 Volume 2, Chapter 10 of Bunky Castle by Elizabeth Bonhote. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. At length the happy day arrived which was appointed for the celebration of these long expected nuptials. We presume that the morning to the world in general was exactly what other mornings had been, and that the sun shone without any perceptible brilliancy being added to its rays except in the eyes of the now happy lovers. The company assembled in the breakfast room, and for some time waited for Rosaline. She soon made her appearance led by her beloved Walter, who had stolen unobserved to the chamber door of his mistress, to chide her for so long delaying his happiness. On this occasion he was splendidly attired, and the bride, elegantly but simply dressed, wanted not the borrowed aid of ornament, but a raid in maiden bashfulness and artless purity, appeared all native loveliness. As she received the congratulations of her friends, a tear which stole from her expressive eye as it trembled to escape, appeared the spotless harbinger of gratified affection, struggling to conquer the becoming fears of unaffected modesty. As soon as breakfast was over they were accompanied to the chapel of the nunnery by a numerous train of friends and dependents. On their arrival they were met by the Lady Abbas, the venerable and worthy father Anselm, and almost all the inhabitants of the nunnery, who were allowed to assemble in the chapel on this joyous occasion, while every face wore the appearance of cheerfulness. A select party went back with them to the castle, where all who chose were permitted to partake of the happiness and share in the social satisfaction which universally prevailed. Mutual congratulations and good wishes were exchanged. Sir Philip and Lady DiMarni, happy as they were in the completion of their ambition, could not restrain the sigh of heartfelt regret at the thoughts of soon being separated from their beloved daughter. Rosaline was some time before she recovered her usual serenity, to let Eliza, on observing her shed a tear as she looked at her mother, said to her in a whisper, I cannot imagine, my dear sister, why you should weep. I do not think I should be so dejected if I were married to de Willows, though he never said half so many fine things to me as the young Baron has done to you. Rosaline smiling pressed the hand of her sister, and returning her whisper assured her she was indeed the most enviable of her sex. But added she, it requires more fortitude than I possess to support such happiness as mine, with equanimity and composure, and the natural regret I cannot help feeling at leaving this place, and soon being separated from the best and tenderest of mothers, convinces me that Providence never intended we should enjoy bliss without alloy. The next day the party sat off in new and splendid carriages, attended by a numerous new of servants for the Baron's Castle in the north of England. Their grand cavalcade brought a number of people to take a farewell look of the lovely bride, whose departure was generally regretted, and she was followed by the good wishes of all who ever had the pleasure of enjoying her society. After Philip and Lady de Mourney, her two sisters, de Willows, de Clavering, and Hugh Camelford accompanied her, Audrey had likewise the honour of attending her lady as Ville des Chambres, and never felt herself at such infinite consequence as she did when handed into the travelling carriage by the Baron's gentlemen, who did her the honour to assist in packing her up to the chin amidst the boxes and luggage entrusted to her care. The party travelled slowly and pleasantly, stopping to see everything on their route that was worthy of observation, and as they were now in the humour to be easily pleased, they were consequently amused and gratified with almost everything they saw. It is a kind of humour so extremely convenient that I hope we shall be excused for recommending the adoption of it to travellers of all countries and denominations. Good humour and serenity of mind, being the best companions at home, are equally eligible to carry with us when we go abroad. On their arrival at Fitzsawsbourne Castle, they received a considerable increase to their happiness by meeting Edwin and Madeline in perfect health and good spirits. Sir Philip and Lady de Mourney's cup of joy was filled to the brim when they found themselves folded in the arms of their long absent children, for whose lives they had so often, and indeed at this very moment, inwardly trembled. The happy bride of the exulting Walter felt such a torrent of added felicity on being folded in the arms of her brother and Madeline that she was very near fainting. Observing this, the baron, to call off their attention, desired them to permit him to come in for some share of their embraces, and in his turn to welcome them to Fitzsawsbourne Castle. This had the effect it was designed to produce, and the cordial welcome everyone received from the baron gave additional satisfaction to the hours thus marked with joy, happiness, and love. After they had taken some refreshment, Edwin surprised them all by approaching the baron, and in the most submissive manner begging him to pardon the liberty he had taken in introducing a guest to the castle, whom as yet he knew not of being there. A guest old and weak, but who was he hoped slowly recovering from an attack of illness so severe as to have threatened his life, and which, in all probability, would have terminated his mortal existence but for the unremitting attention he received from the baron's domestics. No apology is necessary upon such an occasion, said the baron. Had my people been wanting in care to anyone who required their assistance, I should have instantly dismissed them. When may I be introduced to your friend? added he. I am impatient to assure him that this house, and all it contains, are much at his service. Pray, my dear Edwin, said the lady de Marnie, who is the person for whom you have ventured to tax the baron's hospitality thus largely, and for whom you appear so much interested. The father of this lady replied he, taking the hand of Madeleine and leading her to his mother. To