse the attentions of Walter, she trembled at the idea of being separated.

These timid fears were not kept from the ear of her lover, who, in some degree, quieted them with that persuasive eloquence which love never fails to bestow on its faithful votaries. He inquired if she thought it possible he could be so great a villain as to prefer the beauties of a court to the lovely Roseline of Bungay-castle, – the gentle being who not only preserved his life, but taught him to enjoy it, whose unwearied attentions smoothed the bed of sickness, removed the veil of ignorance, and gave to his unfortunate life the first bright moment it had ever known. He vowed, if he thought any thing he might find in the world could tempt him to forgive her, or love her less than he did at that moment, he would voluntarily return to his dungeon, and never leave it more: he earnestly and pathetically petitioned his father and Sir Philip de Morney not to compel him to leave his adored Roseline till he was blessed with calling her his own.

With this request, however, they could not with prudence comply: it was not only right, but absolutely necessary he should be publicly acknowledged as the Baron's son before his marriage took place, to prevent the establishment of his rights being subject to suspicion or litigation. Against reasons so weighty and just there was no contending, and therefore they were obliged to submit, though these untaught children of simple nature yielded very reluctantly to a plan which was to secure in their possession all those fascinating enjoyments which the inhabitants of our busy world are continually pursuing, and to obtain which, without any necessity of compulsion, they often make more important sacrifices.

Albert was no longer considered or treated as a servant. The Baron generously determined, as soon as he reached town, to give such orders to his attorney as should secure him a genteel independency; and, as he was no longer distressed with the apprehension of being separated from his beloved master, he enjoyed all the comforts, with a grateful heart which the liberality of his benefactors bestowed, and met with that unfeigned respect, from every one who knew the worth and integrity of his character, to which he was so justly entitled.

As Audrey was attending her young lady, in her apartment, after she had been at the chapel to be married, and returned from thence without becoming a bride, she, as it may be supposed, was too full of the occurrences of the day to be silent on the subject every one was talking about, but which she did not, on her part, by any means approve, knowing what her own feelings would have been on a similar occasion.

"Well, to be sure and certain, miss, (cried she,) the like of this was never heard since the mencement of the world; for to go to church to be married, to take the bride's groom in your hand, as a body may say, and then to come back as you went, without being married at all! As I have a vartuous and Christian soul to be saved, if I had been volved in such a quandrary, I would never have left the chapel without a husband, young or old, let what would have been the consequence. – People fleer and jeer so about misventures of this kind, and asks one for bride's cake, and talks so indellorcatly on this subject: however, don't fret, miss; it seems you may be married still, but, for my part, I likes it best as it is."

"I think in this instance as you do, Audrey, (replied Roseline, with difficulty keeping herself from offending the honest-hearted Abigail, by bursting into a violent fit of laughter,) yet the Baron is certainly a fine-looking old gentleman."

"Fine feathers make fine birds, (said Audrey,) but as to his being fine-looking, Christ Jesus, miss, to be sure master Cuford, the blind god of love, has made you blinder than himself."

Roseline could no longer preserve her gravity.

"Blind, or not blind, (said she,) I assure you, Audrey, I thought the Baron looked and talked like an angel after we returned from the chapel; and, what is more, ugly as you think him, I love him dearly, and cannot help looking at him with pleasure and delight."

"To be sure, (said Audrey aside,) the disappointment has turned her head, and arranged all her interlects. – As sure as God is true, miss, (said she) you have taken strange vaggaries into your head: it was but yesterday I thought you were going into a vapid recline, as I have heard you mention, and now I verily thinks Bedlam will be your potion instead of a husband."

"As far as I know I am now in my proper senses, (cried Roseline, laughing,) notwithstanding your prognostics, and taking so much pains to convince me of the contrary."

"Well, well, it may be so, miss, (replied the mortified damsel;) I know but little of nostics; but this I do know, there is no recounting for the humour of quality people. The young Baron however, it must be said, if poor folks can see and judge, is to the full as good as his father. Handsome as you think him, and though he cannot speak to make himself understood, and do not know his right hand from his left, or the moon from a green cheese or young gosling, he may soon be taught to know what's what. He was monstrously frightened when he saw his father, and took him for a negromancer it seems."

"You have been strangely misinformed, Audrey, (interrupted Roseline,) the young lord is neither so ignorant not so soon alarmed as you have been taught to believe. I have known him long, and therefore, if you will rely upon my word, I assure you he is one of the most amiable and best of human beings."

"Well, miss, (again continued Audrey,) I must think that your brain is cracked, or that love has overset your understanding; for I am told by Pedro, who knows every thing about every body, that, till this very blessed day, the sweet young gentleman have been chained down in a dungeon, and never looked upon the face of man, woman, or child, not even the mother who bore him. It was tirely on his account, we all thinks, that the bustle, fuss, and disturbations in the castle riginated, and I dare say if the old Baron had refused to own him for a son, we should every one of us have been witched into the Red Sea, and drowned as the Gyptens were. I hope now, however, the spells will be taken away, and we shall see only men and women, made of flesh and blood like ourselves, for I hate ghosts."

"Amen! (cried Roseline;) I trust we shall be very quiet and happy, and that neither witches nor evil spirits will have any thing to do with us."

"I say amen again, (replied Audrey,) for I always likes to pray whenever

I see any one else set about it. Thank God you escaped the claws of the

Baron: I verily thinks I could not have found courage enuf to have married him myself."

Roseline rejoiced when her prating attendant bade her good night, and she hoped soon to forget in the arms of sleep both the painful and pleasant events of the day; but she now found joy as great an enemy to repose as grief had been the preceding night. To find her lover, the acknowledged son of her intended husband; yet to have his consent, – the consent of her parents to love Walter, and be beloved by him, – to know he was restored to liberty, rank, and fortune, to the protection of a father, and herself released from an engagement to which she never had consented, – it was such a sudden, such an unexpected reverse of fortune, as she could scarcely prevail upon herself to believe real. She had been assured too she should one day be the wife of Walter, – be permitted to live with him, – see him always, and without fear or controul be allowed to study and contribute to his happiness; – it was rapture, it was felicity far beyond her hopes.

Having once entered on a train of thinking, so delightful to a fond imagination, it effectually precluded sleep from shedding its poppies over her pillow; besides, to have slept would have been for some hours to have lost the pleasure of thinking of Walter.

No sooner did she see the god of day break forth in all his glory from the portals of the east, than she quitted her bed. Never before had she observed the sun so brilliant, – never before had the face of nature looked so charming: every tree which she saw wave its branches had acquired new beauties, and even the sturdy and impenetrable walls of the castle seemed to be wonderfully improved.

With spirits harmonized by love and expectation, and a mind enlivened by hope, she bent her knee in humble gratitude to that God who said, "Let there be light, and it was so," With a heart truly sensible of the blessings she enjoyed, and thankful for those she was permitted to behold at a distance, she fervently prayed that neither Walter nor herself might be tempted, in the midst of prosperity to forget the useful lessons they had learned in the school of adversity.