“Son of my dearest friend! Dear and precious relic of a noble house! child of Providence! the beloved of heaven! welcome! thrice welcome to my arms! to my heart! I will be thy parent from henceforward, and thou shalt be indeed my child, my heir! My mind told me from the first moment I beheld thee, that thou wert the image of my friend! my heart then opened itself to receive thee, as his offspring. I had a strange foreboding that I was to be thy protector. I would then have made thee my own; but heaven orders things for the best; it made thee the instrument of this discovery, and in its own time and manner conducted thee to my arms. Praise be to God for his wonderful doings towards the children of men! everything that has befallen thee is by his direction, and he will not leave his work unfinished; I trust that I shall be his instrument to do justice on the guilty, and to restore the orphan of my friend to his rights and title. I devote myself to this service, and will make it the business of my life to effect it.”
Edmund gave vent to his emotions, in raptures of joy and gratitude. They spent several hours in this way, without thinking of the time that passed; the one enquiring, the other explaining, and repeating, every particular of the interesting story.
At length they were interrupted by the careful John Wyatt, who was anxious to know if anything was likely to give trouble to his master.
“Sir,” said John, “it grows dark—do you want a light?”
“We want no light but what heaven gives us,” said Sir Philip; “I knew not whether it was dark or light.”
“I hope,” said John, “nothing has happened, I hope your honour has heard no bad tidings; I—I—I hope no offence.”
“None at all,” said the good knight; “I am obliged to your solicitude for me; I have heard some things that grieve me, and others that give me great pleasure; but the sorrows are past, and the joys remain.”
“Thank God!” said John; “I was afraid something was the matter to give your honour trouble.”
“I thank you, my good servant! You see this young gentleman; I would have you, John, devote yourself to his service; I give you to him for an attendant on his person, and would have you show your affection to me by your attachment to him.”
“Oh, Sir!” said John in a melancholy voice, “what have I done to be turned out of your service?”
“No such matter, John,” said Sir Philip; “you will not leave my service.”
“Sir,” said John, “I would rather die than leave you.”
“And, my lad, I like you too well to part with you; but in serving my friend you will serve me. Know, that this young man is my son.”
“Your son, sir!” said John.
“Not my natural son, but my relation; my son by adoption, my heir!”
“And will he live with you, sir?”
“Yes, John; and I hope to die with him.”
“Oh, then, I will serve him with all my heart and soul; and I will do my best to please you both.”
“I thank you, John, and I will not forget your honest love and duty. I have so good an opinion of you, that I will tell you of some things concerning this gentleman that will entitle him to your respect.”
“ ’Tis enough for me,” said John, “to know that your honour respects him, to make me pay him as much duty as yourself.”
“But, John, when you know him better, you will respect him still more; at present, I shall only tell you what he is not; for you think him only the son of Andrew Twyford.”
“And is he not?” said John.
“No, but his wife nursed him, and he passed for her son.”
“And does old Twyford know it, sir?”
“He does, and will bear witness to it; but he is the son of a near friend of mine, of quality superior to my own, and as such you must serve and respect him.”
“I shall, to be sure, sir; but what name shall I call him?”
“You shall know that hereafter; in the meantime bring a light, and wait on us to the other parlour.”
When John was withdrawn, Sir Philip said, “That is a point to be considered and determined immediately; It is proper that you should assume a name till you can take that of your father; for I choose you should drop that of your foster-father; and I would have you be called by one that is respectable.”
“In that, and every other point, I will be wholly governed by you, sir,” said Edmund.
“Well then, I will give you the name of Seagrave; I shall say that you are a relation of my own; and my mother was really of that family.”
John soon returned, and attended them into the other parlour; Sir Philip entered, with Edmund in his hand.
“My friends,” said he, “this gentleman is Mr. Edward Seagrave, the son of a dear friend and relation of mine. He was lost in his infancy, brought up by a good woman out of pure humanity, and is but lately restored to his own family. The circumstances shall be made known hereafter; In the meantime, I have taken him under my care and protection, and will use all my power and interest to see him restored to his fortune, which is enjoyed by the usurper who was the cause of his expulsion, and the death of his parents. Receive him as my relation, and friend; Zadisky, do you embrace him first. Edmund, you and this gentleman must love each other for my sake; hereafter you will do it for your own.” They all rose; each embraced and congratulated the young man.
Zadisky said, “Sir, whatever griefs and misfortunes you may have endured, you may reckon them at an end, from the hour you are beloved and protected by Sir Philip Harclay.”
“I firmly