her I will refer you for an account of our meeting, and the revolution it has fortunately produced in our favour. Madeleine was instantly called upon to gratify the curiosity of the company, and without any delay informed them that Edwin and herself having one day agreed to take a ramble, they told the people with whom they lodged that they should not return till the evening. Disguising themselves more than usual so as to avoid the possibility of being discovered, they sat off, and being tempted by the extreme fineness of the day, wandered till they came to the great road which led to a large town, not five miles distant. In fact, said the blushing narrator, my dear Edwin was grown weary of solitude, and wished perhaps to see more faces than those which he met in the obscure little cottage to which we were confined. Everyone smiled. Edwin looked confused, and Madeleine thus proceeded. We had not walked more than half a mile in the great road before the number of people we met, and the curiosity our strange appearance excited, determined us to choose a more private walk. But just as we were going to turn into a lane which led to a neighboring village, our attention was caught and our design prevented by a carriage being overturned within a hundred paces of us. The horse's proving restive had drawn it up a high bank which occasioned the accident. One of the servants seeing Edwin beckoned him and begged him to assist in the lifting it up, and liberating his master from his perilous situation. He immediately ran off telling me to sit down on the bank until his return. Thinking, however, that I might possibly be of some service, I walked slowly forwards. But guess my terror when, just as we arrived at the carriage, they were dragging from it a man to all appearance dead. I instantly flew to lend my assistance, but no sooner did I distinguish his person than I was nearly as lifeless as himself. It was my father. My father dying on the road. The sight, however terrifying to my fears and torturing to my feelings, gave me strength, and inspired me with fortitude to help in preserving the life of the author of my being. I took an opportunity to inform my dear Edwin who it was that claimed our care and attention. After chafing his temples and rubbing his emaciated hands, some faint signs of life reanimated our endeavours. We found by the conversation of the servants that their master had been recommended to try what change of air and travelling might do, as medicine had failed in removing a disease which had long preyed upon his constitution, and which had been increased by some domestic sorrow. Alas, of that sorrow I knew myself to be the cause, and the tears which I shed upon his almost lifeless hand as I saw him extended at my feet, atoned I hope in some measure for the grief I had inflicted. When life was more perfectly restored, we moved him upon a grass-plat till the carriage and horses could be got ready. He took no notice of any one, and appeared to be totally insensible of the accident and of everything around him. This at once determined us to intrude on the Baron's goodness and convey him to this castle. Having dispatched a messenger for the best advice we could procure, one of his attendants and myself accompanied him in the carriage. His head rested on Montbosom, but he knew me not, nor once attempted to speak. On our arrival here, we found everything prepared for our reception. Edwin, having taken one of the horses and rode full speed to inform the Baron's servants, a sick gentleman was coming, for whom he requested their care and assistance. My father was taken from the carriage and instantly put to bed. Two medical gentlemen very soon arrived who on examining the state of their patient, from the violence of the contusion and the total deprivation of sense in which they found him, seemed to think there was a concussion of the brain. They assured us, however, that his life would not be endangered by the accident, but said they saw he was far advanced in decline, from which they apprehended more fatal consequences. We continued our disguise, and as our real names were totally unknown in this neighborhood, having passed for a mister in Mrs. Danbury, we were under no apprehensions of being discovered should my father recover his senses. After remaining in the most painful state of suspense many days, he began to take notice of those who attended him, but made no inquiries after his own servants, how he came into a strange place, or the accident which had befallen him. One day as I was sitting by him and holding his head, which I had been rubbing with vinegar, he looked earnestly at me. If I did not think, if I did not know it was impossible, said he in hurried accents, looking first at me and then at Edwin, who was standing at the foot of the bed, I should almost be tempted to believe that the hand which has so gently given me relief was the hand of Madalinda Glanville, and that face, the face I once fondly doted upon, but it cannot be. I am a poor, wandering old man, whose eyes must be closed by strangers, and I deserve it should be so. I once had a daughter, but I banished her my sight. I had a son, but he perhaps is no longer an inhabitant of this world. Here he stopped and burst into a violent flood of tears. By a sign from Edwin I understood he wish me to take this favourable opportunity of making the discovery for which he knew I languished, falling therefore on my knees in the most supplicating attitude and pressing his hand to my lips I exclaimed, I am your daughter, your Madeline, and there is the amiable, the beloved husband for whom I dared to disobey my father, and for whom at this moment I stand a trembling victim to the just laws of my country and my religion. The scene which followed it is not in my power to describe. Suffice it to say that, from that interesting period, my father has not only been reconciled, but renovated with health and strength. He frequently laments the obstinacy which reduced us to the necessity of taking such steps to prevent our separation. He has written letters to every one he knows that has any interest with the higher powers of the church, but his hopes of success are rested upon