“I feel very strongly the obligations I owe to this gentleman, for his noble and generous offer; I cannot express the sense I have of his goodness to me, a peasant boy, only known to him by my Lord’s kind and partial mention; this uncommon bounty claims my eternal gratitude. To you, my honoured Lord, I owe everything, even this gentleman’s good opinion; you distinguished me when nobody else did; and, next to you, your sons are my best and dearest benefactors; they introduced me to your notice. My heart is unalterably attached to this house and family, and my utmost ambition is to spend my life in your service; but if you have perceived any great and grievous faults in me, that make you wish to put me out of your family, and if you have recommended me to this gentleman in order to be rid of me, in that case I will submit to your pleasure, as I would if you should sentence me to death.”
During this speech the tears made themselves channels down Edmund’s cheeks; and his two noble auditors, catching the tender inflection, wiped their eyes at the conclusion.
“My dear child,” said the baron, “you overcome me by your tenderness and gratitude! I know of no faults you have committed, that I should wish to be rid of you. I thought to do you the best service by promoting you to that of Sir Philip Harclay, who is both able and willing to provide for you; but if you prefer my service to his, I will not part with you.”
Upon this Edmund kneeled to the baron; he embraced his knees. “My dear Lord! I am, and will be your servant, in preference to any man living; I only ask your permission to live and die in your service.”
“You see, Sir Philip,” said the baron, “how this boy engages the heart; how can I part with him?”
“I cannot ask you any more,” answered Sir Philip, “I see it is impossible; but I esteem you both still higher than ever; the youth for his gratitude, and your lordship for your noble mind and true generosity; blessings attend you both!”
“Oh, sir,” said Edmund, pressing the hand of Sir Philip, “do not think me ungrateful to you; I will ever remember your goodness, and pray to Heaven to reward it: the name of Sir Philip Harclay shall be engraven upon my heart, next to my lord and his family, forever.”
Sir Philip raised the youth and embraced him, saying, “If ever you want a friend, remember me; and depend upon my protection, so long as you continue to deserve it.”
Edmund bowed low, and withdrew, with his eyes full of tears of sensibility and gratitude. When he was gone, Sir Philip said, “I am thinking, that though young Edmund wants not my assistance at present, he may hereafter stand in need of my friendship. I should not wonder if such rare qualities as he possesses, should one day create envy, and raise him enemies; in which case he might come to lose your favour, without any fault of yours or his own.”
“I am obliged to you for the warning,” said the baron, “I hope it will be unnecessary; but if ever I part with Edmund, you shall have the refusal of him.”
“I thank your Lordship for all your civilities to me,” said the knight; “I leave my best wishes with you and your hopeful family, and I humbly take my leave.”
“Will you not stay one night in the castle?” returned my Lord; “you shall be as welcome a guest as ever.”
“I acknowledge your goodness and hospitality, but this house fills me with melancholy recollections; I came hither with a heavy heart, and it will not be lighter while I remain here. I shall always remember your lordship with the highest respect and esteem; and I pray God to preserve you, and increase your blessings!”
After some further ceremonies, Sir Philip departed, and returned to old Wyatt’s, ruminating on the vicissitude of human affairs, and thinking on the changes he had seen.
At his return to Wyatt’s cottage, he found the family assembled together. He told them he would take another night’s lodging there, which they heard with great pleasure;—for he had familiarised himself to them in the last evening’s conversation, insomuch that they began to enjoy his company. He told Wyatt of the misfortune he had sustained by losing his servant on the way, and wished he could get one to attend him home in his place. Young John looked earnestly at his father, who returned a look of approbation.
“I perceive one in this company,” said he, “that would be proud to serve your honour; but I fear he is not brought up well enough.”
John coloured with impatience; he could not forbear speaking.
“Sir, I can answer for an honest heart, a willing mind, and a light pair of heels; and though I am somewhat awkward, I shall be proud to learn, to please my noble master, if he will but try me.”
“You say well,” said Sir Philip, “I have observed your qualifications, and if you are desirous to serve me, I am equally pleased with you; if your father has no objection I will take you.”
“Objection, sir!” said the old man; “it will be my pride to prefer him to such a noble gentleman; I will make no terms for him, but leave it to your honour to do for him as he shall deserve.”
“Very well,” said Sir Philip, “you shall be no loser by that; I will charge myself with the care of the young man.”
The bargain was struck, and Sir Philip purchased a horse for John of the old man. The next morning they set out; the knight left marks of his bounty with the good couple, and departed, laden with their blessing and prayers. He stopped at the place where his faithful servant was buried, and caused masses
