how it has happened now, I cannot guess. Some unexpected circumstance must have brought him to the Castle. For you know, Mrs. Coningsby, your brother has always been scrupulous of a promise."

"Hitherto;" replied she "but if we have rightly explained Peter's account, we cannot consider Sir Anthony's present detention of Louis, as any thing less than a breach of promise to you."

The Pastor looked more disturbed.—"When the tide serves in the afternoon," cried he, "I will cross to Bamborough myself; and if I find that my confidence has been abused, I shall then know my course."

"Not that my uncle doubts our nephew's steadiness in despising the follies of Duke Wharton;" said Mrs. Coningsby, addressing their guest; "but no engagements ought to be broken with impunity."

"Pardon me, madam," returned the Marquis, "if I say that we should cruelly betray our young people, if we did not so far doubt their steadiness, as always to do our utmost to withdraw them from every separate temptation to vice or folly?—I hold it as great a sin to rush unnecessarily into occasions of moral contest, as to fall by the temptation when it comes unsought. Man should neither tempt himself, nor suffer others to be tempted, when he can put in a prevention. I am, therefore, thoroughly of Mr. Athelstone's opinion, not to allow Mr. de Montemar to remain an hour that he can prevent, within the influence of the Duke of Wharton."

The Pastor was roused from anxious meditation, by the last remark of Santa Cruz. And as Mrs. Coningsby soon after left the room, he put his hand upon the arm of the Marquis, and conducting him by a side door into his library; "My good Lord," said he, "your observations are so just; that, as I may appear to have acted inconsistently with what I conscientiously approve, by having permitted my nephew to go at all where he is liable to meet the Duke; you must allow me to explain the peculiar circumstances which compelled my assent."

"I shall be glad, reverend Sir," returned the Marquis, taking a seat, "to hear what can be urged in defence of subjecting the waxen nature of youth to the impressions of perverting society. By painful experience, I know the trial to be perilous."—The last sentence was followed by a sudden coldness in his air towards the Pastor, which passed unfelt, because it was unobserved.

Unconscious of what really actuated the remarks of his auditor, with a benign smile Mr. Athelstone resumed.—

"Your Lordship must indulge me with listening to a little family history, as a preliminary to my apology?—else, I know not how to make you perfectly understand my situation with regard to my nephew Sir Anthony Athelstone."

The Marquis bowed, and Mr. Athelstone proceeded.—

"My only brother, the late Sir Hedworth Athelstone, was the father of the present Sir Anthony, and of two daughters. The eldest, Louisa, was the mother of Louis de Montemar; and the youngest, Catherine, you have seen in Mrs. Coningsby. My brother's wife died the same year in which her husband received the commands of his sovereign to go embassador-extraordinary to the Netherlands. Louisa's health having been impaired by attendance on her mother, Sir Hedworth made her the companion of his embassy. At the Hague they met the Baron de Ripperda. He was struck with my niece at first sight. And indeed she was the most beautiful creature these eyes ever beheld!—My Lord, you will see a manly copy of this angelic being, in her not unworthy son. Before she went abroad, she had refused the hands of some of the first men in England; for her accomplishments and her virtues were equal to her beauty. My brother had always left her to her own choice. He admired the Baron de Ripperda; and when she granted him permission to address her, Sir Hedworth sanctioned her acquiescence with pride and joy. I think I can recollect the very words he wrote to me on the day of her nuptials. I have often repeated them, though not lately;—yet I will recall them."

The venerable man leaned back in his chair, and shutting his eyes in silent recollection, in a few minutes repeated these words of the letter.

"Congratulate me, my brother!" said he, "This morning I have bestowed the hand of our darling Louisa upon William de Montemar Baron de Ripperda. I need not enlarge in his praise: I have named the Baron de Ripperda; and in that name all human excellence is comprised. My full heart, overflowing with happiness, has but one wish ungratified. Richard, am I ungrateful to the Giver of all good? But my tears are now falling, that I enjoy it without the participation of her beloved mother. Oh, that she had lived to see this blissful day!"

The pious narrator paused a moment, drew his hand over his eyes; and then resumed his story in his usual manner.—

"Thus did my brother write, in the exultation of his heart. And every succeeding letter contained similar intelligence of Louisa's happiness; of the high-minded patriotism of her husband; of the honour in which he was held by the States; and of the anxious joy which agitated them all, in the prospect of an heir to this treasure of felicity. Think then, my dear Marquis, what were the feelings with which I read a long-expected letter from the Hague! I had impatiently awaited what seemed so strangely withheld. It was to tell me of the birth of the anticipated blessing. The letter came, sealed with black.—An heir had been born, according to hope, but the mother was no more.—Louisa's delicate frame had perished in the trial of that dreadful period. She lingered three weeks after the morning of her child's birth, and then died in the arms of her husband and of her father. Next day the afflicted parent wrote to me. How differently did this letter conclude from the one in which he announced her marriage!"

Again the Pastor leaned back in his chair, and closed his eyes; but he also pressed them down with his hand, as he proceeded to quote his brother's words.—

"I come to you, Richard, with all that remains to me of my too precious Louisa.—So young, so beautiful, so beloved!—Ripperda has resigned her infant to my care. When he consented to my earnest supplication, he pressed the poor unconscious babe to his weeping face, and then putting him into my arms:—Take him, Sir Hedworth! (cried he) What compensation is too dear to the father of my lost Louisa? He then rushed from the room, and I have not seen him since. I thank my God, her mother is spared this last blow, which has laid my grey hairs in the dust."

As Mr. Athelstone closed these remembrances, with a silent address to the Being in whose peace now rested the parent with his child; the Marquis wiped the starting tears from his eyes,—a pause of a few minutes ensued; and then the good man, turning with a serene aspect to his auditor, resumed.—

"My brother returned to Bamborough-Castle. He found me there, with his sole-remaining daughter. Early in the succeeding year, Catherine gave her hand to Mr. Coningsby. Not to leave my brother quite alone, I henceforth continued to divide my time between the exercise of my parochial duties, and assisting him in the delightful task of unfolding the mental faculties of my infant nephew. But the drooping spirits of Sir Hedworth were daily depressed by cares more heavy to be borne than anxiety for the sick, or sorrow for the dead. Almost every post brought him accounts of his son's follies at college, or in town; and few were the weeks which past without calling on his purse for some disbursement to redeem the pledged honour of this unthinking young man.