“That shall be my care,” said Oswald; “and I will warrant you that they will not find themselves disposed to inhabit it presently.”
“But how shall I leave my dear friend Mr. William, without a word of notice of this separation?”
“I have thought of that too,” said Oswald; “and I will so manage, as to acquaint him with it in such a manner as he shall think out of the common course of things, and which shall make him wonder and be silent.”
“How will you do that?” said Edmund.
“I will tell you hereafter,” said Oswald; “for here comes old Joseph to meet us.”
He came, indeed, as fast as his age would permit him. As soon as he was within hearing, he asked them what news? They related all that had passed at Twyford’s cottage; he heard them with the greatest eagerness of attention, and as soon as they came to the great event, “I knew it! I knew it!” exclaimed Joseph; “I was sure it would prove so! Thank God for it! But I will be the first to acknowledge my young lord, and I will live and die his faithful servant!” Here Joseph attempted to kneel to him, but Edmund prevented him with a warm embrace.
“My friend! my dear friend!” said he, “I cannot suffer a man of your age to kneel to me; are you not one of my best and truest friends? I will ever remember your disinterested affection for me; and if heaven restores me to my rights, it shall be one of my first cares to render your old age easy and happy.” Joseph wept over him, and it was some time before he could utter a word.
Oswald gave them both time to recover their emotion, by acquainting Joseph with Edmund’s scheme for his departure. Joseph wiped his eyes and spoke. “I have thought,” said he, “of something that will be both agree and useful to my dear master. John Wyatt, Sir Philip Harclay’s servant, is now upon a visit at his father’s; I have heard that he goes home soon; now he would be both a guide and companion, on the way.”
“That is, indeed, a happy circumstance,” said Edmund; “but how shall we know certainly the time of his departure?”
“Why, Sir, I will go to him, and enquire; and bring you word directly.”
“Do so,” said Edmund, “and you will oblige me greatly.”
“But, Sir,” said Oswald, “I think it will be best not to let John Wyatt know who is to be his companion; only let Joseph tell him that a gentleman is going to visit his master, and, if possible, prevail upon him to set out this night.”
“Do so, my good friend,” said Edmund; “and tell him, further, that this person has business of great consequence to communicate to his master, and cannot delay his journey on any account.”
“I will do this, you may depend,” said Joseph, “and acquaint you with my success as soon as possible; but, sir, you must not go without a guide, at any rate.”
“I trust I shall not,” said Edmund, “though I go alone; he that has received such a call as I have, can want no other, nor fear any danger.”
They conversed on these points till they drew near the castle, when Joseph left them to go on his errand, and Edmund attended his lord at dinner. The baron observed that he was silent and reserved; the conversation languished on both sides. As soon as dinner was ended, Edmund asked permission to go up into his own apartment; where he packed up some necessaries, and made a hasty preparation for his departure.
Afterwards he walked into the garden, revolving in his mind the peculiarity of his situation, and the uncertainty of his future prospects; lost in thought, he walked to and fro in a covered walk, with his arms crossed and his eyes cast down, without perceiving that he was observed by two females who stood at a distance watching his motions. It was the Lady Emma, and her attendant, who were thus engaged. At length, he lifted up his eyes and saw them; he stood still, and was irresolute whether to advance or retire. They approached him; and, as they drew near, fair Emma spoke.
“You have been so wrapt in meditation, Edmund, that I am apprehensive of some new vexation that I am yet a stranger to. Would it were in my power to lessen those you have already! But tell me if I guess truly?”
He stood still irresolute, he answered with hesitation. “O, lady—I am—I am grieved, I am concerned, to be the cause of so much confusion in this noble family, to which I am so much indebted; I see no way to lessen these evils but to remove the cause of them.”
“Meaning yourself?” said she.
“Certainly, Madam; and I was meditating on my departure.”
“But,” said she, “by your departure you will not remove the cause.”
“How so, madam?”
“Because you are not the cause, but those you will leave behind you.”
“Lady Emma!”
“How can you affect this ignorance, Edmund? You know well enough it is that odious Wenlock, your enemy and my aversion, that has caused all this mischief among us, and will much more, if he is not removed.”
“This, madam, is a subject that it becomes me to be silent upon. Mr. Wenlock is your kinsman; he is not my friend; and for that reason I ought not to speak against him, nor you to hear it from me. If he has used me ill, I am recompensed by the generous treatment of my lord your father, who is all that is great and good; he has allowed me to justify myself to him, and he has restored me to his good opinion, which I prize among the best gifts of heaven. Your amiable brother William thinks well of me, and his esteem is infinitely dear to me; and you, excellent Lady, permit me to hope that you honour me with your good opinion. Are not these
