“Heaven only knows that,” said Edmund; “and, if it permits, I will know who was my father before I am a day older.”
While he was speaking, he shifted his ground, and perceived that the boards rose up on the other side of the closet; upon farther examination they found that the whole floor was loose, and a table that stood over them concealed the circumstance from a casual observer.
“I perceive,” said Oswald, “that some great discovery is at hand.”
“God defend us!” said Edmund, “but I verily believe that the person that owned this armour lies buried under us.”
Upon this, a dismal hollow groan was heard, as if from underneath. A solemn silence ensued, and marks of fear were visible upon all three; the groan was thrice heard; Oswald made signs for them to kneel, and he prayed audibly, that Heaven would direct them how to act; he also prayed for the soul of the departed, that it might rest in peace. After this, he arose; but Edmund continued kneeling—he vowed solemnly to devote himself to the discovery of this secret, and the avenging the death of the person there buried. He then rose up. “It would be to no purpose,” said he, “for us to examine further now; when I am properly authorised, I will have this place opened; I trust that time is not far off.”
“I believe it,” said Oswald; “you are designed by Heaven to be its instrument in bringing this deed of darkness to light. We are your creatures; only tell us what you would have us do, and we are ready to obey your commands.”
“I only demand your silence,” said Edmund, “till I call for your evidence; and then, you must speak all you know, and all you suspect.”
“Oh,” said Joseph, “that I may but live to see that day, and I shall have lived long enough!”
“Come,” said Edmund, “let us return upstairs, and we will consult further how I shall proceed.”
So saying, he went out of the closet, and they followed him. He locked the door, and took the key out—“I will keep this,” said he, “till I have power to use it to purpose, lest anyone should presume to pry into the secret of this closet. I will always carry it about me, to remind me of what I have undertaken.”
Upon this, they returned upstairs into the bedchamber; all was still, and they heard nothing more to disturb them. “How,” said Edmund, “is it possible that I should be the son of Lord Lovel? for, however circumstances have seemed to encourage such a notion, what reason have I to believe it?”
“I am strangely puzzled about it,” said Oswald. “It seems unlikely that so good a man as Lord Lovel should corrupt the wife of a peasant, his vassal; and, especially, being so lately married to a lady with whom he was passionately in love.”
“Hold there!” said Joseph; “my lord was incapable of such an action; If Master Edmund is the son of my lord, he is also the son of my lady.”
“How can that be,” said Edmund?
“I don’t know how,” said Joseph; “but there is a person who can tell if she will; I mean Margery Twyford, who calls herself your mother.”
“You meet my thoughts,” said Edmund; “I had resolved, before you spoke, to visit her, and to interrogate her on the subject; I will ask my Lord’s permission to go this very day.”
“That is right,” said Oswald; “but be cautious and prudent in your enquiries.”
“If you,” said Edmund, “would bear me company, I should do better; she might think herself obliged to answer your questions; and, being less interested in the event, you would be more discreet in your interrogations.”
“That I will most readily,” said he; “and I will ask my lord’s permission for us both.”
“This point is well determined,” said Joseph; “I am impatient for the result; and I believe my feet will carry me to meet you whether I consent or not.”
“I am as impatient as you,” said Oswald; “but let us be silent as the grave, and let not a word or look indicate anything knowing or mysterious.”
The daylight began to dawn upon their conference; and Edmund, observing it, begged his friends to withdraw in silence. They did so, and left Edmund to his own recollections. His thoughts were too much employed for sleep to approach him; he threw himself upon the bed, and lay meditating how he should proceed; a thousand schemes offered themselves and were rejected; But he resolved, at all events, to leave Baron Fitz-Owen’s family the first opportunity that presented itself.
He was summoned, as before, to attend my lord at breakfast; during which, he was silent, absent, and reserved. My lord observed it, and rallied him; enquiring how he had spent the night?
“In reflecting upon my situation, my Lord; and in laying plans for my future conduct.” Oswald took the hint, and asked permission to visit Edmund’s mother in his company, and acquaint her with his intentions of leaving the country soon. He consented freely; but seemed unresolved about Edmund’s departure.
They set out directly, and Edmund went hastily to old Twyford’s cottage, declaring that every field seemed a mile to him. “Restrain your warmth, my son,” said Oswald; “compose your mind, and recover your breath, before you enter upon a business of such consequence.” Margery met them at the door, and asked Edmund, what wind blew him thither?
“Is it so very surprising,” said he, “that I should visit my parents?”
“Yes, it is,” said she, “considering the treatment you have met with from us; but since Andrew is not in the house, I may say I am glad to see you; lord bless you, what a fine youth you be grown! ’Tis a long time since I saw you; but that is not my fault; many a cross word, and many a blow, have I had on your
