“Excuse my interrupting your honour,” cried Davis, bowing profoundly; “but I cannot bear it to be thought that I was capable of persuading your honour to take any steps, your honour might not thoroughly approve. Now as to the germinization and ripening—”
“My good fellow!” exclaimed Sir Ambrose, smiling at the energy with which Davis spoke—his thin figure waving backwards and forwards in the sunshine, and his earnest wish to convince his master, almost depriving his voice of its usual solemn and sententious tone: “My mind is too much occupied to think of these things now, so I give you full and free liberty to burn, dry, or drown my fields, as you may think fit; empowering you to take all necessary steps, either to germinate or ripen corn upon any part of my estate whatever, only premising, that in future you never trouble me upon the subject; and so good night.”
This being spoken in a tone of voice Davis did not dare to disobey, he slowly retired, apparently as much annoyed at having his own way, as some people are at being contradicted; when suddenly a brilliant flash of light gleamed on the baronet’s polished mirror. “Ah! what was that?” exclaimed Sir Ambrose, starting up, and dashing his pipe upon the ground.
He gazed eagerly upon the mirror for a few seconds in breathless anxiety, bending forwards in a listening attitude, and not daring to stir, as though he feared the slightest movement might destroy the pleasing illusion. The flash was repeated again and again in rapid succession, whilst a peal of silver bells began to ring their rounds in liquid melody. “Thank God! thank God!” exclaimed the aged baronet, sinking upon his knees, and clasping his hands together, whilst the big tears rolled rapidly down his face, “My Edmund has conquered! my Edmund is safe!”
The faithful servants of Sir Ambrose followed the example of their master, and for some minutes the whole party appeared lost in silent thanksgivings; the silver bells still continuing their harmonious sweetness, though in softer and softer strains, till at last they gradually died away upon the ear. Sir Ambrose started from his knees as the melody ceased, and desiring Abelard to summon Edric and Father Morris, who was then with the youthful philosopher in his study, he rushed upon the terrace, followed by Davis, to examine a telegraph placed upon a mount at a little distance, so as to be seen from one end of it: the light and music just mentioned, being a signal always given when some important information was about to be transmitted.
The sun had now sunk behind the hills, and the shades of evening were rapidly closing in as the baronet, with straining eyes, watched the various movements of the machine. “One, two, and six!” said he; “yes, that signifies he has won the battle, and is safe. My heart told me so, when I saw the signal flash. My darling Edmund!—two, four, and eight—he has subdued the Germans, and taken the whole of the fine province of France. Six, six, and four—alas! my failing eyes are too weak to see distinctly. Davis, look I implore you! The signal is changing before we have discovered its meaning! For mercy’s sake, look before it be too late! Alas! alas! I had forgotten your eyes are as feeble as mine own. Oh, Davis! where is Edric? Why is not he here to assist his poor old father at such a moment as this?”
But Edric was otherwise engaged. After the departure of Edmund for the continent, the attention of Father Morris had been directed to his brother, and the mind of Edric, which had long craved for stronger food than it could obtain from the good-natured Dr. Entwerfen, expanded rapidly beneath the culture bestowed upon it. He had long been fond of abstract studies and visionary speculations, but they now formed the only pleasure of his existence; and he pursued them with an eagerness which made all the ordinary affairs of life appear tasteless and insipid. An idea, suggested by Father Morris in one of their conferences, as to the possibility of reanimating a dead body, took forcible possession of his mind. His imagination became heated by long dwelling upon the same theme; and a strange, wild, undefinable craving to hold converse with a disembodied spirit haunted him incessantly. For some time he buried this feverish anxiety in his own breast, and tried in vain to subdue it; but it seemed to hang upon his steps, to present itself before him wherever he went, and, in short, to pursue him with the malignancy of a demon.
“What is the matter with you, Edric?” said Father Morris to his proselyte, the day we have already mentioned. “You are so changed, I scarcely know you, and your eyes have a wild expression, absolutely terrific.”
“I am, indeed, half mad,” returned Edric, with a melancholy smile; “and yet, perhaps, you will laugh when I tell you the reason of my uneasiness: to say truth, the conversation we had together the other day has occasioned it. You convinced me so clearly of the possibility of resuscitating a dead body, that since that moment I have been tormented by an earnest desire to communicate with one who has been an inhabitant of the tomb. I would fain know the secrets of the grave, and ascertain whether the spirit be chained after death to its earthly covering of clay, condemned till the day of final resurrection to hover over the rotting mass of corruption that once contained it; or whether the last agonies of death free it from its mortal ties, and leave it floating, free as air, in the bright regions of ethereal space?”
“You know my opinion,” said the priest.
“I do,” replied the pupil; “but forgive me if I add—I do not feel satisfied with it: in fact, mine is not a character to be satisfied with building my faith upon that of any other
