"Now," said he, "I can return your friendship, and I am proud to acknowledge it!"

The old man with a faltering voice cried out : "Now I have lived long enough! I have seen my master's son acknowledged for the heir of Lovel!" The hall echoed with his words, "Long live the heir of Lovel!"

The Baron took Edmund's hands in his own: "Let us retire from this crowd," said he; "we have business of a more private nature to transact."

He led to the parlour, followed by Sir Philip and the other gentlemen.

"Where are my other children?" said he.

William retired, and presently returned with his brother and sister. They kneeled to their father, who raised and embraced them. He then called out, "William !-Edmund!—come and receive my blessing also."

They approached hand in hand; they kneeled, and he gave them a solemn benediction.

"Your friendship deserves our praise, my children; love each other always; and may Heaven pour down its choicest blessings upon your heads!"

They rose and embraced in silent raptures of joy. Edmund presented his friend to Sir Philip.

"I understand you," said he; "this gentleman was my first acquaintance of this family; he has a title to the second place in my heart; I shall tell him, at more leisure, how much I love and honour him for his own sake as well as yours."

He embraced the youth, and desired his friendship. "Come hither, my Emma," said the Baron.

She approached with tears on her cheek, sweetly

blushing like the damask rose wet with the dew of the morning.

"I must ask you a serious question, my child; answer me with the same sincerity you would to Heaven. You see this young man, the heir of Lovel! You have known him long; consult your own heart, and tell me whether you have any objection to receive him for your husband. I have promised to all this company to give you to him; but upon condition that you approve him: I think him worthy of you; and whether you accept him or not, he shall ever be to me a son; but Heaven forbid that I should compel my child to give her hand where she cannot bestow her heart! Speak freely, and decide this point for me and for yourself."

The fair Emma blushed, and was under some confusion; her virgin modesty prevented her speaking for some moments. Edmund trembled; he leaned upon William's shoulder to support himself. Emma cast her eye upon him; she saw his emotion, and hastened to relieve him; and thus spoke in a soft voice, which gathered strength as she proceeded :

"My lord and father's goodness has always prevented my wishes; I am the happiest of all children, in being able to obey his commands, without offering violence to my own inclinations. As I am called upon in this public manner, it is but justice to this gentleman's merit to declare that, were I at liberty to choose a husband from all the world, he only should be my choice, who, I can say with joy, is my father's also."

Edmund bowed low, he advanced towards her; the Baron took his daughter's hand and presented it

to him; he kneeled upon one knee, he took her hand, kissed it, and pressed it to his bosom. The Baron embraced and blessed them; he presented them to Sir Philip Harclay-"Receive and acknowledge your children!" said he.

"I do receive them as the gift of Heaven!" said the noble knight; "they are as much mine as if I had begotten them: all that I have is theirs, and shall descend to their children for ever." A fresh scene of congratulation ensued; and the hearts of all the auditors were too much engaged to be able soon to return to the ease and tranquillity of common life.

After they had refreshed themselves, and recovered from the emotions they had sustained on this interesting occasion, Edmund thus addressed the Baron:

"On the brink of happiness, I must claim your attention to a melancholy subject. The bones of both my parents lie unburied in this house; permit me, my honoured lord, to perform my last duties to them, and the remainder of my life shall be devoted to you and yours."

"Certainly," said the Baron; "why have you not interred them?"

"My lord, I waited for your arrival, that you might be certified of the reality, and that no doubts might remain.”

"Alas!

"I have no doubts," said the Baron. both the crime and punishment of the offender leave no room for them!" He sighed. He sighed. "Let us now put an end to this affair; and, if possible, forget it for ever."

"If it will not be too painful to you, my lord, I will entreat you, with these gentlemen our friends, to follow me into the east apartment, the scene of my parents' woes, and yet the dawning of my better hopes."

They rose to attend him; he committed the Lady Emma to the care of her youngest brother, observing that the scene was too solemn for a lady to be present at. They proceeded to the apartment; he showed the Baron the fatal closet, and the place where the bones were found, also the trunk that contained them; he recapitulated all that passed before their arrival; he showed them the coffin where the bones of the unfortunate pair were deposited he then desired the Baron to give orders for their interment.

"No," replied he, "it belongs to you to order, and every one here is ready to perform it."

Edmund then desired Father Oswald to give notice to the friars of the monastery of St. Austin, that with their permission the funeral should be solemnised there, and the bones interred in the church. He also gave orders that the closet should be floored, the apartment repaired and put in order. He then returned to the other side of the Castle.

Preparations being made for the funeral, it was performed a few days after. Edmund attended in person as chief mourner, Sir Philip Harclay as the second; Joseph desired he might assist as servant to the deceased. They were followed by most people of the village. The story was now become public, and every one blessed Edmund for the piety and devotion with which he performed the last duties.

to his parents.-Edmund appeared in deep mourning; the week after, he assisted at a mass for the repose of the deceased.

Sir Philip Harclay ordered a monument to be erected to the memory of his friends, with the following inscription:

Praye for the soules of Arthur Lord Lovele and Marie his wife, who were cut off in the flowere of theire youthe, by the trecherye and crueltie of their neare kinnesmanne. Edmund theire onlie sonne, one and twentie yeares after theire deathe, by the direction of heavene, made the discoverye of the mannere of theire deathe, and at the same time proved his own birthe. He collected theire bones together, and interred them in this place: A warning and proofe to late posteritie, of the justice of Providence, and the certainty of Retribution."

The Sunday after the funeral Edmund threw off his mourning, and appeared in a dress suitable to his condition. He received the compliments of his friends with ease and cheerfulness, and began to enjoy his happiness. He asked an audience of his fair mistress, and was permitted to declare the passion he had so long stifled in his own bosom. She gave him a favourable hearing, and in a short time confessed that she had suffered equally in that suspense that was so grievous to him. They engaged themselves by mutual vows to each other, and only waited the Baron's pleasure to complete their happiness; every cloud was banished from their brows, and sweet tranquillity took possession of