Lord Fitz Osborne, to whom he is impatient to pay his respects. This moment I am ready to attend him, said the Baron. The father of Madeline is entitled to every attention that has or can be shown him. After his Lordship's visit had been paid, the rest of the party followed the course and a general harmony prevailed. Mr. DeGlanville was instantly placed wholly under the care of declivering, and soon obtained as perfect a state of convalescence as the nature of his constitutional habits would admit. Now again hospitality and festivity took their turn to reign, and the happy and distinguished Walter, after languishing so many years in misery and confinement, found himself in the situation for which nature had designed him. Restored to his rank in the bosom of affluence, and surrounded by tender and admiring friends, he soon lost that timid shyness which had once rendered so averse to society and discontented with the world. United to the only woman he had ever loved, and possessed of domains more extensive and fertile than those of many a petty prince, with a mind calculated to promote the happiness of his fellow creatures, he was beloved by all and envied by many. In a few months a full and free pardon was procured for Edwin and Madeline, and Mr. DeGlanville having recovered, contrary to the expectation of every one, from the indisposition which threatened him with death at the time his daughter escaped from the bungy nunnery, on being convinced she had made so respectable and worthy a choice, gave her a considerable portion, and afterwards, having the fears of his son's death realized, she inherited his whole estate. Edwin also rose to high rank in the army, and was an honour to his country. Edeliza was happily married in due time to her beloved de Willows, and about six years after, the worthy Hugh Camelford led the blooming and unrelected bertha to the altar. To these young men the Baron uniformly remained a bountiful and steady patron, and Sir Philip and Lady de Morny lived many years to be grateful and happy spectators of the felicity and prosperity of their children. The Baron and his son became so sincerely attached to the clevering during his visit at Fitzosburn Castle, that in compliance with their urgent and repeated entreaties he consented to remain in their neighbourhood. He very soon afterwards married a lady of respectability and fortune, and his practice became so extensive and so much esteemed that his superior knowledge proved a general blessing of which many hundreds of his fellow creatures in a few years experienced the benefit. The Baron was highly delighted with the society of de clevering, and it was with the utmost reluctance he ever consented to his being a day absent from the neighbourhood. It was the intention of the Baron, after he had seen his son fixed and his household properly established, to have resided in another of his castles about twenty miles distant. But neither Walter nor Rosalind would consent to the proposal. They reminded the Baron of the long and cruel separation which had divided him from his son in the early part of his life, and so earnestly entreated him not to interrupt their happiness by withdrawing himself from their society and refusing to reside with them. That pleased and gratified by the tenderness with which the request was mutually urged, he yielded to their persuasions, and a proper suite of rooms with a large retinue of servants were set apart for the immediate use of the Baron. He continued to live with them many years without any interruption to his happiness, and in seeing the harmony and felicity they enjoyed, surrounded by a number of lovely and healthy grandchildren, he found amidst the increasing infirmities of old age sufficient attractions in life to make it pleasant and desirable. While a cordial affection and exemplary conduct of his son, joined to the endearing attentions of the gentle and beloved Rosalind, made him remember with joy and gratitude the day in which he saw their hands united. Albert never left his beloved master, but was as faithfully attached to his children as he had been to himself. He had apartments appropriated to his use, a servant to attend him, and met in the kind and unceasing attentions of his grateful friends the just reward of his long-tried fidelity. Often, in the dreary winter evenings, having drawn all the younger part of the family around him, he would recite the incidents of his life from the period of his confinement with Walter. To the young Fitz Osborn, it was a high treat to hear Albert tell the tale of their beloved father's life. Sometimes he would excite their wonder and entertain them with the surprising effect of his double voice. And when he became a very old man, he was as much beloved for what he had been as he was respected for his age, gray hairs, and universal philanthropy. Though many overtures were made by the worthless brother of the Lady Isabella to bring about a reconciliation, neither the Baron nor his son could ever be prevailed upon to see him. And it was with some difficulty the former was persuaded to give up bringing him to justice for the crime he had committed. The good Abbas and the venerable father Anselm had the pleasure of seeing their favorite Madeline as happy in the arms of her worthy husband, as they had hoped she would have been in the bosom of their church. Walter and his Rosaline paid them many visits before they were removed from their exemplary calling on earth to receive the reward of their purity and virtue in the regions of immortality. The hero and heroine of our tale retained the virtues of their youth, the gentleness of their manners, and the sweetness of their dispositions to the end of their lives. And what may be thought rare and singular, they never lost their humility, tenderness, and unbounded affection for each other. But when age, that grave of beauty, had robbed them of those outward graces which nature with an unsparing hand had bestowed upon their youth, love maintained its empire in their faithful bosoms, and survived every change till death summoned them to meet the bright and unfailing recompense of a life spent in the practice of religion, justice, and virtue.